Into the Light

by Aurora Nova

Marcus of Whiterun, called Dragonborn, prepares to launch resistance against the final assault from the Aldmeri Dominion, to fight the Last Great War for the freedom of Tamriel. Fourth in a series; sequel to "Into the Maelstrom," "Into the Darkness," and "Into the Ashes."

16. Chapter 16

Chapter 8

Marcus was several hundred feet in the air, over Fort Dawnguard and preparing to head to Morrowind, when he got the call. Tapping his ear bud and adjusting the volume, he called out to Jarl Balgruuf, leagues away in Whiterun.

"Balgruuf! What's going on?"

"The city is under attack, Dragonborn!" Balgruuf called back. "I can't talk now! I'm needed. Get here as soon as you can!"

Scowling, Marcus concentrated on Benor and tapped his ear bud again.

"Benor! Get your troops in the air! Whiterun's under attack!"

"Shor's bones!" the young Nord exclaimed. "We'll be there as soon as we can, Marcus!"

In the growing gloom of the late evening, he could see the lights of Riften ahead, but something was wrong. The light was far brighter and more orange than it should have been. A glint of something silvery glimmered in the sky above the city, and Marcus realized with horror that Riften was also under attack.

"Dammitall!" he swore. Tapping the ear bud yet again, he concentrated on Benor.

"Change of plans, Benor," he called. "Riften's under attack, too. Get here fast!"

"We're on our way, Marcus!"

"Does my thuri wish to engage the enemy?" Odahviing called, a hint of eagerness in his voice.

Marcus hesitated. He had no doubts about the dragon's prowess, but he also had no wish to fight the Dominion airships alone, nor tip his hand to them and ruin the element of surprise.

"Let's wait for Benor and the others," he advised. "Hold here for a moment."

"As my thuri wishes," the firedrake acquiesced, though it was clear he was disappointed.

"Tamsyn," Marcus called now, concentrating on his wife. "You need to get to Whiterun—"

"I heard, dearest!" she assured him. "I'm on my way now. I'm calling for the battlemages to use the Portal at Dragonsreach. Balgruuf has already given me permission."

"Riften's under attack, too," he informed her. "Benor and I will do what we can here."

"Be careful, my love!" He could hear the worry in her voice before he signed off.

All he could do now was wait for Benor to show up with the dragon riders. In the meantime, Riften burned.

"Dragonborn!"

It was Galmar's voice in his ear.

"Go ahead Galmar," he called.

"Ulfric told us what's happening," the Iron-fist stated simply. "We're using the portal from Mzulft to the Ratway to send troops to help Riften."

"Great news!" Marcus cried, hope rising in him. "Do what you can on the ground. See if you can get those fires under control."

"They should never have rebuilt it of wood," Galmar said scornfully. "Stone doesn't burn."

Marcus shook his head. It was a moot point now.

A roar behind him announced Benor and his dragon riders, and Marcus signed off from Galmar quickly.

"Benor," he called, using his thu'um to enhance his voice and let it carry further. "There are four airships by my count. They probably didn't think they'd need more than that."

"There's eight of us," Benor announced, pulling Firefall up to hover nearby. "That's all that were ready."

"It will have to be enough," Marcus assured him. "They won't be expecting us, so maybe that will count in our favor. Divide up," he called to the others. "Two dragons per airship. Let none of them escape."

Various war cries echoed around him as the teams took off, targeting each of the Dominion ships. As they approached, they could hear shouts of warning from the Thalmor soldiers and Justiciars aboard. Lightning crackled out from each ship, glaringly bright in the growing darkness, but the dragons were young and nimble, dodging the bolts easily. They seemed to view this as a reward for all the rigorous training they had undergone.

A reverberating sound thrummed through the air near Marcus as a ballista bolt the size of a small sapling whizzed past.

"Take evasive action, Odahviing!" he called, as he launched a dual-cast fireball at the dirigible. Whatever material the airbags were made from, however, seemed resistant to fire, but not impervious. It was clear the Thalmor had planned for this contingency. Perhaps some kind of resistance to magic? the Dragonborn wondered. Maybe we should see how they withstand dragon fire.

Waves of frost swept out from the largest of the airships, and Marcus guided Odahviing towards it.

"Give 'em all you've got, Odahviing!" Marcus called, and the great red dragon chuckled deep in his chest.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Marcus sent his own Chain Lightning towards the Justiciar, and grinned ferally as the electricity leaped from the Thalmor official to the next two soldiers standing with bows nearby. One of the soldiers crumpled and didn't rise.

The deck of the ship smoldered in several places, but didn't ignite. Even the lines tethering the airbag to the ship failed to burn, but glowed with resistance magic. Marcus frowned. This was not going to be an easy fight. He launched another fusillade of Chain Lightning at the Justiciar and was satisfied to see it arc from her to the other Thalmor soldier to her left, who had been leveling his crossbow at Odahviing. The soldiers were swiftly replaced by two more, but the Justiciar only staggered slightly from the shock attack. She sent two Icy Spears after Marcus and Odahviing, but missed the Dragonborn and only caught the firedrake on his tail. Tracking Odahviing as he came around for another assault, she neglected the other two younger dragons, coming up rapidly on the other side of the airship – a green one ridden by Lars Battle-born, and a brown one with a rider Marcus didn't know.

Blasts of fire from one of the junior dragons washed over the port side of the ship, sending more of the green-and-gold soldiers running for cover. One, however, held her position at the ballista and fired at one of the dragons responsible for her discomfort. The bolt struck true and sank deep into the chest of the smaller of the two dov. Screeching, the brown dragon floundered in midair as its rider fought to keep control. Helplessly, Marcus watched as both spiraled down, plummeting to the ground. He was too high up to hear the sickening crunch of the impact, but could see neither dragon nor rider would rise again.

The green dragon, whom Lars had named Summerwind, roared out a challenge to the Justiciar, and bellowed out an impressive column of fire, sweeping the entire deck. Two more soldiers succumbed to the onslaught, falling over the sides. The Justiciar, gravely wounded, fired off a healing spell, then turned to launch another Thunderbolt at the green dragon. The wily green, however, swerved out of the way and wheeled off to circle around for another attack.

Looking around, Marcus could see the other dragons were having at least as much difficulty fighting the airships as he and Odahviing were having. Compounding the problem was the lack of aerial mages in his dragon air force – an oversight he now realized may have cost them dearly. He saw Amalie, Benor's wife, on Mistwing launching spell after spell at the ship she was fighting, summoning Atronachs to fight the soldiers on deck while engaging the Justiciars with spells, and realized this might be a better tactic.

He summoned his own Frost Atronach, and grinned in grim satisfaction as its weight caused the deck to lurch slightly. The Justiciar was distracted enough by its arrival to take her attention away from the dragons for a moment, and Summerwind snaked through the rigging at full speed to wing-bash the Justiciar on his way out the other side of the ship.

"Lars!" Marcus called in delight. "Who taught you to ride like that?"

"Summerwind and I came up with it together, Dragonborn!" the young Nord called back, grinning. "He's small enough to get into tight places."

"Behind you!" Marcus cried in alarm, seeing the Justiciar get to her feet. A wave of frost billowed out from her, but Summerwind pulled up almost vertical, with Lars hanging onto his neck frill, whooping maniacally and grinning as though touched by Sheogorath.

They're still thinking in two dimensions, Marcus realized. The wall of frost spell only went forward, in the direction the mage was pointing, but a dragon in the air was in its element, and could perform twists and turns that defied physics. All one could do, really, was to hold on as Lars was doing.

At the top of his climb, Summerwind reversed direction and power dived straight towards the airbag, landing on top briefly. He pushed off again almost immediately, but not before digging his claws into the bag, puncturing it. Air whooshed out of it, and the ship began to lose altitude. The deck slanted, and the Justiciar, genuinely alarmed, grabbed for anything to hold onto as it took a nosedive towards the ground. It crashed far below, and Marcus could see that while the Justiciar had survived the initial impact, she was now grounded, and vulnerable to the counterattacks from the Rift guard as well as Galmar's forces, which were now spilling out of the Ratway and into the streets towards the gates.

Marcus whooped his own joy. "One down!" he called out, enhancing his voice. "That's the way to do it!"

Following Lars' example, the other dragons worked in tandem to bring the other three airships down. But the Thalmor, sensing a fatal weakness in their ships, redoubled their efforts at keeping the dragons away. Two more dragons and riders went down, never to rise again.

Benor and Amalie concentrated their efforts on the second largest airship, which held not one but two Justiciars who had planted themselves on either side of the ship. Ballistae were still firing into the air, and one of the bolts tore through Firefall's wing. The dragon roared his pain and outrage, and blasted the ship with a concentrated fireball that roiled towards the airship, exploding into a massive conflagration that immolated anyone standing on the deck. Three soldiers crumpled under the onslaught, but the Justiciars remained standing. Firefall, disabled, glided to the ground to deal with the foot soldiers there.

"We can't hold them, Zenosha!" the male Justiciar shouted to his associate.

Marcus froze. Wait…what? Zenosha?

"We have to, Lennarus," she called back. "Torch the city!"

Lennarus began throwing off fireballs into the town below, and recoiled when a flurry of arrows rose up in response. The citizens of Riften – supplemented by Galmar's forces – were fighting back!

"Odahviing," Marcus called, "get us closer to that ship!"

"At your command, thuri," the dragon agreed. Tilting his wing over, the firedrake turned back towards the airship. Marcus readied himself, getting his feet under him to leap to the ship.

Seeing this, Amalie cried out, "Dragonborn! What are you doing?"

"Taking command of this ship," Marcus called. "Don't let the dragons bring this one down!" He launched himself from Odahviing's back, landing on the deck of the airship hard, but tumbling to a standing position, and turned to face Zenosha.

Three Thalmor guards converged on him with bound weapons drawn, but Marcus Shouted his Marked for Death thu'um to soften them up before drawing his new dragonbone sword – which did not as yet have a name – and an ebony dagger. He blocked the first two attacks that came his way and bashed the hilt of his dagger into the face of the first Thalmor that got too close, feeling the nose break under his fist. The third guard, seeing an opening, sliced across the Dragonborn's gut, and Marcus felt the sting of the blade as the bone plates separated. It wasn't serious, and he whirled to riposte, bringing most of his momentum down on the bound sword, which fizzled under the assault. The Thalmor, dismayed, back up to reconjure his blade.

Lennarus threw off a Thunderbolt at Marcus, but he dodged it at the last second, though he could almost taste the ozone it left behind. The soldiers were pressing their advantage, however, and he couldn't spare a moment to deal with the Justiciar.

"The town, Lennarus!" Zenosha screamed. "I will deal with the Dragonborn. Concentrate on the town!"

"You just want all the glory for yourself, Zenosha!" Lennarus spat caustically. "This whole plan of yours has failed!"

"No one told me there would be dragons here, Lennarus!" Zenosha glared ominously. "And unless you want to join the fallen, I suggest you do. Your. Job."

Looking as though he would personally like to tip Zenosha over the side of the airship, Lennarus mumbled something incoherent under his breath and turned back to the town.

Below, finding himself grounded, Benor quickly brought Firefall around to flame the Dominion troops assaulting the front gate. Never having had much training in magic, he nevertheless managed a Healing Hands spell on Firefall's wing as the young firedrake gleefully charred any green and gold-clad soldiers coming their way.

Seeing a dragon in their midst had taken the foot soldiers aback momentarily, but they recovered too quickly and soon began to press forward again in numbers. Arrows launched from the rear were falling all around Benor and Firefall, and only the dragon's tough hide and bulk kept them from becoming pincushions.

The gates opened behind Benor, and dozens of armed Riften guards poured out, supplemented by Galmar and his Mzulft warriors.

"Now this is what I've been waiting for!" the grizzled Nord grinned. "For Skyrim!" he roared. "Leave none alive!"

A second airship had gone down under concentrated attacks by Amalie and her team. She sent the remaining junior riders against the third ship and turned Mistwing towards Riften's front gate to help her husband. Blasting the rearward archers with a volley of Chain Lightning, she darted here and there, never staying in one spot long enough for the archers to target her. Mistwing sent clouds of frost roiling down the hill towards them, slowing down their reactions and making it easier for Galmar and his troops to battle the front lines without the harassment of ranged attacks.

Marcus had killed one of the three Thalmor soldiers, but was being pressed against a bulkhead by the other two, as well as the concentrated efforts of Zenosha with her magical attacks. She raised two of the fallen soldiers to attempt to come at the Dragonborn from the sides. Marcus countered with a Bend Will attack of his own and turned one of the soldiers – who had stepped back to reconjure their bound weapon – against the Justiciar. He followed that with his Become Ethereal to step away from the fight. Taking any action at this point would end the thu'um prematurely, so he chose his position carefully and bellowed out his Unrelenting Force. The results were dramatic. Lennarus and the two living, uncharmed guards went over the side. The two raised guards crumpled to dust, and Zenosha – without any remorse – killed the one Marcus had bent to his side.

They were alone on the deck of the crippled airship.

"So, now what?" Zenosha demanded, a calculating smile dancing on her lips. "Will you simply kill me? I won't be taken prisoner, if that's your intent."

"How did you gate a sload into the College at Winterhold?" Marcus asked, and was gratified to see her blink in surprise.

"So, you figured that one out, did you?" Zenosha drawled, eyes narrowed in concentration. "You're smarter than I gave you credit for."

Marcus declined to reveal he'd had inside information.

"You're also behind the assassination of Jarl Nepos," Marcus stated. It wasn't a question.

"I don't deny it," Zenosha smiled. "A bit of brilliance on my part, I must say. It's a shame that dead men tell no lies. I hadn't counted on Jarl Esmerelda to use my own forte against me."

"Necromancy, you mean," Marcus guessed, rewarded by her slight nod of the head. "So, what's next? Is this the extent of the invasion? The first salvo in the Second Great War?"

"The Last Great War, I think you mean," Zenosha frowned. "Your kind was a mistake, Dragonborn. The humans, the beast races…all of you. You never should have been created."

"Wow, you really swallowed that bullshit, hook, line and sinker, didn't you?" he mocked. "First Skyrim, then the world, is that it?"

Zenosha laughed, and the mocking tones tinkled around him.

"You really are naïve if you think this is all there is to it," she drawled. "I refuse to indulge you in your quest for answers. If you're as smart as you claim to be, figure it out for yourself. I'm needed elsewhere."

She made a slight gesture with one hand and warped out of existence. The airship shuddered, as though suddenly cut off from its primary source of power, and the deck tilted alarmingly to port, towards the town.

Oh, shit.

Crashing into a heavily populated city would not be good for morale. And it's not going to do me any good if I'm still on this thing when it goes down, Marcus realized.

He clawed his way to the upper deck where the ship's wheel was located and hauled it over to starboard. Sluggish to respond, with winds from the north pushing him towards the city, Marcus realized he would need to reset the jib sail at the front of the airship to catch the wind at the proper angle to turn her away from the city. But he still needed to stay at the wheel. And there remained no Thalmor soldiers to coerce into helping him.

"Crap," he fumed. Taking a deep breath, he Shouted, "TIID KLO UL!"

He felt the sluggish pull of time slowing around him and sprang into action, racing to the front of the ship to reposition the jib sail and get back to the wheel before the thu'um wore off. Glancing down, he saw the south gate of Riften, near the docks, also under attack from Thalmor forces.

"Dammitall!" he cursed.

He reached the wheel and took over command as time resumed its inexorable flow around him.

"AMALIE!" he roared, using up the last of his reserves to enhance his voice. "The south gate!"

She looked down from her perch above Riften's main entrance, then back at Marcus and raised her hand in acknowledgement, clinging to Mistwing as the dragon blew one last frost breath and headed over the city to the south.

In the distance, Marcus could see the third airship burning on its way to the ground, and felt a swell of pride for his dragon riders and their companions. They had losses, to be sure, but without them it would have been a different story for Riften.

"Now, to bring this baby in for a controlled crash," he muttered to no one.

Without the Thalmor – or indeed, a powerful Justiciar – to power the ship, it was a long, rapid glide downward. He clipped a grove of birch trees on the east side of town before plummeting into the side of the large, solitary mountain that spurred off from the Velothi range to the east.

He awoke – he wasn't sure how much later – to the sounds of combat to the west, and groaned. Wiggling each body part in turn, Marcus made certain nothing was broken before moving gingerly out of the wreckage. Nearby was a large soul gem, now cracked and dark, that had been used to power the airship. Getting to his feet and swaying a little, he concentrated to the best of his ability and fired off a quick healing spell before scanning the skies.

The dragons, including Odahviing, were still flying over the city, using their breath weapons against the green and gold-clad Dominion troops and the few black-robed Justiciars that remained, but the south gate had been reinforced with some of Galmar's forces, and most of the Dominion soldiers were already on the run. The fighting was all but over. He made his way back towards the city to join the mopping up crew.

Later that evening, the Thalmor having been put to the sword and the fires having been contained, Marcus met with Jarl Saerlund.

"We'll hold funeral services for the dead the day after tomorrow," Saerlund said somberly. "Dagny insists we send troops to help Whiterun, but I don't know if we'll get there in time to be of any assistance."

Dagny, Marcus knew, was Saerlund's wife and the daughter of Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun.

"How many did we lose?" he asked.

"At least a half-hundred of my guards," Saerlund frowned. "At least of score of citizens. I'm not sure how many of Galmar's men were lost."

"Four of the dragons, and their riders," Benor offered quietly.

Marcus knew this already, the souls of the dragons having flown to him as he approached them, though he hadn't wanted to do that to them. It seemed…disrespectful somehow. He knew, however, that Benor was quietly reminding the Jarl that they had suffered losses as well.

"Gather what forces you can," he told Saerlund now. "Send them to Whiterun. If they're in time, great. If not—" He paused and ran a hand through his hair. "If not, we'll try to launch a counter-attack. Be careful near Helgen. We think that's where they were staging their forces."

Saerlund nodded. "We'll take the northerly route, then, and approach Whiterun from the other side. It may give us some time to see what's going on before we commit our troops. If only Windcaller Pass was still open," he frowned.

"Windcaller Pass?" Marcus queried. "I don't think I've ever heard of it."

"Long ago it was a pass cut right through the Throat of the World," Saerlund explained. "About a century ago or so something happened and it collapsed. Now it's merely a cave near Ivarstead on this side, and the same near the Ritual Stone on the Whiterun side."

"Well," Marcus mused, "while that might have made it easier and faster to get to Whiterun from here, we don't have the option right now. Whiterun is under attack as we speak, and they need help as soon as you can get your people there. If the Dominion is funneling troops through Helgen, it might be an idea to clear it so they won't have reserves they can add to their forces at Whiterun."

"I thought Helgen was in Falkreath Hold?" Saerlund frowned. "Won't Siddgeir look upon that as an attack on him?"

"If Siddgeir objects to Thalmor troops hiding out in a ruined city in his Hold, he should have done something about it," Marcus glowered. "Since he hasn't, I can either assume he's an idiot who didn't know they were there, or he does know and is complicit. Either way, we either fight the Dominion there or fight them after they've joined up at Whiterun."

Saerlund's eyes widened in comprehension. "I'll tell Dravin to pull some troops together right away," he nodded.

"Dravin?" Marcus queried. "Dravin Llanith? I thought he was a farmer?" A few years before, Marcus had found Dravin's stolen family heirloom, a finely-made Dunmer bow, and returned it to him.

"He was a farmer," Saerlund chuckled. "But he's also as honest as the day is long, and I needed people I could trust around me. I made him Captain of the Guard. His wife, Synda, runs the farm for them now. He's a lot happier, now that he has some input into how things run here in the Rift."

"Glad to hear it," Marcus grinned. "I'll let Galmar know. He's probably halfway there as we speak!"

Saerlund gave a knowing wink and left to make arrangements.

"Dragonborn?" a woman called. "Do you have a moment?" It was Dagny.

"Of course, Lady Dagny," Marcus smiled. "How can I help?"

"I just wanted to thank you for coming to our aid, and for going to help my father," she said sincerely. "I think Saerlund wanted to wait and see if our troops would be needed – especially after this fight – but I don't think Whiterun, or my father, can wait for that. Thank you."

He bowed. "Your father is my oldest, dearest friend, Lady Dagny," he said solemnly. "How can I not help him? Besides, my wife is there now. I'm sure we'll get there and find all the fighting is over and done."

Privately, he didn't believe a word of what he spouted, but it seemed to calm Dagny down. He bowed and left Mistveil Keep, heading for the north gate, outside of which Galmar and his troops waited.

"What's the word, Dragonborn?" the gnarled Nord demanded. "Do we wait here, or take the fight to those pointed-ears bastards?"

"First answer me this," Marcus began. "How many troops do you have? How many here, and how many still in Mzulft?"

"I brought around five hundred troops, Dragonborn," Galmar answered. "We have several hundred more back at our base. I didn't think we'd get them all through the portal in time to help."

"And how many did you lose here?"

Galmar frowned. "Well, we lost more than the Riften guard, if it comes to that. The guards here are mostly former Stormcloak soldiers, and well-trained. Most of mine are raw recruits. I'd say we lost a third once we cleared the gates on both sides of town."

The Dragonborn nodded, deep in thought. A third; a little more than a hundred and fifty young men and women lost. The Dominion casualties were higher – they had put almost a thousand troops on the ground, and more in the air – but the numbers would likely have been reversed had it not been for the dragons. And even there we lost half of what we brought, he brooded.

Galmar was eyeing him expectantly.

"Head for Whiterun," Marcus decided. "Saerlund is sending troops as well. Get in touch with whomever is in charge in Mzulft. Have them start sending people to Whiterun to bolster the ranks there. I'm heading back to Dragonpeak to gather all remaining riders, then we'll get over to Whiterun ourselves. I'll leave a couple here to guard Riften. And Galmar," he added as the Nord turned to leave, "be on your guard around Helgen. Word is the Thalmor are hiding reserve troops there."

Galmar nodded, and a cruel smile graced his lips. "We'll make them wish they'd never left the Summerset Isles," he vowed.

---

Tamsyn stepped off the portal platform into a beehive of activity. Several students from the College were milling around, uncertain what to do. Even as she stepped down, the portal hummed again, and a handful more of soldiers from Blackreach stepped down and hurried down the stairs to the war room behind the Jarl's throne, which was just down the stairs. Hadvar was there, coordinating troop movements.

"You there," he called to a woman in Imperial armor, standing with a dozen soldiers in both Imperial and Stormcloak gear. "Get yourselves down to the main gate. Where are the mages?"

"Upstairs," Tamsyn called. "I think they don't know what to do yet."

"I need them on the walls and out on the balcony," Hadvar explained tersely. "The Thalmor have brought more of those airships of theirs, and they're raining fire down on the town. I have the townsfolk forming bucket lines as we speak."

"I'm on it," Tamsyn promised, heading back upstairs. The mages were all adept level and higher, and she nodded with satisfaction. At least they'd have the higher-level spells available to them.

"Alright everyone," she called, "pay attention. We need to man the balcony and the walls. Interception is our strategy. Try to keep those fire spells from hitting anything that will burn. Keep firing on the airships with your Destruction spells to force them to take cover. Team up with the local archers here and don't spare the Restoration spells. Let's move out!"

"My thanks, Arch-Mage," a voice in her ear said, and she turned to see Farengar behind her. "I didn't think it was my place to order them around. I'm glad you got here quickly."

"You can thank me later, if we survive this, Farengar," she said brusquely, but smiled to take the sting from her words. "Go with the balcony crew," she ordered. "Lyris!" she called to an adept rushing past. "Farengar's in charge. He's studied the airships and knows their weaknesses."

This was true, as the Nord mage had spent numerous hours consulting with Calcelmo and Sorine in Blackreach after the heist of the Star Shadow.

"We'll do our best," he promised. "Alright, everyone, follow me," he called. "Get those mage armor spells going now!" They exited through the doors to the Great Porch, and Tamsyn could already hear combat going on beyond the walls.

"The rest of you, come with me," she commanded. "Hadvar, if any other mages come through, send them my way, unless the Porch is breeched."

He nodded, and Tamsyn led her group down the stairs and out of Dragonsreach.

The cacophony that greeted her made Tamsyn's heart quail. Fires had ignited in nearly every part of the city, and even the roof of Breezehome was up in flames. The citizens were valiantly attempting to staunch the flames, but arrows and fireballs were raining down on them from above. A great airship, larger than the Star Shadow, loomed over the Wind District, above the Gildergreen, which was itself in flames. Fireballs and ballistae whistled and sizzled overhead as the Dominion warship fired upon Dragonsreach. At the top of the stairs to the Jarl's palace, Tamsyn halted her group to take it all in.

"How are we going to fight that?" a mage in Expert robes moaned in dismay.

"With persistence and precision," Tamsyn snapped. "Group A, man the walls; Group B, head to the front gate; Group C, with me. Let's take that son of a bitch out!"

Several heads turned in her direction, blinking in surprise.

"MOVE!" she barked, and her students hurried to comply.

Throwing off her surcoat, Tamsyn began channeling power and directing it into a sphere surrounding her, out to a radius of ten feet. It was the same kind of warding spell she had used in Apocrypha, had the students but known, but it was specifically formulated to block projectiles as well as magic. She could have called upon the divinity within her to expand her ward to include Dragonsreach, but the chiding of the Old Ones, as well as the warnings from her father not to overextend herself, held her in check.

"Now!" she cried, and the twenty-plus mages with her, from all Schools, worked their magic. Atronachs and other summoned creatures sprouted on the decks of the airship. Fire, frost and shock spells sallied forth, seeking Altmer targets. Several of the Dominion troops aboard cowered, as if suddenly terrified, and the ship began to drift. The Justiciars realized with dismay that the lines holding the airbag to the ship were untying themselves.

"It's her!" one of them cried, pointing below. "The Arch-Mage! Get her and the rest will scatter!"

This was far easier said than done, as the protective ward around the Arch-Mage prevented any of their arrows or spells from getting through. But even as powerful as she was, Tamsyn knew she couldn't keep it up forever. She was tiring, and the bubble around her began shrinking.

"Arch-Mage!" one of the Experts called. "Take my magicka!" She made an attempt to channel her energy to Tamsyn, but the Breton mage shook her head.

"No," she insisted. "You'll need it more than me! Look out! The ship is coming down!"

It was true. The combined efforts of Tamsyn's crew had compromised the integrity of the magics protecting the airship, and it was now drifting north, losing altitude as it passed over the Hall of the Dead. The gondola crashed into the wall beyond and the strain snapped the lines tethering the airbag to the ship. It broke loose and floated over the wall as the deck tilted sideways, spilling the crew onto the ground.

The Justiciar was up in a moment, lobbing Destruction spells left and right, at any guard, citizen, soldier or mage within range. The citizens screamed and ran for cover; the guards, soldiers and mages converged on the airship survivors.

"Wards up!" Tamsyn yelled, letting her protective circle dissipate. "Spare no one. They won't spare you."

All along the walls, Whiterun guards manned the catapults and ballistae pointed outward towards the main Dominion assault team coming at them from the east, west and south. Only the northern edge of the Hold capital was free from enemy forces by virtue of its location at the top of a large granite formation jutting out of the tundra, where an ancestor of Jarl Balgruuf's had come and decided it was a good, defensible location for a fortress. The town had grown up along the slopes approaching the pinnacle where Dragonsreach now stood.

But airships negated its defensive strategy, and Farengar found his group of mages hard-pressed to keep the Dominion soldiers from attempting to disembark onto the balcony. He'd already lost several of the students to Thalmor artillery, and a small part of his mind worried what Tamsyn would think about that. Reinforcements were straggling in, but the Court Wizard was having serious concerns about whether he was cut out to lead what amounted to a small army.

"Master Farengar!" Lyris called, cringing behind her ward. "What do we do? They keep coming!"

"Use Incinerate!" he ordered.

"I can't do that one!" she wailed. "I'm only Adept-level in Destruction. My focus is Alteration!"

"Can you Paralyze?" he demanded.

"Yes," she said doubtfully, "but not so many at once—"

"Do them one at a time, then, child!" he snapped. "Do I have to think of everything?"

Sniffling a little at his harsh tone, the young mage began targeting the green and gold-armored troops, who suddenly stiffened and keeled over. Encouraged, the woman moved forward to get within range.

"No!" called Farengar. "Stay back! Let them come to y—"

There was a bright flash as a fireball exploded around them, and Farengar was blown back against the doors leading into the war room. Dimly, he was aware of the cries of the students around him as Dominion soldiers began jumping off the deck of the airship to the Great Porch. In agony, unable to concentrate on a healing spell for his burns, Farengar clawed at the door and dragged it open, falling inside. As he lost consciousness, he heard Hadvar calling out orders.

"Bar the door!"

"But sir, the students-"

"We can't help them now," Hadvar said grimly. "The Dominion is here. We can't let them inside. Bar the door."

---

"How bad is it, Justinian?" Titus Mede asked in a weary voice.

"About as bad as can be expected, Sire," the Chamberlain replied somberly. "Leyawiin has been captured, and our navy at Anvil was caught unawares. Twenty ships docked at the harbor were burned to the waterline. There is fighting in the streets, and rumors of ships that fly through the air."

"Is that all?"

"No, Sire," Justinian murmured, shifting uncomfortably. "We've also had reports of Bruma under attack, from the same type of flying ships."

"Dammit!" the Emperor swore. "How is it none of us saw this coming?"

"My liege-?"

"With all this new…intelligence we've been gathering, how is it that no one realized the Dominion was ready to launch the next war so soon? We had no warning – none at all! Thirty years ago, they at least issued an ultimatum. And where is…Councilor deFer?" The Emperor caught himself before he spoke the words "my grandson." There was no telling who might be listening in.

"As I understand it," Justinian said diffidently, "he is on his way back to the Imperial City as we speak, in the company of General Tullius."

"Well, at least he'll have some protection, if they get waylaid," Titus Mede groused. "I'll feel a lot better once they both get here. Skyrim will have to do without their military advisor for now. I need Tullius here!"

"Shall I call for General Admantus?" Justinian asked now. Servius Admantus was second in command of the Imperial Legions, and while not as old as Tullius, he had nevertheless served with distinction during the Last Great War.

"Yes, yes," Titus Mede waved at him tiredly. "We'll need to plan for the defense of the City, and send what troops we can spare to Bruma and Anvil."

"What about Leyawiin?" Justinian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Leyawiin is lost, as you've pointed out," the Emperor replied callously. "There isn't anything we can do to help them right now. All we can do is protect what little of the Empire remains. Bring me my pen and parchment. I'll need to draft some letters to our allies."

"At once, Sire." The Chamberlain bowed and left the Emperor's private quarters. In the shadows, in the corner of the room, Ashabareth Vaneris watched silently as Titus Mede the Second rose unsteadily to his feet and limped over to the window near his desk.

"Dante, my boy," he whispered. "Come home safely. Divines, you've little reason to grant me any favors, but please watch over my grandson."

---

The switchback trail that led down from the Pale Pass was one of the more well-patrolled roads in northern Cyrodiil. The Legion kept a prominent presence there to discourage any who would attempt to cross the border in either direction without papers proving they had reason to be in either Skyrim or the Imperial Province. So it was that General Lucius Maximillus Tullius anticipated no real trouble on his mission to deliver the Emperor's grandson to his liege before taking up his newly-appointed position as military advisor to Skyrim.

On a more personal level, however, he found he didn't really like or trust the young Breton at his side. Rumors abounded of a shady past not completely explained away by his apparent occupation as a dealer of antiquities. It seemed all too convenient that he just happened to have discovered the plot to assassinate Titus Mede the Second, and far too convenient that he just happened to become one of the Emperor's most trusted advisors. Tullius trusted his gut, and his gut was telling him there was something extremely suspicious about Councilor Lance deFer.

They smelled the smoke before they saw it. Rounding a final bend in the road before Fort Pale Pass they saw the black plume rising high into the mid-morning sky. Gasps and mutters of alarm ran through the soldiers with them, and Tullius pulled his horse up short.

"What in blazes-?'

"The Fort is under attack, Sir!" one of the foot soldiers called, stating the obvious for all within earshot.

Dante peered closely through the old growth of trees, but could see no troop movements.

"Was under attack, from the looks of it, I'd say," he murmured.

Tullius glared at him, but couldn't deny the truth of the statement.

"We'd better get down there and find out what happened," the Imperial General decided.

"Hadn't you better send a couple of scouts first, General?" Dante asked. "I mean, there could be any number of enemy soldiers lurking behind, to make sure reinforcements don't come down from the north."

The General bristled, but again, he couldn't deny logical, common sense when he heard it.

"Sergeant," he called. "Send two of your best men down there to report back what they find. Use caution. If there's still any of the enemy present, do not engage, understand?"

"Yes, sir!" The female sergeant hurried to give the orders, and the General turned to the rest of his troop.

"We'll stay here," he told them, "but remain alert. We don't know what we're up against."

It was almost an hour later before the two soldiers returned.

"There's no one left alive down there," the sergeant reported. "It was the Thalmor. We found some of their bodies. Every Imperial soldier posted there is dead, put to the sword, burned beyond recognition, or—" She shuddered. "It's not a pleasant sight, sir."

"Dammit!" Tullius swore softly. "Could you find any evidence on how an entire fortification of Imperial soldiers was taken by surprise?"

"No, sir," she replied. "I've never been stationed at Fort Pale Pass, so I didn't know the layout."

Dante quietly cleared his throat.

"Something you'd like to add, Councilor?" Tullius demanded acerbically.

"I've actually been there before," he offered. "There's a warren of caverns and tunnels under the fortress that the Captain at the time referred to as the 'Substructure.' I believe he said it was part of an old Akaviri fortress, over which Fort Pale Pass was built."

"How does that explain anything?" Tullius scoffed.

"It's possible that the Dominion soldiers came up from underneath."

"And why would they do that?" Tullius asked, a calculating look in his eyes. There was less mocking in the tone now. Tullius was beginning to put two and two together.

Dante shrugged. "For one thing, it would have been unexpected," he reasoned. "Sneak in from below; kill all the soldiers sleeping in their barracks, then spread out through the rest of the fort. Take out Fort Pale Pass, and the whole northern section of Cyrodiil is basically caught off-guard. They'd be able to move their airships into Cyrodiil from their bases in the Jeralls undetected."

The General frowned and rubbed his chin. "It makes sense from a tactical viewpoint," he admitted. "But I'm not convinced they could have gotten into the Fort unseen. These were highly trained Legion soldiers."

"As I said," Dante shrugged. "It's a warren under there. Those tunnels go everywhere, and it's easy to get lost in them. It's also possible new tunnels have been made, connecting it to the Serpent's Trail further below the Fort, or with other passages that haven't been discovered yet. You can't guard an area you don't know exists."

Tullius considered this. "We should still investigate to confirm," he nodded. "I'll leave some men here to do that. For now, I need to get you back to the Imperial City."

"General, wait," Dante pleaded, holding up his hand. "I know those passages. I've been down in them. Let me go in there with a couple of your men, and we'll – if you'll pardon the pun – get to the bottom of this and report back. It shouldn't take long."

"Out of the question," Tullius scowled. "Your safety is my primary concern, Councilor. I can't have—"

Whatever he had been about to say was lost as scores of arrows whizzed into the clearing where they conversed. Horses screamed, reared and bolted, some throwing off their riders. Several soldiers went down immediately, and many more drew their swords, scanning the surrounding trees to find the source.

Dante crouched immediately and vanished from view, and Tullius began shouting orders.

"Battlemages, sweep the area! Archers, return fire! Where's the Coun—"

His voice broke off as an elven arrow plunged into his chest, and without a groan he went down. More arrows rained around the Imperial patrol, but in the confusion, no one noticed the General's body move of its own accord down a snowy slope, leaving a trail of bright red blood behind. A moment later, the blood trail was swept over by invisible hands, and the General vanished without a trace.

The sounds of battle faded as Dante dragged Tullius' body away from the scene, pausing only a moment or two to staunch the blood flow with a minor healing spell. Glancing back to see if they were being followed, he saw flashes of Dominion elven and glass armor through the trees, and shook his head.

Stupid! They were stupid to have waited so long! They should have continued on down the road, but in all probability, they would have walked right into a Dominion ambush. As it was, the ambush had come to them. Sparing a moment of remorse for the soldiers he couldn't help, Dante picked up Tullius' unconscious body and dragged it over his shoulders – grunting quietly at the weight – invoked Nocturnal's blessing and scrambled further down the slope to the road below. He was no healer, but if he could get the General to Bruma, the priests at the Cathedral of St. Martin might be able to fix him up.

Reaching the road, he quickened his step, shifting the General to a more comfortable position. At the statue of the Sentinel he paused to catch his breath and gently lowered the General to the ground, pressing another healing spell to the arrow wound. He dared not remove it lest he cause further damage he might not be able to repair at this point. Straightening and gazing out over northern County Bruma, he swore softly and vociferously. In the distance, the city of Bruma lay, burning brightly in the morning sun.

---

"Arch-Mage!" one of the students called. "There's another airship outside the main gate!"

"There's still one behind Dragonsreach," Tamsyn reminded the young Breton man. "Take your team down to the main gate, Preston," she ordered. "Assist any way you can. "Karla," she turned to a female Nord in Master-level Destruction robes. "I'll need you and your team to come with me. It's time to pull out our secret weapon."

"You mean…?" Karla's eyes lit up in anticipation.

"I do," Tamsyn nodded. "Get your rings on. We're flying out to that airship behind the palace, under cover of Invisibility."

"We won't be able to see each other," Karla warned.

"Cast Detect Life just before Invisibility," Tamsyn advised. "It will keep us in formation until we get there. After that, it won't matter. Let's move!"

Five minutes later, ten Master-level Destruction mages, accompanied by the Arch-Mage herself lifted off unseen from the stairway to the Cloud District and flew around its perimeter to the Great Porch. The devastation there was sickening, and she could only imagine what her students were thinking. Some of the dead had been their friends. The entire roof of the Great Porch was on fire, threatening the Jarl's quarters above. No effort was being spent to extinguish the flames. The Whiterun guard simply didn't have the manpower to spare.

"NOW!" she screamed, allowing all the rage and frustration she felt channel itself into her magicka. Following her lead, her team blasted the Dominion airship with every Destruction spell in their arsenal, but it seemed to resist their most powerful spells.

"It's not working!" Karla yelled.

"They've got some kind of resistance to our magic," her lover, Demetrius, added.

"Use the Dispel Magic, then," Tamsyn called, switching tactics. Ballista bolts screamed past, a little too close for comfort, and Tamsyn was forced to take evasive action.

Hides-in-Shadows took cover above the dirigible, keeping the airbag between him and the Thalmor soldiers directly below him. He was having better luck than the others pummeling the dirigible with Dispel Magic to break through the Dominion barriers, and Bethany, an Expert-level Restoration student, joined him.

Tamsyn took a brief moment to cast Detect Life to scan the bodies inside the Porch, but the only forms that showed up were the Dominion soldiers breaking through the great doors at the far end.

Pain lanced through her as lightning arced to her from another of her students. The young Nord plummeted to the rocks below the balcony, and Tamsyn bellowed out her anguish. Karla launched a Fireball directly towards the back of the Porch, practically filling it with the conflagration, but the Justiciars kept up a solid wall of warding, now that they knew there were mages on their rear flank.

"Now!" Hides-in-Shadows crowed, as the airship gave up the last of its magic resistance, and he flew past Bethany, giving her a thumbs-up in thanks for her assistance. A moment later a ballista bolt caught him in the chest, the momentum carrying him away in its trajectory. Bethany screamed and slammed down a Cause Harm spell, which would have been forbidden under Savos Aren, but Tamsyn had different priorities. Several of the Dominion soldiers still aboard the ship succumbed, but there were far too many still able to launch a counterstrike in her direction. Caught between a Thunderbolt and a wave of Ice Storm, Bethany gasped and fell to the deck, where the soldiers finished her off.

They weren't doing enough damage, Tamsyn realized, heartsick. Between the cover the Great Porch provided, the bulk of the airship still in the way, and the retaliatory firepower of the Dominion soldiers and Justiciars, Tamsyn's mages couldn't break through the Thalmor resistance with sufficient force to overwhelm the enemy.

A crashing noise at the back of the Porch alerted her to the fact that the great wooden doors had been breached. The sounds of clashing steel and blasting magic told her the Alliance forces inside were now fighting for their lives.

"Fall back!" she cried out to her team, and far too few of them answered her call. Guarding their retreat with wards, the aerial mages flew back around to the front of the Jarl's palace, where Tamsyn could see Balgruuf and his guards being driven from the place that had once trapped two dragons.

Whiterun's Jarl caught sight of her as they held the drawbridge over the spring-fed retention ponds, and he gave her a grim look of resolve, but Tamsyn knew it was a lost cause. The Dominion was pouring into Dragonsreach. Anyone left behind would be butchered.

The portal!

Her stomach lurched. If the Thalmor found that, all their secure training grounds would be compromised.

"Help them!" she ordered Demetrius and Karla.

"Where are you going?" the Nord girl gasped as Tamsyn took off once more.

"To retrieve something we forgot!" she called back.

She streaked to the top floor of Dragonsreach, to the Jarl's personal quarters. The roof was already ablaze, but there was a balcony on the western side overlooking the town that led directly into Balgruuf's private quarters. It wasn't usually kept locked. Jiggling the handle, she found it opened easily and let herself in.

The smoke was thick here, and there was still a commotion going on one floor below as the Dominion soldiers battled the remaining Alliance forces. Tamsyn half-ran, half crouched to Balgruuf's office where the portal was kept and opened the door. The smoke and heat were not as prevalent here, and she quickly found the portal in the corner behind a screen. Casting Azura's "Spell of Mass Reduction," as Marcus called it, she quickly reduced the magical transporter to the size of a drink coaster and put it in her belt pouch.

"I'll take that, thank you very much," an elite voice drawled, and Tamsyn whirled to find one of the Justiciars from the ship standing in the doorway.

"I don't think so," the Arch-Mage said slowly, glancing around the room. Behind the Justiciar were two more elven- and glass-clad soldiers with bound weapons drawn. The door was the only way out of the room, except for the window, which lattice over glass, and couldn't be opened.

"Let me put it to you more simply, Breton," the Justiciar said impatiently, eyes narrowing as the smoke eddied around them. "You can either give it to me now, or I'll take it off your corpse. The choice is yours."

It struck Tamsyn that he didn't actually know who she was. Her robes were of her own design, and not the state robes usually worn by the Arch-Mages of the past. She was also dirty and disheveled, and the lights from the lanterns hanging from the ceiling was filtered through the accumulating smoke.

A crack came from overhead, and sparks drifted down. The Justiciar shifted impatiently.

"You're out of time," he intoned, raising his hands. Electricity danced from his fingertips.

"So are you," Tamsyn shot back. She launched a fireball of her own with one hand while throwing up her strongest ward with the other, but she aimed at the ceiling above the Justiciar.

Already weakened, the beams gave way, crashing down between Tamsyn and the Thalmor. Recoiling, the Justiciar snarled, "Have it your way, mage! We'll just wait for you to die, then, and take back what was stolen from us!"

Tamsyn didn't intend to give them that chance. The heat and smoke were oppressive now, and the doorway was now effectively cut off from her. That didn't mean she was out of options. Grabbing Balgruuf's chair she flung it with all her might at the tall, narrow lattice-framed window behind her. The glass shattered, but the lattice held firm.

Crap!

The sudden influx of air, however fed the flames behind her, and with a roaring whoosh they expanded outward. Tamsyn felt the concussion in every part of her as she was literally blown out the window, tumbling helplessly to the ground below. Her last conscious thought was, I hope I hit the water.

---

It had taken time to rally all the remaining dragon riders at Dragonpeak Eyrie, but Marcus knew they would be able to catch up to Galmar and the Rift guard well before they reached Helgen. In the meantime, Whiterun was still under siege and needed relief. He tapped his ear bud.

"Delphine," he called. "You need to send riders to Whiterun."

Silence.

Tapping the magical device again, he concentrated harder. "Delphine, it's Marcus. Are you there?"

Silence.

Irritated now, he tried a different tactic. "Iona, can you hear me?"

More silence.

"What the hell's going on over there?" he muttered. "Benor!" he bellowed, and the Nord rider came closer on Firefall, whose wing had been repaired while they waited for backup.

"What's up, Marcus?" Benor called.

"Take charge here," he ordered. "You've seen how we handled things at Riften. I don't anticipate airships at Helgen, but be prepared. I'll try to join you as quickly as I can."

"Where are you going?" the young Grand Master demanded.

"To Sky Haven Temple," Marcus intoned. "They're not answering, and I need to find out why."

"Good luck!"

It was a two-hour trip, and Marcus brooded the entire time. It was tempting to swing north to aid Whiterun, but he knew that many allied dragons would be much more effective than one alone – even if that one was as formidable as Odahviing.

He saw Maiara's people scurrying around Karthspire Camp, and assumed they were preparing to join in the coming battle. He couldn't stop now, however, and guided Odahviing to the top of the pinnacle where the ancient Akaviri Temple lay.

They landed in the courtyard, and immediately a dozen or more dragon souls flew into Marcus from the bodies lying at the edges of the Temple grounds, hidden in the dark. He staggered to his knees, overwhelmed by the influx of combined knowledge and memories.

Getting unsteadily to his feet, Marcus cast his Candlelight spell and prowled the area, but there were no other bodies, of either human or mer. Whoever had killed the dragons, hadn't killed the riders outside. He rushed towards the great, carved doors, and hauled one open just as his Candlelight extinguished itself. He noticed immediately that everything inside was dark and quiet. Dropping to a crouch he used his Aura Whisper, seeking out life. If the Thalmor had found this place…

But no, if they had, they would have butchered the Reachfolk as well – unless they were unwilling to start a guerilla war with Madanach's people. There was always that possibility; but somehow, he doubted the Dominion would make that distinction.

There was only one small cluster of life in the lowest level of the Temple, a mere handful out of the scores of Blades who called this place home. Where was everyone? There were no bodies lying around here, in the main hall, or upstairs in the barracks, either.

Heading down to the armory level he found the Blades in a locked storage room – locked from the outside.

"Hello!" he called. "Who's in there?"

"Thane?" It was Iona's voice. "Thane Marcus! We're here! Let us out!"

It was an old-fashioned lock put through a hasp, and Marcus didn't bother taking the time to pick it. Iron and corundum couldn't withstand honed dragonbone. He flung the door open and found Iona, Esbern and three others bound with their hands behind their backs. Esbern did not look well. The three other Blades were beaten and bloodied. Iona sported several oozing cuts and purple bruises herself.

"What happened?" Marcus demanded as he released them. "Was it the Thalmor? Where's Delphine? Did they capture her?"

The three Blades traded glances, but it was Esbern who answered.

"Delphine did this to us, Dragonborn," he wheezed softly.

"What?" Marcus thundered, and dust sifted down from overhead as the tiny room shook. Iona and the others winced. Marcus forced himself to calm down. "Why?" he demanded, a chill, deadly tone in his voice.

"We wouldn't follow her," Arcaius, an Imperial from Cheydinhall informed him. "She took the others and said they were going to go kill Paarthurnax, since you were unwilling to do it. Esbern and Iona tried to stop her. We tried, too."

Menalie, a Breton woman from Daggerfall, spoke up. "She – they killed all the dragons, too. My Frostfang…dead…" She hung her head, unable to continue.

"How long ago was this?" the Dragonborn queried.

"We're not exactly sure, Dragonborn," Esbern sighed. "I was knocked unconscious. Iona was beaten up trying to protect me. We were bound up and thrown in here by Delphine's followers." His old eyes filled with tears. "I can't believe she would do this to us…to me! I've known her longer than anyone here. I never thought she would betray us this way."

"I couldn't reach my earbud, Thane," Iona explained, subdued, "or I would have contacted you sooner. I think they left yesterday."

"On foot, I assume?"

"Yes, Thane," the former Housecarl replied. "She had the others convinced that since they killed the ones here, that it would be easy to defeat Paarthurnax."

"That's her second big mistake, then," Marcus growled.

"What was her first?" Arcaius asked.

"Crossing me," the Dragonborn said succinctly.

"What do we do now, Dragonborn?" Menalie asked. "I want to pay them back for what they did!"

"We don't have that luxury, Menalie," Esbern said calmly. "Delphine is too far ahead of us. She needs to be dealt with at once. The Dragonborn will handle it, for all of us." He held Marcus' gaze steadily. "Do you understand, Dragonborn?" he inquired softly. "Delphine has broken her Oath to serve you. Do what you have to do."

Those words echoed in Marcus' head as he and Odahviing flew back to the Throat of the World, hoping he would get there to stop the rogue Blade and her entourage – or at the very least, to lend aid to Paarthurnax should Delphine fail to be reasonable.

He found them ascending the south face of the Monahven, though there were far fewer than the two-score Blades that had left Sky Haven Temple. Clearly, she had had some casualties along the way – or perhaps some of her companions had had a change of heart and decided to back out. Somehow, he didn't think Delphine would have allowed them that option. How she imagined she would get past the Greybeards, Marcus didn't wish to contemplate. They were still well below the plateau on which High Hrothgar was situated, and Marcus had Odahviing land in a cleared area some distance up the path from Delphine and the dozen or so Blades that remained.

"Delphine," he called out, using his thu'um to extend his range. The mountain trembled slightly and cascades of snow tumbled down from overhangs higher up. Okay, so maybe that's not the smartest thing to do here, Marcus. The last thing he needed would be to bury Ivarstead in an avalanche. At least she knew he was here now. He descended the Seven Thousand Steps to meet her.

"Out of my way, Dragonborn," Delphine sneered as he approached. "Don't make me kill you."

"Bold of you to assume you could, Delphine," he replied calmly. Looking past her, he called out to the Blades behind her. "What you're doing is misguided," he told them. "Whatever Delphine told you is colored by her prejudice and desire for revenge. That is not the way of the Blades. The dragons are not our enemy. The Thalmor are."

There were murmurings among the Blades, but none of them made any move to leave.

"I could, quite easily, blow all of you off this mountain," Marcus warned them. "I'm giving you this chance to return home. You don't have to go back to Sky Haven Temple, if you feel it's not the right place for you, but some of you have families in Whiterun and Riften. Both have come under attack by the Thalmor. Riften is safe – for the moment. Whiterun is still fighting. And I don't need this," he gestured at Delphine and all of them, "to distract and divide us."

"Is this true?" one of them demanded. "Is Whiterun really under attack?"

"You didn't notice as you rounded the western side of this mountain?" Marcus asked scornfully. "You can see the plumes of smoke for miles."

"My mother lives in Whiterun," one Blade whimpered. She couldn't have been more than twenty years old. "I need to get to her!"

"Stay where you are!" Delphine barked, and the few who looked ready to turn froze in their tracks.

"Are you really going to keep them from helping their families, Delphine?" Marcus asked softly, but loud enough the rest could hear. "Are you honestly going to force them to stay here while their parents and siblings are butchered by the Thalmor? While their homes are burned to the ground? And why? To kill a dragon who has never personally harmed them, and who paid for his crimes ages before any of us were born? Is that what you want, Delphine?"

"I'm going home!" one of the older Blades declared, sheathing his Akaviri blade. "This is stupid! We don't belong here! We should never have killed those dragons back at the temple! We could have used them against the Thalmor!"

"None of you are leaving here!" Delphine screamed, but the Nord just gave her a pitying look and removed his helmet, tossing it to the ground at her feet.

"I'm done here," he announced, and turned to head back down the Seven Thousand Steps.

Before anyone could move, Delphine grabbed him from behind and plunged her sword deep into his back. He gave a choked cry as his chest sprouted twenty-four inches of steel, and the remaining Blades gasped in horror.

"You…you killed him!" the young female whispered.

The mood of the crowd shifted dramatically, and a dozen pairs of eyes glared at their Grand Master. Marcus calmly stood by, but did not interfere.

"I'm leaving," said a Redguard. "You can try to kill me if you want, Grand Master," he added, "but I would like to remind you who trained me. I know your tricks and your moves. I don't think you'll find it as easy."

"I'm going home, too," said the young female Nord. "My mother needs me – if she's still alive. And you can't stop me, Grand Master. You can't kill all of us at once."

There were more murmurings, and the few remaining hold-outs, seeing their numbers dwindle, shrugged and gave Delphine an apologetic look.

"It's over," one of them said. "You've lost your advantage, Grand Master."

"NO!" Delphine screamed. "Get back here, all of you! We can still do this! Paarthurnax needs to die!"

The last Blade heading back down the mountain waved her off dismissively.

The Throat of the World echoed as Delphine gave vent to her rage and frustration. She turned, breathing heavily, to face the Dragonborn, the man whom she had set on his path of destiny so many years before.

"You!" she simmered. "This is all your fault! If you had just killed that damned dragon when I told you to, we wouldn't be in this mess now!"

"What mess would that be, Delphine?" Marcus asked calmly. "The mess where you've fucked over my dragon rider force and crippled my ability to get rid of the Dominion once and for all? Or the mess where you betrayed your Oath to…how did you put it to me once? 'Serve and protect the Dragonborn as we are sworn to do'? Or how about the mess where you beat up your fellow Blades – including a man who was your oldest friend – because they disagreed with your methods? Or the mess where you brainwashed the rest and got more than half of them killed just getting up here? Take your pick, Delphine. You've got choices. But the one thing you don't have a choice about is what happens to Paarthurnax. I told you once before that he is to remain unharmed."

"Well I can kill you, for starters," she growled, drawing her Akaviri blade. "You've already saved the world from Alduin. We don't need you now."

"Don't do this, Delphine," he warned. "I'm much more powerful than I was when we first met. You're no match for me now. Give up and I'll see that King Ulfric and Queen Elisif give you a fair trial. They may be generous and let you live out your days in the Castle Dour dungeons."

Her response was a firebolt to his face, and Marcus only just closed his eyes in time. The ring Tamsyn had given him, and his dragon plate cuirass, glowed as they absorbed the damage before it could do him any harm. When he opened his eyes again, Delphine had circled around to his left, gaining the higher ground of the mountain on that side. Reluctantly, he drew his own sword and advanced.

She kept the rocks and scraggly trees between them as she maneuvered for a more advantageous position, and Marcus withheld throwing off any spells of his own, preferring to remain on the defensive. He had every reason to kill Delphine, he knew, but was reluctant to give her the satisfaction.

"Fight me, if you're so good, then," Delphine taunted. "Prove your worth with your weapon!"

"It doesn't have to end this way, Delphine," Marcus insisted, making one more attempt to get through whatever insanity had gripped her, but Delphine was too far gone.

"This is the only way it's going to end, Dragonborn," she scoffed. "Either you die or I do. I've lived too long in hiding to go back now. You've taken everything from me that gave me purpose and turned it inside out. I won't let the Thalmor take me!"

A flash of insight hit Marcus, and he lowered his blade slightly.

"You're afraid," he said softly. "You're afraid you're going to die in this war, at the hands of the Dominion. You'd rather have a dragon take you out."

"I'M AFRAID OF NOTHING," she screeched, "ESPECIALLY NOT YOU!"

"Liar," he gently mocked.

Infuriated, Delphine lunged then, and came at him, Akaviri steel whirling in a series of moves he knew quite well. After all, she had taught them to him. He brought up his dragonbone sword and parried every attack, countering with a few Miraak had taught him. Unprepared, Delphine dodged the wrong way and received a slash on her cheek for her neglect.

Redoubling her efforts, the Breton Blade labored to get her breathing under control and focus. She began a series of feints and thrusts which Marcus recognized as a Redguard style known as shifrat aldawaran, literally, "whirling blade." It was one of the techniques Nels had demonstrated before he'd left Whiterun to return to Hammerfell not long before. Marcus wondered where Delphine had learned it. Regardless, it gave her a near-impenetrable barrier which he would not be able to get through without overextending himself and leaving her an opening, which he had no intention of doing.

"FUS!" he Shouted succinctly. Not enough to knock her off her feet, but enough to throw her off balance. As she staggered, he slipped under her guard and laid her armor open along the side.

Grunting in pain, Delphine threw herself into a backward tumble, slipping a bit in the firmly-packed snow and ice, but putting herself once more out of reach.

"Stop toying with me!" she spat. "If you're going to kill me, do it!"

"I don't want to kill you, Delphine," Marcus replied. "I'll admit I did, on the way here, but I've seen you now. I've changed my mind."

"Then you're a fool, Dragonborn," she snarled, "because I'm going to kill you!"

"You keep saying that," he chided her with a mocking grin. "I do not think it means what you think it means." He knew she wouldn't understand the reference, but it didn't matter. He had no stomach for killing someone as mentally disturbed as Delphine had become. Her obsession with killing Paarthurnax had consumed her beyond reasoning. All he was hoping to do at this point was to find a way to incapacitate her, so he could stick her in a prison cell somewhere until she could be dealt with. Time was flowing ever onward, as Paarthurnax might have said, and while they dallied here with this silly duel, Whiterun burned.

The opening came when, once more, Delphine rushed him, sword dancing in front of her, and Marcus quickly side-stepped, leaving her overbalanced. He smacked the back of her head with the pommel of his sword and she face-planted into a snowdrift. Instantly, he was on her, grabbing her wrists and securing them behind her back with a leather thong as she screamed invectives at him. For good measure, he tore a strip from her undertunic and stuffed it into her mouth before securing her feet as well.

"ODAHVIING!" he called, and in moments the great red dragon settled in the self-same clearing where he had deposited the Dragonborn not long before.

"Where are we bound, thuri?" Odahviing inquired, as Marcus hauled Delphine's squirming body over the firedrake's neck.

Marcus hesitated. It was tempting to leave her at High Hrothgar, in the care of the Greybeards, but he didn't think Master Arngeir would thank him for that. Besides, he still didn't trust her, and wanted to keep her as far from Paarthurnax as he could. Whiterun was out of the question at the moment, and there were too few people at Sky Haven Temple now to keep watch over her.

Sighing in frustration over his lack of choices, he told his companion, "Riften, for now. I'll put her in Saerlund's care until I can get her someplace more secure. Solitude's too far away, and I need to get to Whiterun as soon as possible." He mounted behind Delphine and gave her backside a smack. "I wouldn't wriggle around so much if I were you, Delphine. We'll be flying several hundred feet in the air. You wouldn't want to slip off."

An indignant, muffled squeak was her only reply.

---

The General was twitching, regaining consciousness, and Dante breathed a sigh of relief that came from the heart. Tullius was a brilliant strategist, even if he was a stickler for rules and orders, and he would be needed very soon. Dante knew stealth; he knew how to get into places and out again unseen, and while he often offered advice based on the knowledge at his disposal, he also was smart enough to realize he was woefully ignorant about how to move armies around. For that, he needed Tullius.

He dipped a cloth in some cold water melted from the snow outside his small cave and placed it on the General's forehead. Tullius opened his eyes.

"Where…?"

Dante shushed him. "Don't speak, General," he advised. "And don't try to get up. You still have an arrow in your chest."

"My men…"

"Gone, I'm afraid," Dante told him. "Ambushed by the Thalmor. I barely managed to get you out of there unseen."

Tullius stirred restlessly. "I need…to get…up, I…need to…report…"

Dante gently pushed him back on the pallet of dried grass and leaves he'd manage to scavenge from the cave floor. This must have been an animal den at one time. He hoped said animal wouldn't return too soon.

"You need to lie still, General," Dante hissed. "And you need to be quiet. I don't know if the Dominion has sent out patrols to look for you, but let's not make it easy for them, alright?"

Tullius glared at him, as best as he was able in his condition.

"You're enjoying…this, aren't you…Greyshadow?"

"Not particularly," Dante shrugged, as he gave the General a few sips of water from his flask. "It wasn't my idea to come back to Cyrodiil under armed guard. I might have been able to slip through the Dominion ambush unseen. You were the one who insisted on the escort."

"Hindsight…is always better…looking back," the General admitted. "You've had…your pound of flesh."

Dante blew out a breath. "Look, I'm not criticizing…not really. You were following orders." He gave a wry chuckle. "My grandfather can be very…inflexible…on some matters."

"So, what now?" Tullius demanded weakly. "You can't carry me…all the way to the Imperial City."

"Gods, no!" Dante agreed. "I could rig some sort of pallet and drag you, I suppose. But I'd have to follow the main road for that, and that's just asking for trouble."

"Could we…make it to Bruma?" the General asked. He winced involuntarily as he attempted to shift to a more comfortable position.

"We'd be there by now if we could," Dante told him. "The last I saw, while you were out of it, Bruma was in flames, with several airships hovering above it."

Tullius groaned and closed his eyes. "How did…they get there…so fast?" he wondered.

"Probably came out of the Jeralls, from their hidden bases, as soon as they knew they'd taken out Fort Pale Pass," Dante surmised. "That's not important now. I need you on your feet, but you've got that arrow sticking out of you a little too close to your heart for my comfort."

"Can you do…Restoration magic?" the General inquired.

Dante nodded slowly. "I can. It's how I've kept you alive so far. But if I pull the arrow it might kill you."

"Then," Tullius frowned, "that's how I leave…this world. Otherwise…you'll have to…leave me, and try…to get to the Imperial City…on your own."

"Well, since you're still alive, that option's out," Dante grinned before sobering. He took a deep breath. "Alright, I'm no Master at the healing arts, but let's see if I can get you through this. Ready?"

Tullius nodded, and took as deep a breath as he was able. Dante took hold of the shaft as firmly as he could, readying the strongest healing spell he knew in his other hand. The elven arrowhead was designed to slice cleanly going in, but the slight flaring at the base of the head was guaranteed to cause more damage if pulled back out. Most arrowheads, in Dante's experience, were made that way.

At least it wasn't glass, Dante mused briefly. The winged heads on a glass arrow would have done considerably more damage, no matter which way it entered or exited.

Tullius was eyeing him steadily, waiting, and without warning, Dante pulled, then slapped his hand over the wound. Tullius gasped and lost consciousness again, and Dante poured everything he had into keeping the General alive. He hoped it would be enough.

An hour later, the General was still in this world, and Dante was feeling decidedly tapped out of magicka. He hadn't brought any extra potions with him, and most of his traveling gear had been on the horse he'd borrowed from Fort Neugrad. So were the trail rations he'd been given for the trip. His stomach growled in a most inelegant way, and unconsciously Dante rubbed his gut. He needed food. It was one of the better ways of restoring magicka quickly. But he didn't feel right about leaving the General here, alone and defenseless.

Creeping to the cave opening, he peered out. Night had descended while he had been tending to Tullius, and Dante gave a slight smile. The darkness suited him better, though he would still stick out like a sore thumb in his dark armor against the white snow-covered slopes. He had just enough magicka in him to fire off an Invisibility spell, since he couldn't call on Nocturnal's blessing again this day. Silently, he slipped out into the open and looked around.

It was quiet, and snow was softly falling around him, but in the distance, to the south, he could see the light of the fires from Bruma, and his face grew grim. There would be an accounting for this, Dante vowed. Of that there could be no doubt. The Dominion would pay for this egregious transgression and the breaking of the White Gold Concordat. He wondered if this was an isolated attack, or the first salvo of a coordinated assault against the Empire, and for a moment he deliberated contacting the Dragonborn for confirmation, but in the end decided against it. Something in his gut told him this was the moment they had all been preparing for, and he always trusted his gut.

A flash of movement caught his eye to his right, as a rabbit, as white as the snow, broke cover from a snowberry bush and darted across Dante's path. Without thinking, he made a grab for it, and to his surprise – as well as the rabbit's – he caught the snowhare by the scruff of the neck. It squeaked in protest, but Dante was hungry, and he knew the General would need food to further aid in his recovery. He broke the creature's neck and covered the distance to the snowberry bush, quickly stripping it of any ripe berries. Famished, he stuffed a handful into his mouth, enjoying the tart, crispness of the skins and the sweet juiciness of the pulp.

"He wasn't with the bodies," a voice not far away insisted. "I know. I looked."

Dante froze in place, hardly daring to swallow. Altmer voices, without a doubt, and far too close for comfort. He crouched behind the snowberry bush.

"Did you look under the top layer?" a second asked snidely, with amusement in their tone.

"Of course, I did!" the first one snapped. "Don't be insolent. I'm telling you: the General's body wasn't there. And neither was the Councilor's."

Dante's stomach dropped, and suddenly the berries tasted sour in his mouth. He forced himself to swallow anyway.

They knew I was in that group!

That could mean only one thing. There had to have been a spy at Fort Neugrad, getting information to the Dominion somehow. He filed that information away for future consideration. Right now, he had to get back to where Tullius lay, alone and vulnerable. He slunk back to the cave, covering his tracks as he went.

A fire would be out of the question, with Thalmor patrols in the area looking for them. Raw rabbit, on the other hand, was equally repulsive. The solution was to use his Flames spell in a tightly controlled manner to cook what little meat there was on the rabbit. The snowberries would have to be eaten raw. He paused frequently as he worked, keeping one ear tuned to the world outside and another on the Imperial lying nearby. When the General finally regained consciousness nearly two hours later, Dante warned him about the patrol he'd heard and left the cave to investigate further.

Footprints with the distinctive tread of elven-made boots covered the area to the south of the cave where he and the General were hiding, but fortunately it was hidden well enough in the underbrush that it had not been discovered. The patrol had moved on, but there was plenty of evidence to indicate they'd been looking for something – or rather, someone.

Two someones, apparently, the Guildmaster smiled wryly to himself, and took no chances, once more obliterating his footsteps in the snow before returning to share the meagre meal of 'mostly cooked' rabbit and raw snowberries with his companion before pressing more healing into the Imperial.

"I'm feeling better now, Greyshadow," Tullius admitted. "You have my gratitude."

"You're not well enough for a sustained march," Dante commented with a slight grin, "but we can't stay here forever."

"You said they mentioned both of us specifically?" Tullius demanded.

"That's what I heard," Dante confirmed.

"Then all our plans may be compromised," the General sighed. "I was afraid of this. Too many people know too much."

Dante shrugged. "It can't be helped now. If you can send a message to your daughter to watch her back, that'll be the best you can do for now. I'll give you a few minutes, but then we need to get moving."

The sky was lightening towards day, and the Guildmaster and the General had covered no more than a few miles, staying away from the main road to the west and keeping to the woods as they moved out of the foothills and down into the valley of the southern portion of County Bruma.

"We'll need to find a place to stop for the day," Dante decided.

"No," Tullius replied, shaking his head. "We keep moving. We have to get to the Imperial City!" But his face was looking grey, and Dante knew the man wasn't completely recovered.

"Traveling by night is our best chance to avoid the Dominion," the Gray Fox reminded the General.

"We can't waste a day in hiding," Tullius insisted, stubbornly. "I can see the White-Gold Tower from here. I don't want to watch it burst into flames! If we're ahead of the Dominion advance, we need to keep moving!"

Dante's mouth thinned to a grim line of disapproval, and he glanced around, almost instinctively, to take stock of their surroundings. Not far away the road from Bruma to the Imperial City cut through the heavy woods, and they could see refugees, singly and in groups, straggling miserably along, hoping to reach what, to them, was the security of the tall, marble walls of the Capital.

"Fine," Dante capitulated, blowing out a breath of exasperation. "Let's get over to the road, then, and join the queue. Perhaps we'll be less noticeable among the crowd."

"Says the man in his unique black armor, in the company of an Imperial General," Tullius snorted.

"I'm open to suggestion," Dante snapped impatiently.

Tullius put up his hands wearily, the fight gone out of him for the moment. "No, Greyshadow, you're right," he acquiesced. "The road will be quicker. We should be far enough away from Bruma by now. I'm sure the Dominion is going to ensure possession of the City before they make their next move. Maybe we can purchase a cloak or two from one of our fellow refugees. It will at least hide the armor from casual observers."

This was done, though it took quite a bit of haggling and persuasion on the part of both men to acquire said articles of clothing. Once done, they covered up and joined the throng of frightened, weary, bewildered and angry citizens fleeing the destruction of Bruma, and before noon, found themselves finally back in the Imperial City.

Dante insisted Tullius head to the Temple of the One for proper healing before reporting in to the Emperor. As he hurried to the White-Gold Tower himself, he wondered how the Alliance was going to turn this around. So much preparation and planning had been negated in one swift, fell stroke. But then, he reminded himself, that's how the Dominion has always operated.

---

Madanach strode into Lost Valley Redoubt and asked to see Matriarch Nadie. He could have just marched in and announced himself, but to some degree the Matriarchs outranked even the Reach King himself, and respect was never a bad way to maintain good relations. Besides, he had always been somewhat in awe of his older sister.

"I was just about to send for you, Maddy," Nadie greeted him. "Is Kaie with you? Or Tamsyn?"

"Kaie's in Markarth at the moment," Madanach informed her. "Tamsyn's in Whiterun last I heard. It's under attack. Markarth is mobilizing, but not threatened yet. Kaie's filling Essie in on everything that's happened so far."

"Everything escalated quickly," Nadie nodded. "You had no more than left for Bthardamz when we began getting reports of troop movements through the mountains."

"How could they have hidden so many?" Madanach wondered.

"The old-fashioned way," Nadie told him. "Apparently the Dominion has been using magic to assist in tunneling from one base to the next."

"We never saw any tunnels!" Madanach protested.

"You didn't go deep enough," Nadie chided him. "You and Kaie and Tamsyn shadow-walked through the mountains and searched for life auras pretty much on the same level as the airship bases. But the tunnels they used to move their people around descended deeply, down to the roots of those mountains."

Madanach swore softly in the Old language.

"Please, Maddy," Nadie protested, a pained expression on her face. "There are ladies present here."

"Sorry, Nadi," he apologized. "I'm just feeling very stupid at the moment. So, what happened to the airships?"

"They moved those out the same night you left," she replied. "I don't think they knew you were spying on them, though. It seems like it was a planned course of action."

"And they sent them on to Whiterun," Madanach clarified, "without stopping to take out Falkreath Hold? That's damned suspicious, if you ask me."

"I won't argue that point," his sister said. "But only a portion of the airships were sent on to Whiterun. A larger portion went south over the mountains."

"They went to Cyrodiil," Madanach nodded. "What's directly south of Falkreath in Cyrodiil?" he asked now. "You've had more education on geography than I ever did. What cities and towns are down there?"

"Bruma is the largest city, of course," Nadie replied. "It's the capital of County Bruma. But that's much farther east of the city of Falkreath, directly south of the Pale Pass. Then there's Chorral, the capital of County Chorral, which is more directly south of Falkreath town, but much further south than Bruma. It's situated in the Colovian Highlands."

"That Imperial that the Dragonborn and the Gray Fox rescued from the airship base – what was his name? Arias, that was it! He mentioned reports of strange lights and movements in the Colovian mountains. He was in the patrol sent to investigate, and found the Dominion had set up an outpost there. That's how he was captured and taken aboard the airship the Dragonborn captured."

"No doubt the Dominion will be launching their attacks on both Bruma and Chorral, then," Nadie surmised. "If you have a way to inform your allies, I would do so, if I were you. For now, however, what would you have us do? How can the Reachfolk assist the Alliance?"

"Send word around," Madanach ordered. "Convene at Fort Sungard. We still hold that, at least, and it is technically in the Reach. From there we can Portal to Whiterun."

"Where will you be?" his sister asked.

"I'm headed to Sky Haven Temple first," he replied. "Something – someone – I need to see, then I'm headed to Fort Sungard. Take care of yourself, Nadie." He hugged her tightly.

"You as well, little brother," she replied fondly, stroking his cheek with one taloned hand. "Come back to us."

The camp at Karthspire was a hive of activity when he got there, an hour later. He'd only had a little bit of trouble shadow-walking, as some of the denizens felt he was easy pickings at this time of night. Several disapparate spells from a fully trained Nightblade, and the most powerful Reach King in a century, taught them better manners and they kept their distance.

"Where's Maiara?" he asked a passing Pillager.

"At the top of the hill, my King," the woman saluted, hurrying off to assist in readying the camp to move out.

Maiara was pacing back and forth at the forge, directing her people in their preparations.

"No, not our usual arrows," she scolded. "They'll never do enough damage to a Dominion airship. Take the elven ones you've been forging. Might as well fight fire with fire, eh?" she cackled. "Madanach!" she exclaimed delightedly upon his approach. "The preparations are going well. We should be ready to move out within the hour."

"Where are the Blades?" Madanach asked. "I would have thought they'd be here, too." He gazed overhead. "And where are the dragons?"

Maiara went still. The Reachfolk around them milled about awkwardly and hurriedly found other things to do.

"You don't know, then?" she asked softly.

Madanach shook his head. "Know what? What's happened?"

"Come to my wickiup," she answered, pulling on his arm and guiding him down the stairs to the grotto where her alchemy lab and altar were located.

She found a stool and pulled it over, pushing him down onto it. "You'd better take this sitting down," she warned him, and told him of the events that had transpired at Sky Haven Temple earlier that evening.

"Iona just left here about an hour ago to head back up to the Temple and try to put things back in order," Maiara finished. "I'm sorry, my King," she added kindly. "I know you were…fond of Delphine."

Madanach's throat worked, but he managed to mutter huskily, "It doesn't matter. Have you…have you seen what will happen to her?"

Maiara's jet black eyes unfocused as she peered into the near future. "He won't kill her," she said finally, and the Reach King let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "But she will be incarcerated for the rest of her natural life," the Matriarch added. "She betrayed him, and she betrayed her Oath, and," she added, peering at her King keenly, "I think she betrayed you, too."

"We won't talk of this again, Maiara," Madanach said gruffly. "But…thanks."

An hour later the entire camp was on the move. Madanach had received one brief call from Balgruuf to alert the Alliance not to use the Portal at Dragonsreach, as it may have been captured. Then all was silent, and he could only assume the Nord ruler was too busy to communicate.

"Gods dammit!" Madanach cursed. "Might have been nice to port everybody over there in a few minutes. Now we're going to have to march all night!"

"It can't be helped, my King," Maiara soothed. "At least we can all shadow-walk to Fort Sungard. It's being held by a Briar-heart named Rikkard, if I remember correctly. His Matriarch passed away a few years back, and we've never gotten around to replacing her. But he keeps things in order there, so we've had no cause for complaint."

Rikkard was an imposing figure of a man, with chiseled pectorals and biceps as large as melons. He wore the traditional Reachfolk horned helmet and fur-and-feathers armor, but was quiet and soft-spoken. He treated Madanach with respect and deference, and offered him the hospitality of the top tower room.

"We won't be staying long, Rikkard," Madanach informed him. "How many warriors do you have here?"

Without asking why, Rikkard replied, "Not many. Maybe a couple dozen. Looters and pillagers, mainly. They're yours if you need them."

"I will," Madanach replied. "I'll need you, too."

Rikkard hesitated. "I'm to leave the Fort, my King?" he asked. "Matriarch Venassa charged me with its protection."

"Venassa's gone, Rikkard," Madanach said firmly. "I need you more than the Fort does."

"As my King commands," Rikkard nodded, placing a hand over his briar heart.

By the time the eastern sky was fading into the pale grayish-pink of a cold, Skyrim morning, Madanach's army had swelled to nearly a thousand restless Forsworn, all eager to do their part in helping defeat the Thalmor, and get their lands back. Madanach gave the word, and the entire regiment moved out with Madanach in the lead. Kaie had joined him with her battalion from Markarth.

"This had better be worth it," Madanach muttered under his breath, but Kaie heard him anyway.

"You have doubts, Da?"

"Until the Reach is ours once more, daughter," he replied, "and we can walk freely in our own land, I always have doubts."

They took few rest breaks, keeping to the road and moving as quickly as possible towards Whiterun. When they reached Fort Greymoor, they could see Dragonsreach in the distance, and the thick columns of black smoke that rose into the midday sky. Dominion airships hovered over the city, but Madanach couldn't see any dragons yet.

Damn her to Oblivion! he thought. They could have used them in this fight!

He held up a hand to halt the forward march and called out to those nearest to him. He knew his words would be carried back to the last of his people at the back of the throng.

"Alright, everyone, this is it!" he shouted. "Put aside whatever grievances you may have for Nords, Imperials or anything in between. Today we fight a common enemy. The Altmer consider us 'savages', and would see all of us dead. Spare none of them! We will show them what the word 'savage' truly means! Let's go!"

They moved forward once more, but this time they crouched and hid among the tall grasses, passing the Western watch tower and the outlying farms. The Dominion army had besieged the city, not just with their airships, but with a huge army of green and gold, dotted with black-robed Justiciars. Here and there were knots of mixed Imperial and Nord soldiers, desperately fighting to keep the enemy out of the city.

Madanach gave a hand signal, which was rapidly passed through his troops, and they spread out in a semi-circle surrounding the rear of the Dominion forces. Another signal, just as quickly passed, and the Reachfolk army surged forward to do battle with the Aldmeri army.

In the chaos of combat, the sound went unnoticed at first, but quickly the Thalmor soldiers realized the screaming they mistook for the sounds of dying Imperials and Nords was coming from behind them, rather than from the front. The rearward ranks were cut down before they could register that what they were hearing was not cries of pain and panic, but rather the ululations of unhindered savagery. A wave of arrows of elven make rained down on the middle ranks, and the Dominion commander, surrounded by a cadre of Justiciars, looked around, bewildered.

Several of the Justiciars turned to confront this new threat, coming face to face with hordes of fur-clad, painted-faced barbarians led by the most frightening daedra they'd ever seen. Bits of bone adorned his tunic and were braided into his silver hair. He wielded a sword of tusk and bone in one hand; in the other he carried a shield that bounced their spells right back at them, doing devastating damage. At his side, a female dervish, just as intimidating as he, was casually lobbing Destruction magic with one hand while fending off melee attacks with an axe made from the same materials as the demon-spawn's sword. Behind them loomed a mass of similarly armed and armored devils, and all of them were casting magic.

Unprepared for this, the Dominion ranks broke, and seeing this advantage, the Alliance army pushed back. The Justiciars, however, were not about to let victory slip from their grasp. Illusion spells flared, rallying the Altmer forces. One raised a horn to his lips and blew a series of notes into the smoke-hazed day. A second horn answered from somewhere further east, near the meadery, and the Dominion commander gave a satisfied smirk. Reinforcements were on the way!

Madanach was no fool. He correctly assumed the horn call was intended to bring up reserves.

"Kaie!" he called.

"I'm on it!" she answered, and strategically withdrew to command the ranks on the eastern flank.

Peering down the dusty road, with the smoke drifting down from the city, it was difficult to tell how many Dominion soldiers were coming to the aid of their fellows. But a gust of wind carried the smoke away with it, and Kaie could see there was nothing elf-like at all about the advancing army.

Glints of red, blue, purple and bronze sparkled through the haze in the midday sun, as a column of Alliance soldiers marched in tight formation up the road towards her position. Their commander resembled nothing more than a grizzled bear – indeed, his helmet was a bear's head, and the pelt draped down his back – and Kaie felt an immediate affinity for this intimidating figure. He roared something Kaie couldn't hear at this distance, over the cacophony around her, and his troops surged forward to join the battle.

The horn from the east blew again, but it was different this time. It was deeper and more guttural, and the Dominion commander frowned. Elven horns were high and clear; Imperial horns were brassy; Nordic horns – he gave a snort of derision. Nordic horns were animal parts, so how musical could they be?

A shadow passed over his head that was not an airship, and his stomach lurched. Looking up into the sun and shielding his eyes, he realized the truth. That was no horn he had heard. It was a dragon's roar!

---

[Author's Note: The Battle for Whiterun continues next time, and we find out what's going on in other parts of Tamriel. Marcus gets some unexpected good news, while down in the Imperial City, the past catches up to the Gray Fox.]