Chapter 8- The Magic of War
"The Arch-Mage will see you now," A beautiful young dark elf said as she opened the door for Burz. She had a sweet voice that flowed like golden honey from her blue lips. He had never thought much of other races, but he could admit to the beauty of this particular elf. But her hips couldn't bear the stress of birthing a true orc child, he thought. He could tell she was more eye candy than a mage. He walked up the stone steps to the Arch-Mage's office. It was a large, circular room with many lights and colors. He began to look for the mage in the expansive office.
"Hello? HELLO?" Burz called. He began looking in the alchemy garden that was growing in the middle of the room.
"Uh, over here Burz!" Said a high pitched voice from behind a bookshelf. A young (by elf standards) Dark Elf peeked his head out. His skin was dark, even for a Dunmer, and his hair was already a snowy white from numerous experiments gone awry. It stuck up like the bristles on a broom, almost as if waiting for the next explosion to push it back. He grinned as he took off a pair of goggles and strolled over to the orc. His eyes were the typical ruby red, and his face bore wrinkles around his mouth from the near constant smile he wore. "Hello old friend! How are you?"
"Brinyon, I am well, how are you? I noticed you got a new secretary?" Burz smiled.
"Ah, yes. Naphala. She is a very helpful young woman. Did you know I am the first Arch-Mage to hire a secretary? They are very helpful to have around you know." He said very quickly. He always spoke at a fast pace.
"Interesting. Well she is quite lovely for a Dunmer. So, any new projects?"
"I'm glad you asked! Tell me, if you have 75 gold pieces, and then get 25 more, how many gold pieces do you have?" He asked, with a smile.
"I'm not sure... 25 more than you had before?"
"Yes! But how would you know how many you have without counting them? I am looking into a new magic. The magic of numbers. Imagine the possibilities! You could do so much with numbers. I will call it... MOTH!" Brinyon said with a beaming grin.
"Brin... There is already an insect named 'moth'" Burz said, choking back a chuckle.
"Oh... I see... well... Then it shall be called... MATH!" He said with another grin.
"And what does math mean?"
"Well I am tired of boring names for magic. So unimaginative. Destruction destroys things, Alteration alters, blah blah blah. It's time for something more... fun! So if I am going to make an name a new kind of magic, I want it to be fun. So math it is! Math: The magic of numbers! The children will love it!" His eyes were full of joy, looking to the heavens as if the divines were speaking directly to him. "Speaking of children, have you and Ghorza thought of having any?"
"Well... Brin, we have been waiting until things settle down." Burz said in a gruff voice.
"Burz, the world will never stop turning. Well, it could, but with dire, dire consequences. Let's hope it doesn't. But I digress... metaphorically speaking, the world doesn't stop turning for any one. We have to do the best we can with what we are given." Brinyon said quickly. He had a habit of getting philosophical without intending to. Burz had a great respect for Arch-Mage Peron. He had a vast knowledge of not only magic, but of worldly things as well. He was also very helpful in a fight. He and Burz had been in more than a few tavern fights together in their youth.
"I'll get around to it, Brin. We have bigger fish to fry right now. How are the troops?" Burz said, dismissing the conversation about children.
"The students are doing well. For uncivilized Breton tribes, they are coming along quite well! They have all mastered basic ward spells and firebolt spells. None of them will be legendary on the battlefield I don't figure, but they will do their job," Brinyon said with a smile. He was clearly proud to see his college being a college again.
"As long as they provide us sword-slingers enough time to get close to the Altmer, I don't care how good they are." Burz said with a grin.
"Are we almost ready for this thing to start?"
"Yes, we are. Plans have been made to start the march by the end of the week. And our scouts have reported that the Dominion appears oblivious to any sort of plan."
"Are you ready for this, Burz? You have always been just another foot soldier. Now you are 2nd in command of the Imperial Army. That is quite a leap my friend." Brinyon's speaking had slowed down. He was worried.
"I will be fine. If all goes according to plan, this will be quick and easy. Shouldn't take more than a year. General Tullius devised a masterful plan that seems to be unfolding greatly in our favor." The two men looked at each other for a moment. The silent tension grew to sharp climactic knock on the door. The men shared confused looks. Brinyon had no other appointments scheduled for today. The young Dark Elf opened the door.
"Master Peron, there is a woman from the Aldmeri Dominion here to see you. Should I let hi..." Her words were cut short by a taller than normal High Elf that pushed her out of the way. She was very pale with equally pale hair. Her eyes were a fiery orange.
"Elenwen... I'm not sure why you are here... We agreed that since Ancano, there would be no more advisers..." Brinyon said nervously.
"We will get to why there is an orc soldier in your office in a minute. Tell me, Arch-Mage Peron, why is there suddenly a big interest in your college? Since the great flood, it has been a tiny blip here in Skyrim." She asked, her eyes burning into Brinyon.
"Well... I suppose I am just good at recruitment. Folks have heard all I have to offer.."
"Then why is 75% of your enrollment Breton tribesmen? Did you go to High Rock and some how civilize the savages and convince them to come pursue a higher knowledge?" She asked in a rather sarcastic tone.
"I... uh... Yes... The Bretons have always had an aptitude for magic. And the Nords here do not care for it. Bees must go to where the flowers are, you know."
"Then tell me, why did you not travel to Windhelm to recruit your kinsmen there? You know the Dunmer population has risen tremendously in the past several months."
"I... had no idea, madam."
"Don't be coy with me, Brinyon. I know you are not oblivious to the world like Savos was. Something strange is going on here. I want to know what is the sudden fascination with Eastern Skyrim? Tell me!" Her voice began to raise.
"I don't know what you mean, Madam Elenwen... Winterhold is just a very promising school for the Arcane arts.." Brinyon said, his high pitched voice began to shake.
"Then tell me, why is this orc here? I know this slime can't do more than a fire spell!"
"He is just an old friend. We have been catching up."
"You look familiar to me, orsimer. Where have I seen you?" Her eyes squinted as her fiery gaze shifted to Burz. They had met twice before. Last was at the Thalmor Embassy when Delphine had asked him to do recon work. The time before that was at the chopping block in Helgen.
"I do not know that I know you, madam. I am just a simple orc tribesman." Burz lied. He had gotten good at lying, but this woman was an interrogator.
"And where would a master wizard such as Arch-Mage Peron meet a 'simple orc tribesman'" She ask with a snarl.
"He was young once. He wasn't always such a master wizard. We were born around the same time and place. It didn't take long for two young adventurers to meet." Burz said with a slight smile. He saw something move in the corner of his eye. He refused to look over. He didn't want to break gaze with Elenwen. She would think he was lying if he did.
"I see... And where about were you two born then?" A smirk was growing on her face. Did she enjoy interrogating so much?
"He was born in the town of Anvil. His parents were dock workers. They had fled the eruption of the Red Mountain. I was born an afternoons walk to the north. My father had built a small farm there. He had been exiled from our clan. He was something of a thief." Burz spoke slowly. The movement was making its way behind Elewen.
"I see. That is all very touching. But I know I have seen your face before orc, and I want to know where." Her voice grew louder as her smirk grew fainter.
"I've never seen you before." He said calmly.
"Do not lie to me, where do I know you!"
"You do not know me," Burz could feel his Thu'um. He had to hide it.
"Tell me now, or I'll have you executed!"
"You do not know me, I swear!"
"Tell me n..." Her voice fell silent and her body swayed, then crumpled to the ground leaving nothing but a hooded reptilian figure in front of the old friends. The Argonian winked, picked up the body, and said "They will find her in Hammerfell," and sprinted off. The two men looked at each other in disbelief. Phase one of the plan would have to start soon.
"I'll send word to General Rikke... You gather up the half of the Bretons and send them East to Hammerfell. I'll get a Currier to move that way to alert them. The Empire's freedom is at hand, Brin, promise me we will have mead together when this is over.." Burz's heart was racing, and his speech was frantic.
"I promise, old friend. Now go!"
Burz rushed out of the island of a college and down to the city of Winterhold. He found his horse and galloped to the south toward Windhelm. His mind was racing. The war had just begun. It could not be taken back. This would mark a new chapter in his life; one that he felt woefully unprepared for. A year ago he was drinking up all the ale in Markarth trying to forget war, and now he was plunged back into it.
"Elenwen is dead? How did this happen?" The new general asked.
"Our friend from the Brotherhood assassinated her. Right in front of Arch-Mage Peron and me. She said she would take the body to Hammerfell for us. I'm not sure how, but she knew our plan." Burz said with heavy breaths. He had ran straight to the Grey Quarter to alert General Rikke.
"I am glad they are on our side I suppose," she half whispered.
"I'm glad their 'mother' has never called for our heads." Burz retorted. "We must begin the first phase of Tullius's plan. I've already ordered Brinyon to move the Breton troops. We need to send word to the Redguards at once, General."
"I know, I know. Go to the Currier's office at once. Send word that phase one has begun. Tell them to expect the Bretons by the end of the week. Alert the guard at Solitude. Tell them to begin moving east. Ambarys and I will rally the Dunmer and head to Riften. Once the Currier is off, go to Odahviing and bring the dragons to Riften. From there we will ship off." The General's voice was somber but sure. Burz was confident in her leadership.
"Yes sir!" He left her at once to send word that the war had begun. Rikke ran up the wooden stairs, skipping steps in her haste.
"Ambarys! It's time! Mobilize the troops!" She yelled as she ran. The Dark Elf had been reading more letters from Cyrodiil, pledging allegiance to him once they reached the mainland. He threw the letters down and without a word he joined the General. They began running through the city, alerting the townsfolk. The troops gathered their things and prepared to march. In minutes the dark sleeping city had a hum of activity. Men kissing their wives goodbye, children begging them to stay. The soldiers tried to hide their terror as they passed empty promises of safe return. Horses were stirring. The citizens of Windhelm helped the Dunmer as they prepared to depart. A number of the Nord men packed their own armor and horses to join the fight.
Within the hour the city glowed with torchlight. The troops were ready to march. Burz had already set off to the Throat of the World. General Rikke stood in front of her rag-tag army for the first time as their leader. Ambarys was by her side, donning the traditional bone armor of Morrowind. She gave the order to march. To her, everything sounded faint and distant. Her body felt limp and numb, but her movements were bold and firm. They moved through the night like a cloud of light. Quick and silent. As they left, all that was left behind were the families. Thousands of Dunmer had answered the call. The city walls had expanded to twice their size, and were still bulging. Now the city was virtually empty, save for the women and children left behind. Jarl Brunwulf stood on the steps of the Palace of Kings and watched as his city emptied and grew dark once more. "Blessings of Talos to you all." He muttered as he walked back in his palace and to his bed. He would not sleep well for a while, he thought.