Chapter 44
Betrayal
Telepe and Edanu traded concerned looks as Belona closed her eyes and groaned in pain. As Tari slathered an herbal salve onto her fingers and began rubbing it on her wounds, Edanu crouched down and took Belona's face in his hands, then gently lifted her head up to look at him.
"Stay awake," he said in a soft but firm voice. "Tell me, who is attacking Sancre Tor?"
Belona shook her head. "I… do not know," she whispered, wincing as Tari's small fingers brushed against one of the bleeding cuts. "It's an Ayleid army, but they're accompanied by strange beings. Women made of flame, statues of frost, towering golden creatures carrying great axes… it is an army from a nightmare."
"Did you recognize the design on their shields?" Telepe pressed.
"No!" Belona snapped. "I was scouting in the forest around Sancre Tor, and when I returned, I saw the army besieging the city. Since I knew that the rest of our army was in Skyrim, I fled north on my horse. I had no time to see who was attacking the city, as I was more concerned with finding you first. When my horse died of exhaustion the next day, I continued traveling on foot, but I suppose the Ayleids spotted and followed me, as they attacked me when I was almost through the pass. There must have been over two hundred of them chasing me, and I was certain that I would be killed. That was when your scouts found me…."
Edanu nodded, then put his hand on the girl's shoulder. "I see. Say no more. You did well, my dear. Rest now." He looked up and turned to one of his hoplites, adding, "Fetch a healer from Falkreath and ask them to tend to this girl. We shall not allow her to perish now, not after all she's done." When the woman nodded and hurried off, he then turned to Pasare. "Where is Whitestrake? He was with you, was he not?"
"He was," Pasare nodded with a frown. "However, he insisted that we take Belona to Falkreath while he stayed behind to fend off the Ayleids. We protested, but he demanded that we leave him. I… do not know what became of him."
"Then we haven't a moment to waste," Edanu said, straightening up and dusting off his leather skirt. "Hoplites! We march! Quickly now!"
The centurions repeated the order to their centuries as Edanu turned back to Tari and motioned for her to speak with him. As close as he was, he could hear her ask, "Will Belona survive?"
Tari glanced briefly at the woman still laying on the ground, then murmured in reply, "She is in poor condition, but I have seen men live through worse. Her wound aside, exhaustion and exposure are the most pressing issues. If she is brought somewhere warm and a healer watches over her while she rests, she should recover."
"Very well. Then we shall leave it in the hands of Falkreath's healers," Edanu said. "Finish treating her wounds as swiftly as you can. We'll have need of you."
"As… you say," Tari murmured, casting a concerned look back at Belona. It was clear to Telepe that she wanted to look after Belona personally, but she also knew that Sancre Tor was of greater importance than the life of one scout. Still, she did not step away from her until an elderly Nordic man approached her and asked her to explain what had happened so that he properly treat her injuries. They quickly conversed with each other in low voices, and then the man smiled and put a warm hand on her shoulder with a nod. Tari smiled in return, then hurried over to Telepe, who mounted Emero and hoisted her onto the horse's back behind him. Once she was settled, he spurred his horse after Edanu, following the legate at a trot.
The army set off at a hard pace towards the mountains, with the centurions bellowing at the men to spur them on. While they weren't quite moving at a jog, their marching speed was significantly faster than a normal walking pace. That, combined with the steep incline of the mountains, would tire the men quickly, but they had little choice. Though Pelinal was a magnificent warrior, Telepe doubted that he was truly invincible, and neither he nor Edanu wanted to be the one who had to tell Perrif that her champion had fallen.
Fortunately, though it was a cool morning, it was not unbearably cold, and the wind was relatively calm. In fact, the brisk air was almost a blessing, as it encouraged the men to move quickly to keep warm, though it was not so cold that frostbite was a danger. Under normal circumstances, the journey could have been almost pleasant, Telepe mused bitterly as worry gnawed at his stomach.
"Where did you and Pelinal part ways?" Edanu asked Pasare when they were halfway up the mountain slope.
"We encountered the Ayleids near this end of the bridge," Pasare answered breathlessly. "It took us roughly two hours to return to Falkreath from where we were. I would imagine that Pelinal is likely still there."
"Very good. Then we can hurry without worrying about exhausting the men too much," Edanu said stiffly, before nudging his horse forward at a quicker pace. The centurions, seeing this, ordered their men into a jog.
"What of the army that was pursuing Belona?" Telepe asked, leaning over Emero slightly so that he could murmur to Pasare. When she frowned at him, he added, "Belona mentioned that there seemed to be daedra besieging Sancre Tor. Did you notice anything of the sort among those that were pursuing her?"
Pasare tilted her head thoughtfully, then shook her head. "From what little I saw, those chasing her seemed to be Ayleids alone," she replied. "That does not mean that there weren't daedra, mind you, but I believe their party was nothing but elven scouts. That's part of the reason why I did not protest when Pelinal told us to ride ahead. I presumed that he could hold off a few dozen elves."
"A few dozen?" Telepe asked, raising an eyebrow. "Belona suggested that there were hundreds."
"She was frightened and delirious," Pasare pointed out. "Rest assured, it was a large scouting party, but I doubt there were more than a hundred."
"As you say," Telepe said slowly, straightening up once again. However, he still felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Tari seemed to notice his uneasy expression, and she tugged gently on the back of his cloak.
"You needn't fret," she said softly in his ear. "Have some faith in Pelinal's abilities."
Telepe smiled bitterly back at her. "With him, I always presume the worst. I don't doubt his ability to defeat a handful of mer. What I fear is if he falls into madness once more and pursues the Ayleids to the gates of Sancre Tor."
Tari's face went pale as she realized what he was suggesting, and her fingers tightened in his cloak. "I… trust that he would restrain himself," she said softly.
"Truly? Has he ever shown restraint?" Telepe pointed out. Tari looked away and didn't answer.
As they ascended higher into the mountains, the army slowly became enveloped by a thick layer of fog that obscured their vision. After ten more minutes of climbing, Telepe could hardly see thirty feet ahead of him, though since there was only one path, it wasn't as though there was any danger of getting lost. He was far more concerned that they might accidentally stumble over a hidden crevice or slip on a patch of ice – or worse, they might encounter the Ayleids ahead without any warning or time to prepare. As such, Telepe began riding with his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, while the other gripped Emero's reins so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
After several tense minutes of climbing, Telepe began to hear sounds echoing in the distance. They were faint at first, but as they pressed on, the unmistakable clash of metal on metal – and then the cries and screams of warriors fighting – reached Telepe's ears. Though he still couldn't see who was fighting, or where, he could clearly hear the maniacal, bloodthirsty laughter of Pelinal. A wave of relief swept over him upon realizing the knight was still alive, but dread quickly followed, as he wondered if the knight was still lucid, or if he had indeed once more surrendered to madness.
Even so, he and Edanu rode forward, drawing their swords as they did. Thornir and Vrage rode close behind them, and then the Nordic warriors at the front of the column, led by their jarls, followed after. Telepe's began hammering anxiously as they advanced through the fog, until finally they could see standing Pelinal in the center of a grisly scene.
The knight lingered near the entrance of the stone bridge in one of the narrowest parts of the pass, where no more than three men could stand shoulder-to-shoulder comfortably. Pelinal had drawn his sword and shield, with the mace that he typically favored hanging from his belt. He stood half-crouched in a defensive stance, with his shield raised and the flaming blade resting on one of the edges, ready to strike anyone foolish enough to draw near.
At the edges of the fog, Telepe could just make out a trio of Ayleids, though he could hear more lurking deeper in the pass. The three that he could see seemed to be struggling to approach Pelinal, as though they were having difficulty keeping their balance while climbing over something. At first, Telepe wondered if there were boulders impeding their progress, but as they drew a bit closer, he realized that the elves were clambering over the corpses of other Ayleids that Pelinal had already slain. Telepe counted five bodies lying just in front of Pelinal, and he was certain that several more were strewn about deeper in the fog. A quarter-inch layer of blood coated the ground, and the walls surrounding the knight were dyed a deep red. Pelinal himself was coated in viscera – his pure white tabard and silver mail were stained crimson, his sword dripped with gore, and he had removed his helmet – likely to see better in the fog – revealing that even his snowy white hair had turned brown from all the blood.
The three Ayleids finally managed to climb over their fallen comrades, whereupon they raised their weapons and cautiously approached Pelinal, who chuckled darkly and stepped forward to meet them. One Ayleid hesitated and jabbed tentatively at the knight. Pelinal mercilessly knocked the elf's blade aside with a vicious backhanded swing, which made the mer slam his hand into the wall and cry out in pain. A second Ayleid tried to exploit Pelinal's apparent opening by cleaving downwards with his axe. Pelinal raised his shield and caught the blow on its rim, then slammed it into the mer's face, stunning him. The first Ayleid once again tried to swing at him, but Pelinal shoved his blade into the warrior's body, piercing through his bronze armor as though it was cloth. The Ayleid inhaled sharply in pain and slumped over on Pelinal's sword. As the third Ayleid charged at him, Pelinal flung the first elf's body into his path, making the Ayleid stumble and lose his balance. Pelinal yanked his sword free of the corpse and decapitated the other elf with a single strike, before turning back to the final elf and slamming his face with the shield once more. This time, the Ayleid's neck cracked as his head snapped backwards, and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Pelinal spared them a moment's glower before raising his weapons again, daring the other elves to face him as well.
"Fools! Do not engage him, I said!" cried a voice deeper in the pass. "Archers! Loose!"
A twang of bows echoed through the mountains, and a dozen arrows suddenly shot out of the fog. Pelinal ducked behind his shield, and the bolts rebounded harmlessly off its surface. A few might have pierced his legs, but his mail was impervious to the bronze points, and they slid across his shins before harmlessly clattering along the ground.
"Come! Come, cowards!" Pelinal bellowed, his furious voice resounding off the walls. "By my count, I've already felled seventy of you! The day is still young! I can easily slay a hundred of you if you'll allow me!"
"Do not engage him!" the authoritative voice at the back repeated. "He is only one man! Push past him!"
"Oh, indeed, try once more! You've been so successful thus far!" Pelinal cackled. Even from almost directly behind him, Telepe could tell he was grinning madly. "Know that I shall hold this bridge until the next age if I must! But come, do not let that deter you!"
"Come now, Whitestrake, that's hardly fair," Edanu remarked, his voice ringing off the stone walls of the pass. Pelinal stiffened and quickly glanced over his shoulder to see the army standing behind him. "We have an army of thousands eager for elven blood. Leave some for us to cut down."
"Gods take you… retreat!" the Ayleid commander cried.
"But my lord-!" another voice protested.
"We have already failed. There is no reason for us to lose our lives here," the first voice stated firmly. "Fall back!"
In the distance, Telepe could hear heavy footsteps pounding down the stone path away from them. Pelinal slowly lowered his shield and exhaled, then shook his head furiously in a vain attempt to clear some of the blood from his face.
"Go on then, cowards! Flee!" Pelinal roared after them, banging his sword against his shield as their footsteps faded into the distance. He stared after the fleeing elves for a moment longer, then turned towards Edanu. "You certainly took your time," he growled.
"We only just received your message a short time ago," Edanu stated gruffly. "We would have come sooner had we known."
"And the girl?" Pelinal asked.
"Wounded, but Tari believes she shall recover," Edanu replied. Pelinal nodded once, seeming satisfied. Telepe then felt someone brush past his shoulder, and he shifted slightly to allow King Vrage and his jarls to wander forward, all with expressions of awe on their faces.
"This… you alone did all this?" Vrage asked softly as he walked past Pelinal as though in a daze, his eyes trailing slowly along the carnage.
"Not all of them. Our scouts felled one or two," Pelinal replied absently as he glared at his sword, then swung it in a short arc at the ground to remove some of the blood clinging to it.
"How many…?" one of Vrage's jarls asked as he stopped just short of the pool of blood staining the floor of the pass.
"In truth, I lost count after sixty," Pelinal shrugged. "It does not matter. So long as even one yet lives, my task is not finished."
The jarls traded looks of utter disbelief, and behind them, the Nordic warriors in the front row began whispering to each other.
"Surely one man could not have held this pass alone," one woman whispered.
"Not unless he was blessed by Kyne herself," another murmured.
"Or Shor, perhaps," a third voice remarked.
"No… he must be the avatar of Shor himself!" yet another voice exclaimed. "Yes! At long last, Shor has returned to us!"
At that, Pelinal suddenly rounded on the Nords, his bright blue eyes wide with fury. Telepe's heart stopped. He remembered that look – it was the same look of unbridled rage that he had given Plontinu shortly before he had slain the man for his blasphemy.
Edanu must have sensed the danger as well, and he slipped between Pelinal and the Nordic army. "Whitestrake, please-!" he began.
Pelinal put his hand on Edanu's shoulder and shoved him aside as he stalked towards the Nords. Telepe could see the knight's hand shaking on his sword, and he feared that Pelinal was about to turn his blade on their allies. The knight stopped a few feet from the army and slowly turned his glare on each of them in turn, his expression livid. Every Nord shrank away as his gaze swept over them. When every eye was fixed on him and all was silent, he tilted his head back and coughed deep in his throat, then suddenly spat at their feet.
"That is the last time I shall permit such blasphemies to pass your lips unchallenged!" Pelinal bellowed, his voice ringing off the cliffs surrounding them. "If you value your lives, speak no more of Shor, or any of the gods, in my presence! I shall gladly slay the elves alongside you, but I shall not suffer any who dare profane the names of the Aedra! Those who defy my warning shall meet the same fate as these elves! Now, be silent and march. We've a long way yet until we reach Sancre Tor."
With that, Pelinal spun on his heel and stepped over the Ayleid corpses, acting as though they were little more than stones in his way. The Nords traded wary looks with each other and began muttering to one another. Telepe, meanwhile, slowly exhaled as his heart began beating again. He was grateful that Pelinal had shown a great deal of restraint, at least by his standards. He had seriously feared that Pelinal was about to rampage through the Nords, cutting down any who had dared compare him to Shor. Perhaps he too saw the value of preserving their friendship with Skyrim, or perhaps Perrif's desire to ally with them was more important than his own hatred of those that spoke so casually about the gods. Telepe supposed it didn't matter, though, so long as the alliance was intact.
Pelinal marched at the head of the army as the wind howled off of the walls of the pass, masking their heavy footsteps as they traversed the bridge. Dozens of Ayleid corpses littered the trail for several hundred feet, their bodies and blood making the path slick and difficult to traverse. Emero nearly lost his footing once or twice, though thankfully he managed to keep himself steady enough to keep from throwing his riders. Even after they had passed the last elven corpse, the army trailed blood behind them for quite a ways, until the snow finally washed their boots clean.
Pelinal's brief skirmish with the Ayleids seemed to spur the army on, and the men marched at a fairly swift pace without much prompting from the centurions. Telepe did not think that anyone truly doubted Belona's message that Sancre Tor was under siege, but the fact that they had personally seen Ayleids pushing into Skyrim made her warning far more tangible. If hundreds of Ayleids had managed to travel that far from Cyrod, the situation in Sancre Tor must indeed be dire. Telepe even began to wonder if the city had already fallen. He knew that the city's walls were strong enough to hold for weeks against a siege, and that the garrison they had left behind was more than sufficient to stand against even a sizable army, but he couldn't help but worry all the same.
Though the army pushed themselves tirelessly for most of the day, eventually exhaustion began to set in, and their pace slowed. The sun began setting before they were out of the pass, and when it was halfway past the horizon, Edanu abruptly brought his horse to a stop and stared silently down the length of the canyon. He seemed conflicted, and Telpee could see that he was weighing whether to push the men through the night, or trust that Sancre Tor had not yet fallen and allow them a brief rest. He stood for several long moments as the column waited, and then he finally sighed and turned to the men.
"Make camp!" he barked. His order was repeated down the line, and though most of the men silently complied, Telepe could hear a few sighs of relief. Privately, he felt it was a wise decision. Even if they marched through the night to reach Sancre Tor, the men would likely be too exhausted to fight. Of course, this was assuming that the city didn't fall before they arrived. Edanu was putting a great deal of faith in the strength of the city, and grateful as he was for the brief rest, Telepe could hardly sleep. When they broke camp before the sun rose the next morning, he felt as though he had only truly rested for about an hour or two, as his fears had kept him awake for most of the night.
Though the night had been far from comfortable, the respite seemed to rejuvenate the men. They set out at a quick pace the next morning, all traces of fatigue gone. Anxiety likely played a role in their tireless pace, particularly for the hoplites and mercenaries that had lived in Sancre Tor for the last several months. Even in that short amount of time, the city had become a home to many of them, and the friends they had made who were still in the city were no doubt praying for their arrival. Those thoughts were enough to drive them tirelessly onwards, despite the hard pace.
By midmorning, the army had exited the pass and were pushing through the southern Jerall Mountains. It seemed that the weather had warmed in the past week, as much of the snow that they had struggled through on the journey into Skyrim had melted. As the paths were now clear, they were able to descend quickly. Shortly after noon, those at the head of the army rounded a final mountain and found themselves staring down into the valley where Sancre Tor lay.
Though the city was a quarter mile below them, Telepe could plainly just how dire a situation the city was in. Sancre Tor was surrounded on all sides by a mass of bronze, strewn across the land in front of the city like golden mold. Though he couldn't be certain of the precise number, Telepe suspected that the army surrounding the city easily numbered in the thousands.
"It seems that our foes are dead-set on capturing our city," Edanu remarked quietly as he stared at the army swarming below them. "I've never seen the Ayleids field such a large army."
"Yes… but what concerns me is how they gathered that many warriors," Telepe murmured. Edanu glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as he explained, "Supposedly, the lands at least as far south as the borders of Hrotanda are allied with us, yes? How, then, did our foes manage to march an army of that size this far north?"
Edanu went pale as King Vrage sidled up next to them. "That is worrying, but right now, it is also irrelevant. What matters now is that we hurry down there and break the siege."
"Yes, of course," Edanu agreed, turning to the king, while Telepe continued to chew on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "Fortunately, it does not seem as though the walls have been breached, so we have a bit of time to prepare. How would you like to arrange your forces?"
"My warriors favor a powerful first strike against the enemy, inflicting as much damage as possible before forming a shield wall and attacking with as much fury as we can muster," Vrage explained. "To that end, I believe that we should serve as the vanguard. Your hoplites move more slowly, but seem to provide a stable foundation for pitched battles. Once my men have softened the enemy, we shall withdraw, whereupon you should send in your heavy infantry to maintain the pressure upon them. While you attack their center, my warriors shall focus their efforts upon the enemy's flanks. Our combined efforts should break them, especially if the men manning the walls are also attacking them from behind at the same time."
"That is a sound plan," Edanu nodded. "Very well. Scouts!" he added, turning to the small contingent of skirmishers hovering nearby. "Would you be so kind as to find us a relatively flat plain so that we can assemble our men?"
The scouts nodded and took off down the slope with the army following close behind. As the mass of men descended, Telepe could see some of the mer pointing at them. They were too far away to hear anything, but he imagined that they were shouting warnings, and gradually, most of the bronze mass in the valley began pulling away from the city to face the oncoming army instead.
Pasare and the other scouts led the human warriors to a flat patch of ground at the north end of the city. Edanu began roaring for his centurions to get the men into formation, while the Nordic jarls approached Vrage to quickly discuss their strategy. When they finished, the Nord nobles positioned their men at the front and wings of Edanu's hoplites, who had assembled into a deep phalanx at the center of the massive formation. To keep out of the way as the men maneuvered, Telepe rode Emero to the top of a flat rock formation, giving him a decent vantage point to see how the men were arranging themselves. It was strange watching the juxtaposition of human cultures, as the Nords clad in their fur and leather screamed furiously at the elves, while the bronze-clad hoplites in the center of the formation remained silent, patiently waiting for their centurions to give them their orders.
In the time that it had taken the human army to assemble, the Ayleids had managed to get their own men into line. Some of the mer continued to harass the city's defenders with arrowfire, ensuring that Sancre Tor's garrison couldn't sally out to attack them from behind, while the rest turned to face the newly arrived human forces. As the mer pulled away from the chaos of the siege battle to assemble their lines, Telepe slowly began to realize something that made his blood run cold.
At first, Telepe had assumed that the army was little different from any other they had faced until now – mainly spear-wielding infantry, supported by archers and cavalry, with perhaps a few mages to provide magical support. Indeed, this army likewise largely consisted of elven warriors. However, as the chaos of the siege subsided slightly and the Ayleids began to form into an orderly formation, he began to notice other beings in the army. Behind their spear-wielding infantry lurked two full lines of the empty armor that he recognized as Meridia's personal daedra, and behind them was a third line comprised entirely of red-armored dremora, snarling and brandishing their volcanic blades at the human army. The flanks of the army were defended by huge golems that seemed to be composed of swirling rock interspersed with flashes of lightning, and further back stood humanoid monstrosities made entirely of ice or flame. A dozen mages, clad in white robes and carrying wooden staves capped with aqua-colored Welkynd stones, hovered behind the rest of the army, precariously positioned out of range of both the archers on Sancre Tor's walls and the new army's own skirmishers and scouts. The stones on their staves glowed brightly as they chanted to themselves, preparing spells for the impending battle.
"That… is not good," Telepe murmured to Tari, who glanced up at him with a frown. "We have not yet faced an army that relied so heavily upon magic, whether it be summoned daedra or mages themselves. Even one daedra or mage could fell dozens of our warriors. To see so many of them in one army…."
"I wonder if Umaril did indeed receive the daedra he wished from Meridia," Tari murmured in return.
"Quite. And I also fear that these daedra are not all that Meridia granted him," Telepe sighed. "I suspect that this is simply what he felt he would need to conquer Sancre Tor, as there's no reason to commit all of his forces just to capture one city, even one as important as this. It's likely that he has many more in reserve."
"Well, then it's fortunate for us Umaril seems to have underestimated how sturdy Sancre Tor's defenses are," Tari replied with a slight smile. That faded a moment later as she nodded back to the battle. "So what are we to do?"
Telepe frowned as he looked to his right, where the cavalry was forming up. "For now, we should join them," he said, nudging Emero forward. "We've few enough horses as it is, so I doubt they would turn away two more riders."
"Mm. That, and you have no desire to join the phalanx, do you?" Tari asked pointedly.
"After the Battle of the Blackwood?" Telepe replied, shuddering at the memory. "Never again. I still have nightmares about it."
"I can't disagree with that, at least," Tari murmured as they approached the other horsemen. Telepe noted that most of the cavalry comprised of Nords, who were sitting astride heavy horses with hairy shins that Telepe had never seen before. They seemed slower than Cyrod's breeds, but he had no doubt that they were hardier and could plow through enemy lines more easily once they built up enough speed. The Nords eyed Telepe and Tari curiously as they wandered over, and Telepe was beginning to feel uncomfortable under their almost disapproving gazes, until a familiar figure waved at them.
"I was wondering if you were going to join us," Reili grinned, nudging his roan horse over to meet them. Beside him, Golbrom sat astride his own grey horse, staring at the army ahead of them. "Are you certain you shouldn't stay out of this battle? The Paravant won't be pleased, after all, if she loses both her emissary and one of her few mages in one fell swoop."
Telepe raised an eyebrow at the knight though he smirked good-naturedly in reply. "This is hardly our first battle," he pointed out, his voice far more confident than he felt. "Nor is it nearly as perilous as the Battle of the Blackwood was."
"Are you certain?" Golbrom asked grimly, nodding to the Ayleid army. "This is the largest army we've yet faced, and I've never seen so many daedra."
"Enough. All that stands before us is an enemy waiting to be felled," a gruff voice interjected. "Nothing more or less. If it can be slain, we shall slay it. Yes?"
Golbrom glanced to his right as a large figure sitting astride a heavy brown stallion approached them. He inclined his head a she replied, "As you say, Jarl."
The man nodded, then turned his attention to Telepe, who took a moment to size the jarl up. He seemed slightly shorter than Telepe, but he was much heavier, and it was clear that most of his mass was sheer muscle. Only a few features were visible under his thick iron helmet, but Telepe could see a lined face with brown eyes and a thick brown beard poking out from the bottom of his helm. His body was protected by a heavy cuirass made of sewn iron plates, similar to the one worn by King Vrage. As the jarl rode towards them, the wind caught his yellow cloak, and Telepe caught sight of an ornate horse head sewn onto it in green thread.
"You are the Paravant's emissary, yes?" the jarl asked gruffly. "You would ride with us?"
"We would, if you would have us," Telepe replied, squeezing Tari's shoulder with one hand as he gripped the reins with the other.
The jarl considered him for a moment, then shrugged. "It is not my place to tell a man whether or not to fight," he said indifferently. "If you can ride, you are welcome. Now then!" he added, raising his voice to address his troops, who turned to face him. "Our objective is simple. While the infantry engages the elves, we shall ride past their flanks and strike them from behind. We shall focus our efforts upon the mages, as they are both our deadliest foes, and the most vulnerable."
"If I may?" Telepe asked. The jarl raised an eyebrow at him, clearly irritated at being interrupted, but he reluctantly motioned for Telepe to speak. "I know a spell that can silence mages for a short time, and Tari can disrupt their lines with flame and lightning. If, before we strike them, you would allow us a moment to cast our spells, we could throw the enemy into chaos, likely minimizing the damage we would otherwise take."
"I see," the jarl said thoughtfully, looking away for a moment to consider it. "Very well. I shall allow it," he stated a moment later. Though he didn't smile, his tone indicated that he was pleased with the suggestion. "As for the rest of you, do not hold back. Strike these elves with the fury of a storm and show them that the warriors of Skyrim and Cyrod do not fear the petty tricks of a few mages!"
The rest of the cavalry let out a sharp shout of agreement, which Tari echoed bloodthirstily. Telepe, however, remained silent, instead eyeing the enemy lines to see if there was a gap that they could exploit. To his dismay, it seemed that the Ayleids were fighting in an unusually solid shield wall, a far cry from the scattered formations that the Paravant's hoplites had decimated easily until now. Either they were commanded by a general who could force an unusual degree of cooperation from the egotistical Ayleids, or they were learning from their defeats and starting to copy the phalanx after seeing how effective it was. Either way, Telepe feared that Golbrom may be right – this battle would not be easily won.
Once both sides had finished forming up, there was a brief lull as the two sides stared at each other from across the battlefield. The Nords continued screaming vile curses at the elves, while the Ayleids in turn shouted personal challenges at their opponents, daring them to duel when they met. The taunting proceeded for several minutes as Telepe waited uneasily on Emero's back, swaying slightly as the horse shifted nervously from side to side. Then, suddenly, a brassy note from Vrage's hunting horn resounded across the field, signaling the opening moves of the battle.
As the horn's note died off, the Nords in the front lines began charging forward, screaming furiously, their weapons raised high over their heads. At the same time, the archers positioned just behind them aimed their bows into the air and loosed a cloud of arrows at the Ayleid lines. The elves, in turn, nocked arrows of their own and returned fire, focusing their efforts on the Nordic infantry rushing towards them. The Ayleids' arrows struck first, and Telepe winced as tens of Nords fell to the ground, screaming in pain, if they weren't outright slain in the first volley. A moment later, the humans' arrows struck the elven warriors. Many of the Ayleids had managed to raise their shields to ward off the bolts, and only a few of the elves fell – noticeably less than the Nords, at least. However, it was then that the Nordic infantry crashed into the Ayleid lines and began hacking at them with axes and swords. The brief disruption caused by the volley of arrows had given them small openings, which they were already exploiting to force open holes in the elven lines. Telepe couldn't help but admire the precise timing necessary for the maneuver to work, and he doubted that the Nedes could replicate it. What's more, while the initial charge had been chaotic, he saw that the Nords were quickly forming their own shield wall in front of the Ayleids, fighting together as one once the initial charge had ended.
"Daedra!" a voice bellowed from the back, startling Telepe out of his thoughts. His stomach sank as the Ayleids began pulling back, and the Nords pushed in, trying to take advantage of the collapsing line. However, moments later, the daedra that had been positioned behind the mer surged forth with a fury that easily matched the Nords' initial charge. The bronze suits of armor advanced through the ranks, swinging their heavy axes in brutal vertical chops that cleaved the Nords' wooden shields like bread. Their protection splintered in their hands, and several warriors were quickly cut down. More Nords hurried forward to close the gap, but the dremora stepped in as well, their heavy longswords cleaving through the Nords' light armor and causing their lines to falter. The Ayleids positioned on the flanks began to push forward, trying to envelop the Nordic lines.
"Second line, charge!" Vrage roared. More Nords hurried forward to close the gaps the daedra were opening. Vrage watched for a moment, then added, "Berserkers!" Telepe's eyes were drawn to a horde of Nords that had been held in reserve and now began screaming with fury. He was startled to see that they were bare-chested, though they did wear animal pelts on their heads, as well as fur skirts and boots. Most carried heavy weapons – spears, axes, two-handed swords, and hammers – though a few carried wooden shields. Telepe noticed one gnawing the rim of his shield in a crazed frenzy, his eyes bulging and wild as he stared at the distant Ayleid lines, reminding him uncomfortably of Pelinal. Vrage, however, seemed unconcerned as he roared to them, "To the flanks! Charge!"
The screaming horde of five hundred warriors tore across the battlefield like unleashed beasts. Their feet barely seemed to touch the snow-covered ground as their hair flew wildly behind them and their shouts and cries echoed across the field. The Ayleid archers loosed another volley, but while their arrows did slay a few of the savage warriors, most were spread so far apart that they suffered few casualties. As soon as they crashed into the Ayleid flanks, they began violently hacking at the elves with their heavy weapons. Telepe noticed that they were paying no mind to their defense, and though they did occasionally dodge or sway slightly to turn critical blows into glancing hits, they were swiftly accumulating damage. However, their relentless assault continued despite their wounds, and the Ayleids on the sides began falling back under their vicious onslaught.
As the Ayleid sides began buckling inward, the elemental daedra rushed to reinforce them. A stony daedra unleashed a torrent of lightning that coursed through the body of one berserker, but another suddenly slammed a massive two-handed hammer into its swirling body, driving it back. An icy daedra lumbered forward, swinging a trunk-like arm at the berserkers, but two women ducked under its blow and hacked at it with the swords they gripped in both hands. A flaming feminine daedra similar to the one summoned by Ra'karra almost casually tossed a fireball at an old man, who staggered back as it erupted on his chest. A moment later, however, he screamed and hacked at the daedra so furiously with his double-headed axe that she seemed almost taken aback before she was cut down. Incredibly, it seemed that the berserkers were even driving back the daedra.
The battle continued in a stalemate for a few minutes, with neither side able to gain a true advantage. While the daedric forces of the Ayleids held the center and were pushing back the Nords, the berserkers on the flanks continued to cleave through those defending the sides, even managing to hold off the daedra that hurried over to bolster their sides. When it was clear that the Nordic light infantry in the center was losing ground, however, Vrage glanced at Edanu and nodded, who turned to his own men and held his hand up.
"Hoplites! Forward!" he bellowed.
The Nedes immediately obeyed his command and tightened their ranks, then began marching across the battlefield towards the Ayleid lines. Telepe noticed Pelinal in the center of the phalanx, keeping his shield raised like the rest and moving in tandem with the warriors. Edanu had positioned him wisely, Telepe thought, especially considering the daedra waiting for them deeper in the Ayleid lines.
The elven archers loosed another volley, but the hoplites simply raised their shields and continued walking forward. A few were caught by the arrows and fell to the ground, either wounded or dead, but most pressed on, seemingly heedless of their fallen comrades. Telepe felt a swell of pride as he watched the inexorable march. Perrif's infantry had come a long way from their initial battle in the Blackwood, when they had been unarmored and carried only sharpened sticks and crude wooden shields.
Vrage blew three short notes onto his hunting horn, and the Nords in the back row of their shield wall glanced over their shoulders to see the Nedes approaching. The began shouting to the warriors in front of them, and the Nords slowly began edging out of the way, opening a gap in the center. The Ayleids started to surge forth, trying to take advantage of the opening, but before they could split the Nordic lines in two, the Nedes arrived. The men in the phalanx began furiously thrusting their spears at the elves, who screamed in pain and began falling under the renewed assault. At the same time, the remaining Nords were free to focus their efforts on the flanks, supporting the berserkers, who were still furiously assaulting the elves and daedra guarding the sides. The Nedic reinforcements combined with the Nordic press on the flanks began to once again push the Ayleids inwards, and the line began to collapse.
"Daedra!" a voice bellowed once again. "To the center!" Telepe grimaced as he saw the mages waving the remaining daedra forward to focus their attention on the heavily armored hoplites. However, as the daedra approached, Pelinal let out a furious roar and broke ranks. He suddenly pushed into the Ayleid lines, swinging his mace around in short, vicious arcs. Each time the heavy head of the cudgel struck elven armor, a bell-like peal rang out across the battlefield. Pelinal made short work of the Ayleids directly in front of him and focused his attention on the daedra surging into the gap. He slammed his mace into the empty face of one of the bronze suits of armor, then turned to parry a slash from a dremora's longsword. His furious assault left the other hoplites free to focus their attention on the mer, who were starting to crumble under the slow but constant press of bodies and weapons.
"Mages!" the Ayleid voice cried, a note of desperation in its tone. "Focus your efforts upon the center!"
"Come!" the Jarl of Windhelm shouted, turning to the cavalry. "The elves have left their rear exposed! We ride now!" His men gave a shout of acknowledgement, and the old warrior turned and spurred his horse into a trot. Telepe followed suit, his heart pounding as they rode towards the melee. Tari's fingers gripped his cloak tightly, and he could feel her trembling slightly behind him. Strangely, that comforted him – it was a relief to know that he wasn't the only one terrified. He was certain that no matter how many times he fought, he would never truly be used to it. However, the fact that he also had someone to protect helped him to settle his nerves and focus.
The Jarl of Windhelm directed the cavalry towards the right flank of the battle, where the Ayleid lines seemed thinnest. For a moment, Telepe worried that the Ayleids might have cavalry of their own. However, it seemed that he needn't have been concerned, as when he took a moment to look around, he didn't see any mer on horseback. Perhaps in the chaos, the Ayleids simply hadn't had time to mount their horses. Regardless, Telepe was grateful for their good fortune.
As they neared the edge of the melee, the cavalry tightened their formation in anticipation of an enemy attack. Fortunately, though the Ayleid warriors did notice them, the Nordic infantry was pinning them too effectively for them to retaliate. They were forced to let the cavalry ride past unmolested, whereupon the Jarl of Windhelm immediately turned to their left and spurred his horse into a full gallop. Telepe noticed the other horsemen following suit and quickly pushed Emero into a run as well, trying to keep pace.
Though most of the Ayleid warriors and daedra were occupied with the hoplites and Nordic infantry, a few in the rear of the formation managed to break away and turn to face them. The Jarl of Windhelm seemed unperturbed by them, however, as he lowered his iron-tipped spear and jabbed it into the chest of the first Ayleid warrior who raised his sword to challenge him. The hard metal pierced his bronze breastplate, and the mer fell to the ground, screaming and clutching the open wound in his sternum. The jarl paid him no mind, instead turning to stab at the next warrior who dared face him, while the other cavalrymen trampled over the elf's fallen body.
"Mages! Slay the horsemen!" the Ayleid commander shrieked. Now that they were behind the enemy's lines, Telepe could finally see the mer, standing on an elevated platform and clad in a polished bronze cuirass studded with Welkynd stones and bedecked with feathers. The white-robed mages turned to face the cavalry, but before they could unleash their spells, Telepe heard Tari shout something behind him and hold out her hand. A bolt of lightning erupted from her palm, and while it struck the ground harmlessly in front of the trio of mages that were preparing to attack them, it did startle them and give the other riders the precious few seconds they needed to close the distance.
Reili was the first to reach one of the mages, shoving his spear through the skull of the unlucky spellcaster. A second mage managed to throw himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding the slash of a Nordic sword, but then two more horses trampled over his prone body, and when they rode past, he remained on the cold ground, unmoving.
A third mage finally managed to bring his hands up and shout a curse. Immediately, a gout of flame erupted from his palms, streaming towards the cavalry. The sudden burst of magic startled both the horses and their riders, and while some of the men were able to retain control of their horses, others weren't so lucky. Telepe cursed as Emero reared up, screaming in fright, and before he could yank the reins to calm the horse down, he slipped off his mount's back. He managed to twist his body enough to land on his feet, crouching beside Tari, but Emero sprinted away before he could regain control of his horse.
Fear gripped him as the Ayleid forced turned their attention to the dozen or so horsemen that had been unseated. Telepe immediately raised his sword and fell into a dueling stance, while beside him Tari pulled her knife and whispered a spell which coated her body in a thin layer of stone. The other horsemen crowded together as well, forming an impromptu shield wall as the Ayleids and daedra advanced on them.
Telepe eyed the elves warily, waiting for them to make the first move. When one decided to charge at them, Telepe immediately moved to meet him. The mer slashed at him in a short arc, but Telepe quickly parried the blow and leaned back, redirecting it harmlessly away from his face. Before the elf could recover, Telepe stepped in and thrusted his sword into the elf's arm. A flash of red light coursed up his arm, but the elf maintained his composure, much to Telepe's surprise. He stepped back to avoid a second slash, which narrowly avoided his own arm, and then he stepped in once more, this time aiming his thrust at the young Ayleid's neck. His slender blade slipped into the gap between his helmet and armor, and the elf fell to the ground, gagging and clutching his neck. Telepe winced as he withdrew his sword and stepped back in line, awaiting the next attack.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that two other elves had been felled, and the other Ayleid warriors were hesitating. They had clearly expected to be able to easily swarm the dismounted riders, but the Nedic knights had first been chosen for their exemplary skills as infantrymen, and Telepe suspected that the Nords didn't allow their own cavalry to ride into battle without also learning how to fight on foot. While the elves were hesitating, trying to decide what to do, a voice shouted at them, "Move!"
The Ayleids immediately shifted out of the way, and Telepe's eyes widened as he saw the mage that had unhorsed them standing in the gap. He sneered as he held up his hands, which were glowing brightly with magickal energy. Before he could unleash the spell, Telepe held his own hand up, mentally reciting the word for "silence." A bolt of green light lanced out of his palm and struck the Ayleid mage in the chest. The light seeped across his body, illuminating him with a sickly green aura, and when the Ayleid opened his mouth to speak, no sound came out. A look of surprise and confusion washed over his face as the magic he had gathered dissipated, much to Telepe's relief.
In the brief moments of confusion that followed, two of the other horsemen that had remained on their mounts managed to wheel around and charge the Ayleids from behind. The mage looked over his shoulder at the last second and threw himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding being impaled on the spear of one of the knights, while the other managed to fell one of the warriors with a clean stroke of his sword.
As the mage pushed himself to his feet, his warriors crowded around him to protect him, while Telepe and the other dismounted cavalry rushed forward. Telepe parried a blow from an Ayleid wielding a short sword and thrusted at the mer in response, but the Ayleid managed to lean out of the way of the blow. Tari took the opportunity to duck under Telepe and slash the Ayleid across the leg with her knife. The mer winced and stabbed at her, but she rolled back and crouched behind Telepe, who raised his sword defensively to protect her. Before the mer could attack them again, he suddenly let out a scream of pain and fell to the ground, clutching his leg. Ghastly, bright yellow liquid seeped out of the gash Tari had opened on his leg, which Telepe surmised was a particularly virulent and painful poison. Before the Ayleid could regain his composure, Telepe stepped in and pierced the Ayleid's throat, wincing as he did. Mercifully, the mer stopped twitching a few moments later, which was likely for the best, considering what Telepe knew of Tari's poisons.
Despite their brief success, however, their small group was forced to retreat as more Ayleid infantrymen turned to engage them. They were barely able to hold off the elven warriors as they backed towards the walls of Sancre Tor, but as they gave ground, their defenses began to crumble. First, a Nedic knight caught an unlucky strike across the face and collapsed, while near the edges of their small formation a Nord was impaled through the stomach by a spear and fell to the ground, defiantly clutching the shaft of the weapon that had pierced him in a final effort to disarm the one who had mortally wounded him.
Telepe found himself parrying a stab from another Ayleid spearman, but since his own style was based around thrusting and range, he was at a disadvantage. The spearman jabbed at his side, and Telepe shifted his hips to avoid the attack, but he wasn't quite quick enough. Pain lanced through his side as the spearpoint tore through his leather armor and opened a gash in the left side of his abdomen. He let out a cry and pressed his left hand into the wound, backpedaling further as his opponent sneered and brought his spear back for another thrust.
Before the mer could strike again, however, he heard a loud curse from above him, and heat seared the air over his head. He ducked as a bolt of fire slammed into the face of his attacker, which sent him stumbling backwards, screaming in pain and clutching his face. Telepe glanced over his shoulder and realized that their retreat had almost taken them to the walls of Sancre Tor. Above him on the battlements was a Nede in bronze armor leaning over the edge with his hands wreathed in flame – one of Tari's battlemages. A pained grin crossed his lips as he watched the man unleash another ball of flame into the Ayleid ranks, which made them hesitate, and then fall back a few paces.
"It seems… your battlemages… have learned well," Telepe gasped to Tari.
Tari shot him a concerned look, then murmured, "Indeed. Now, move your hands. Let me-"
"Later!" Telepe insisted, wincing as he waved her away. "It pains me, but I don't believe anything vital was struck. Focus on the battle."
Tari grimaced, but reluctantly nodded and turned back to the melee. Fortunately, though they had been unseated, the cavalry's charge had successfully thrown the Ayleid ranks into disarray. From where he was standing, Telepe could see that they had distracted the elven army enough to allow the center of their infantry, led by Pelinal, to break through the Ayleid lines and divide their army in half. The remaining Ayleid warriors and daedra were now furiously fighting for their lives on both sides, constantly backing away and attempting to avoid being encircled.
A shriek suddenly pierced the din of the battlefield, and Telepe felt a familiar shiver run down his spine. He looked up at the sky to see an enormous, winged shape circling above the battlefield, screaming at the warriors below. Though it wasn't attacking either side, its mere presence was enough to make many of the warriors in both armies hesitate.
"Retreat!" the Ayleid commander suddenly cried. "Retreat!"
With that, the remaining elves suddenly broke off and began fleeing away from the city to the safety of the alpine woods nearby. Some of the human warriors pursued them, with the scouts firing arrows at the Ayleids and a few of the cavalry chasing them on horseback. Most, however, were content to simply let them run. Wild cheers of triumph and relief resounded off the mountains as the last of the elves quit the battlefield, leaving only the dead and dying behind.
Telepe gasped as he took a seat on the ground, exhaustion and pain washing over him as the adrenaline began to fade. He took slow, deep breaths as he clutched his wound, pressing part of his tunic into it to stem the bleeding. Though the throbbing wound was deep and painful, the spear had struck his left side just above his hip, so he didn't think he had been gutted. Of course, Tari would want to inspect it herself, but he decided not to worry in the meantime.
As he focused on stemming the bleeding, a shadow fell over him, and Telepe looked up to see Reili standing over him. The keptu knight was covered in sweat and grime, and his spear was notched, but he was grinning triumphantly. "Once again, we prevailed," he said smugly.
"Yes, but at much greater cost than usual," Telepe remarked grimly, motioning to the fallen warriors strewn across the ground. "We do not typically suffer so many casualties."
"Well… yes," Reili conceded, his smile fading. "It was a victory bought with many lives, and with a fair bit of fortune. Had the dragon not appeared…."
"I did nothing," Nahfahlaar announced as he descended through the air to land heavily on the ground next to them. Telepe winced as the earth shook under his weight, jostling his wound. "I merely witnessed the final act of the battle. I aided neither you nor them. After all, if I wish to find sanctuary in this realm, I cannot afford to make enemies on either side, can I?"
"Then you have neither my gratitude nor my anger," Telepe replied drily to the dragon, who snorted irritably at him. "May I ask, then, why you're here?"
"I was simply journeying to the land of the Khajiit, and this was where my travels led me," Nahfahlaar explained indifferently. "Not that the noise of your battle did not pique my curiosity, I must confess."
"You're traveling to the desert?" Telepe asked, frowning. "Without a guide?"
"I did not claim that I was traveling alone," Nahfahlaar retorted. The dragon shifted and lowered his wings, and Telepe's eyes widened when he saw Ra'karra sitting on her haunches on Nahfahlaar's back, her claws dug into his thick scales. The Khajiit gave him a smug look as her tail flicked behind her.
"This one did offer Nahfahlaar sanctuary in my homeland, after all," Ra'karra pointed out coolly. "And he does not need to wait for a war to conclude before he can enjoy it. It was fortuitous for this one that he wishes to see my homeland, as he agreed to let me ride with him. And it is fortuitous for you as well, Telepe. After all… you still seek an alliance with the Khajiit, do you not?"
Telepe's eyes widened slightly. "I do," he confirmed.
"Then so much the better that Nahfahlaar can travel far more swiftly than steed or ship, isn't it?" Ra'karra chuckled. "Though it is a pity that we must part ways for now. This one had grown to rather enjoy your company."
"Likewise," Telepe agreed, managing a grin, which turned into a pained wince as another stab of pain lanced through his side.
"Are you certain that you do not wish for Tari to heal you?" Reili asked warily.
"In time," Telepe insisted, grunting as he pushed himself into a more comfortable sitting position. "There are others that need her aid far more than I do."
"Perhaps," Reili said slowly, frowning to himself. "Have you seen Golbrom? I lost sight of him during the battle."
"He was one of those unhorsed with us," Telepe said slowly. A cold dread began to creep over him. "You don't think…?"
Reili held up his hand as Telepe started to push himself to his feet. "Remain there," he said shortly. He then turned and began jogging around the battlefield, inspecting the faces of those on the ground. After only a few minutes, he spotted someone, and he turned back to Telepe. Even from this distance, he could see the pained grimace on the knight's face. Groaning to himself, Telepe pushed himself up and began trudging over to where the keptu stood.
As he sidled up beside the knight, he looked down, and the color drained from his face. Laying on the ground was Golbrom, clutching the spear that had been shoved through his abdomen. A jolt of horror ran through Telepe as he realized that he had seen when the man had sustained the wound – he simply hadn't realized that the Nord who had been impaled was Golbrom. If he had….
Golbrom's chest slowly rose and fell as he struggled for each breath. He seemed to sense that he was being watched, as he opened one eye to see Reili and Telepe standing over him. A weak scoff escaped his lips as he growled, "What? Come now, it's not as though you two haven't seen death before."
"You still li-" Telepe began.
"I know that I have little time left, boy," Golbrom spat. "I can feel my strength leaving me. Do not weep for me. I have been felled in honorable battle. I go to Sovngarde, where I shall feast with Ysgramor and his Companions for all eternity." He settled back against the ground and looked past the pair, up at the sigh. "Though… I suppose I have one regret. Telepe. Reili. Swear an oath to me," he demanded suddenly.
"What do you ask?" Reili asked in a thick voice as he knelt down.
"Find my family. Free them," Golbrom stated shortly. "If they are in Miscarcand, buy their freedom if you can, and sack the city if you must. If they are elsewhere, seek them out and release them. I cannot rest easy until they have been freed."
Telepe and Reili traded glances, and then Reili nodded. "On my honor, I swear that we shall see your family freed," he replied firmly, clasping Golbrom's hand and squeezing it firmly.
A rare smile crossed Golbrom's face, and he nodded. "Then that shall be enough for me," he gasped, squeezing Reili's hand in return before letting it go. He settled his head back against the ground and sighed, "It's truly a pity. I would have liked to have freed them myself." He glanced back at the pair and inhaled sharply. "I shall be watching you two. Do not disappoint me."
Golbrom said nothing else as his eyes began to glaze over. His breathing slowed, and then after several long moments, stopped altogether. Telepe glanced away, his stomach churning, as Reili reached down and closed Golbrom's eyes. He then pushed himself up and dusted off his hands.
"We should see to the wounded, then bury the fallen," Reili murmured.
"Quite," Telepe agreed, wincing as he turned around. His eyes raked over the Ayleid bodies on the ground, a frown on his face. "We should also note which kingdoms formed this army. This was certainly a joint venture. No single city could field so many warriors at once. I wonder if Umaril-"
Something caught his eye, and he stopped mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he knelt down next to the body of an Ayleid warrior. Reili watched him curiously as he pushed the corpse onto its back, then turned its left arm over. A bronze-faced shield was strapped to its wrist, and as Telepe brushed a bit of blood off of its face, his breath caught in his throat. The design on the shield was one that he had seen once before – it was the same sigil borne by the guards who had accompanied the Princess of Lipsand Tarn. The kingdom not far from Sancre Tor, which had signed a peace treaty with them.
Cold rage began to course through Telepe's veins as he pushed himself up and turned on his heel. Reili swiftly stood up as well and caught him by the chest.
"Wait. You're still wounded," he insisted. "Do not move so fast or you'll worsen it."
Telepe idly glanced down at the blood streaming from the wound in his side. Absently, he noticed that the wound barely pained him at the moment. "There is a more important matter that must be addressed first," he said coldly. "Do you know where Edanu is?"
"Why…?" Reili asked cautiously.
"We must discuss what to do about our traitorous 'allies,'" Telepe snarled.
While most of the army remained in Sancre Tor to repair the damage that had been done during the siege and to fortify it in case of another attack, Edanu and Vrage rode west with about three thousand warriors. Lipsand Tarn was less than a day away from the city, and they selected their fastest and most able warriors to march on the kingdom.
Before they departed, Telepe had finally allowed Tari to tend to his wound, which she had treated with a blend of herbs before wrapping a linen cloth around his middle. She had also warned him not to ride too hard so that he wouldn't reopen it, but Telepe barely paid any mind to the throbbing pain in his side. He also ignored Emero's labored breaths as they traveled at a trot along the narrow mountain road leading to the city.
When they arrived outside of the city just before dusk, a cold rain had begun to fall. The gates to the city were closed tightly, and on the walls, Telepe could see Ayleid archers standing with their bows drawn. Though it was difficult to tell in the dim light, he thought that a few still wore blood-stained armor, suggesting that they had returned to the city as quickly as possible to prepare for the rebels' retaliation. Telepe cared little however – to him, it was just an admission of guilt.
Edanu sidled up to Telepe, staring stonily at the city in front of him. "I'd recommend attacking now," he said in a low voice. There was an undercurrent of fury that matched Telepe's own simmering rage.
"No," Telepe said shortly. "I want to give them an opportunity to surrender." When Edanu raised an eyebrow, he added, "Or to at least confess their betrayal before we sack their city."
Edanu considered him for a moment, then inclined his head. Telepe nudged Emero forward, stopping just out of the range of the archers. Narrowing his eyes at the guards on the walls, he roared, "Mer of Lipsand Tarn! I brand you as traitors and cowards! If you care for your lives, I shall grant you but one chance to bring forth your king so that he may answer for his crimes! If not, we shall slaughter all of you and raze every building in your treacherous kingdom to the ground!"
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Edanu regarding him with a look of surprise. It was rare that Telepe raised his voice, and he had never opened negotiations with such a naked threat. However, Telepe felt that they were well past the point of polite diplomacy.
The guards manning the gate murmured to each other, then one of them turned back to him and raised his arrow. "Begone, mongrel!" he snarled back. Telepe suspected that he wanted to loose the arrow at him, but he was still a fair distance outside of the archer's range. "Our king has no time for your rabble of slaves!"
Telepe's eyes widened, but before he could reply, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He glanced to his right to see King Vrage, wearing a bloodthirsty smile. "Would you allow me to say a few words?" he asked softly.
Telepe was about to decline, but something in Vrage's eyes told him that he wasn't making a request. Reluctantly, he inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Majesty," he muttered.
Vrage nodded, then looked over his shoulder and motioned with two fingers. A half dozen Nords, including the Jarls of Winterhold and Haafingar, stepped forward to stand in a line next to their king.
"Together now," Vrage said calmly, turning back to the city. His smile faded as he inhaled deeply, and then he and his companions all shouted, "FUS RO DAH!"
The air in front of the Nords' mouths erupted and expanded outwards, tinged with a faint blue outline. Telepe, who had been standing just behind the Nords, stumbled backwards as the earth rumbled beneath his feet, and he was briefly deafened by their shouts. The bursts of air struck the walls of Lipsand Tarn, and the guards standing on the walls were thrown backwards. The marble walls shuddered as thin cracks ran along their surface. Telepe rubbed his ringing ears, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the damage the walls had sustained from the Nords' voices.
"Our emissary asked you politely to fetch your king. We shall not be so kind," Vrage shouted, though his voice sounded muffled in Telepe's half-deafened ears. "This is your last opportunity to save yourselves, else we'll simply topple your walls now."
The guards, who had managed to pick themselves up by this point, briefly conversed, and then one tersely shouted back, "Wait there!" As one climbed off of the walls, Vrage gave Telepe a sly wink.
"What… was that?" Telepe asked warily as the ringing in his ears finally faded.
"Ah. That was the thu'um – the Voice," Vrage explained with a slight smile. "It is an ancient art, learned from the dragons."
Telepe belatedly remembered Nahfahlaar mentioning something similar, and expressing relief that Telepe did not know the thu'um himself. "Why did you not use it in the battle earlier?" he asked, frowning.
"We were facing Sancre Tor, and had no desire to damage the city," Vrage pointed out. "What's more, the Voice is not something to be used lightly." He motioned to the other Nords, who were panting with exhaustion, and Telepe suddenly realized that the king also seemed rather short of breath. He was about to ask more, but then the gates to Lipsand Tarn swung open.
To his displeasure, Princess Brelyesil swept out from the gates, her deep red chiton fluttering beneath a heavy fur cloak. She stopped several feet from Telepe, who cautiously strode closer to speak with her.
"You dare demand my presence?" Brelyesil snapped furiously.
"I demanded your father's presence," Telepe retorted coldly.
"My father is bedridden," the princess snapped shortly. "You may treat with me."
"Stricken with a severe bout of cowardice, was he?" Telepe sneered.
"State your purpose or begone, emissary!" Brelyesil hissed.
Telepe narrowed his eyes. "Your warriors were part of the army besieging Sancre Tor. Do not deny it," he added as Brelyesil started to open your mouth. "We signed a treaty, yet you turned on us."
Brelyesil scowled up at him coldly. "What were we supposed to do when we caught wind that you intended to bring the armies of Skyrim into our lands?"
"The Paravant had no intention of attacking you!" Telepe snapped.
"You did not, perhaps!" Brelyesil shot back. "When you conquered Sancre Tor, we presumed that you simply desired a kingdom where slaves could be free. That was not disagreeable to us. Yet you continue to expand, to conquer other Ayleid realms! We were left isolated! Even our trade was forced to run through your lands! We were at your mercy! How could we stand against you if you eventually turned on us?! And then you allied with the Nords, whom we know seek to dominate all of Tamriel! You of all people should know this, Manmer!"
"You said nothing!" Telepe retorted. "We could have addressed your concerns-!"
"How?" Brelyesil replied shortly. "What could you promise us? That you would leave us be? That you mean us no harm? How long could peace between us last? No… from the beginning, we knew a truce with you could only be temporary. You cornered us like a beast and left us with no choice but to seize any opportunity to claw our way out. From the moment you first spoke with us, we chose to protect ourselves."
"From the-" Telepe said slowly, his eyes widening with rage as realization dawned on him. He began to slowly approach the princess, his fists clenched. "You. You were the ones who informed Lindai and the others when we marched to Ceya-Tar. You were the one who allowed them to ambush our army!"
"How insightful. Yes. We had hoped to cripple your army – slaying their champion, their emissary, and much of their garrison," Brelyesil said with a smirk as she backed away from Telepe's furious advance. "We still do not truly understand how you survived, but clearly it was not enough. So, while you were in Skyrim, we sent a message to Umaril, informing him that Sancre Tor could be taken before you returned. Were we successful, you would have been isolated in Skyrim, stranded and without supplies, and at the mercy of the Nords. Just as we were." The princess glowered coldly at him. "Perhaps then you would have understood how we feel now."
"Yet we both signed a truce, and we were honoring it," Telepe snarled. "You broke our agreement."
"If we did not act when we did, we would never have another chance to save ourselves," Brelyesil replied without a hint of remorse as she suddenly stopped backing away from him. "When an opportunity to fell a foe arises, no matter how 'dishonorable' the circumstances are… one should take it."
The princess suddenly raised her hand, and Telepe's anger turned to fear as his eyes were drawn to the archers on the walls. He suddenly realized that as he had been pursuing her, she had been leading him within range of their bows. Telepe let out a soft gasp as the bowmen aimed at him, and he started to back away. Before the archers could release their arrows, however, a great shadow fell over them as an enormous beast descended on the city from the sky.
"YOL TOOR SHUUL!" Nahfahlaar roared, and flames erupted from his mouth as he swooped down on the city. The stream of fire engulfed the archers before they could loose their arrows, and the elves screamed and threw themselves off of the walls. The dragon landed lightly on one corner of the walls, his bright yellow eyes burning furiously down at the Ayleid princess.
"Despicable," the dragon growled. "I have no love for these men – this one in particular – but I have far less love for those who break their oaths, and especially those who attack during a parley." On his back, Ra'karra hissed at her in agreement, her hackles raised and her tail whipping behind her furiously.
Brelyesil's eyes widened with rage and terror, but when the dragon nodded to Telepe, she turned back around and sneered at him. "Very well. Then let me say this: There shall be no peace between us. We shall fight you to the very last."
"…Is that so?" Telepe asked quietly. He stared at the princess silently for a few moments, pondering, and then he asked, "How many slaves are in Lipsand Tarn?"
The princess tilted her head at him, her sneer fading. "What an odd question," she remarked. "If you mean to ask how many you can turn against us, there are none. We freed them, as we promised. Then we slew those that dared protest when we declared the rebellion our enemy. The rest are firmly loyal to us. Behold," she added, sweeping her hand up towards the walls. A few guards had managed to climb onto the walls again, pointing their bows at Nahfahlaar, who scoffed at them indifferently. As Telepe looked closer, he was shocked to realize that one or two were Nedes.
"Men of Lipsand Tarn!" Telepe shouted up to the walls, drawing their attention for a moment. "The Paravant has no desire to fight her kin. Lay down your arms now and you shall be shown mercy."
The two men hesitated and glanced at each other, then noticed the nearby Ayleids glaring at them. One shouted back down, "W-we fight for Lipsand Tarn! Our homeland!"
"…And all of you feel the same?" Telepe asked, an undertone of a threat in his voice.
"All of us do, yes!" the man stated much more firmly.
"Very well. Then they shall die with you," Telepe spat at the princess. As he turned to march back to the Nedic lines, the princess chuckled.
"So in the end, you would do battle with us?" she asked sardonically. "Just as we knew all along. Very well, but know that these walls have never fallen to any army."
Telepe looked over his shoulder and smirked darkly at the princess. "We do not need an army," he replied in a dangerously soft voice. The princess' smile faded as Telepe walked back to the rebel lines. Edanu gave him a disappointed look when he returned.
"That… did not go well," Edanu sighed. "Shall we prepare for battle?"
"There's no need," Telepe replied simply, moving past the legate and walking over to Pelinal. The knight raised an eyebrow as Telepe folded his arms in front of his chest.
"You presume to command me?" Pelinal asked, seeming almost amused at Telepe's arrogance.
"No. I simply wish to relay a message," Telepe replied in a low voice. He pointed over his shoulder at Lipsand Tarn. "They are responsible for Huna's death, Whitestrake. They are the ones who informed Lindai and the other kingdoms of our whereabouts while we were in the wilds. Were it not for their treachery, Huna might still live."
Pelinal's smirk faded, and his bright blue eyes began to cloud with rage. "Elf…." he growled.
"There are none in that city who deserve any mercy. Even the men of that accursed kingdom have sided with those that slew your lover," Telepe murmured. "If you wish vengeance, take it upon them."
Pelinal's breathing became slower and heavier as he climbed down from his horse and lowered his helmet over his head. "I am uncertain if I should thank you for telling me, or curse you," Pelinal growled as he drew his sword and mace. He paused for a moment, then rounded on the army and bellowed, "Any who do not wish to die, leave my sight now!"
Almost immediately, the Nedic hoplites turned and began running as quickly as they could. The Nords seemed momentarily baffled, but when Edanu nodded insistently to Vrage, the king blew his horn, sounding the retreat to his men. Edanu stopped for a moment to give Telepe a strange look, then turned and followed the king silently.
Telepe climbed onto Emero's back, not meeting Tari's eyes as he began to ride away from the city. A few moments later, he heard Pelinal let out a maddened scream of rage and grief, and then panicked shouts and cries of terror filled the air. He paused to look over his shoulder for a moment, then shook his head and kept riding.
"Traitors deserve no less," he growled to himself, cold fury still burning in his chest as they left the city at Pelinal's mercy.