Tales of the First Era: Alessia

by Blackvvater

In the earliest days of recorded history, a half-elven Breton finds himself swept up in a war between the oppressive Ayleid Empire and their human slaves - a war that will determine the fate of Cyrod and the course of history for Tamriel.

53. Chapter 53: Rally

Chapter 53

Rally

That evening, as Telepe gazed around at the somber faces in the camp, he realized that he couldn't remember the last time morale was so low. Aside from a few guards posted at the outskirts of the campsite, watching the bridge warily for any signs of an enemy ambush, the majority of the army sat huddled around small campfires, silently eating meager meals with a haunted look in their eyes. The few conversations that could be heard were held in hushed, grim voices, and often the responses were so clipped and terse that their voices soon died down again, leaving only heavy silence in their wake.

Telepe sat in front of a fire between Tari and Pasare, poking at a bowl of vegetable stew while gazing pensively into the flames. He was both anxious and exhausted, and more than anything, he wished he could simply go to sleep and hope that when he woke up, he would be facing a new, brighter day. The fact that he would have to stay awake through such a bitter night was almost more difficult to bear than the losses that they had suffered that afternoon.

A sudden, muffled shout interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder to glare at the large tent in the middle of the camp. Tari and Pasare did the same as the shouting momentarily grew louder before dying off, though they could still hear angry voices barking at each other through the thin leather.

Pasare let out a soft sigh and turned to Telepe. "Perhaps you should go in and try to arbitrate again."

Telepe grunted noncommittally as he stared into his wooden bowl. With Morihaus injured, Edanu dead, and Perrif and Pelinal gone, the remaining leaders of the army had almost immediately begun to argue about who was in command. At first, the Nedic centurions had tried to take control, pointing out that they were the ones trying to liberate Cyrod, and that they had directly answered to Edanu. However, when the Ayleid kings had demanded that they first select a legate to replace their fallen commander, the centurions found themselves unable to agree on a successor. What's more, the Ayleid kings and Nordic jarls argued that the remaining centurions lacked the experience necessary to command an entire army. The Nedes protested, but eventually they were forced to concede that none of them had been commanding their men for more than a few months, compared to the decades of experience that the Ayleids and Nords had.

However, once they had shouted down the Nedes, the Nords and the Ayleids had turned on each other. The Nords claimed that their High King was the best choice to lead the army, as he had proven his skill as a general during his conquests of Malabal and Resdayn. No Ayleid king could match his success. The Ayleids had immediately protested, pointing out that Cyrod was not the Nords' home, and as a foreign army, they were in no position to make demands of the natives who were fighting for the fate of their realm. They also snidely suggested that if Vrage was given control of the army, he would immediately try to subjugate Cyrod in the name of Skyrim and annex it into his empire. The Nords, in turn, had accused the Ayleids of wanting to return Cyrod to the status quo before the war – even going so far as to insinuate that they would be quick to reinstate slavery if given the opportunity.

For his part, Telepe had tried to mediate between the two sides. He privately had to admit that the Ayleid fear that the Nords would try to conquer Cyrod was not unfounded, based on their expansion into Malabal and Resdayn, and their attempted annexation of Falkreath just a few months earlier was proof that they still had imperial ambitions. However, he also knew that the Nedes would be unwilling to obey the commands of the Ayleid kings, especially those that had just joined the alliance, and had only reluctantly abolished slavery when Perrif had forced the issue.

To try to find a middle ground, Telepe had once again raised the prospect of returning command of the army to the Nedic centurions. He had proposed a few commanders that Morihaus had particularly favored, and even suggested recalling Teo from the south and offering him temporary command of the army. However, the Nords and Ayleids had coldly dismissed his suggestions and resumed viciously insulting each other. After enduring their fruitless arguments for another hour, Telepe had finally interjected and suggested that they take a recess to eat, and then reconvene in a few hours. Many of the kings and jarls had agreed with his suggestion, but a few stubbornly insisted on staying in the tent to negotiate with each other. Privately, Telepe was amazed their "negotiations" still had not broken down into an all-out brawl.

"Once everyone finishes eating, I'll bring them back to the table," Telepe assured her as he dipped his spoon into his stew and chased a carrot around. "I've been considering offering them joint command. Let the Nords command their men, the Ayleids theirs, and the centurions-"

"But won't they simply get in each other's way if you do that?" Tari asked quietly.

"Likely," Telepe admitted with a sigh. "Perhaps we should first devise a battle plan. If everyone abides by it and keeps to their roles, then there shouldn't be a need for a commanding general, at least for this battle. After all, we only need to take the bridge."

"But what if the battle doesn't go according to plan?" Pasare asked. "If something unexpected happens, and they all try to order their own forces independently, they'll get in each other's way-"

"I know!" Telepe snapped, which made Pasare flinch. He grimaced and held up his hand in apology. "I know," he repeated in a quieter tone. "But I can't think of any other solution. If they won't work with each other-"

"No! Absolutely not!" a voice bellowed from the tent. Telepe turned to see the King of Nornalhorst storming out of the tent, only to stop mid-stride and turn to point a finger at the Jarl of Whiterun. "Oblivion can take me before I'll obey one command given by your bloody savage of a king!"

"'Bloody savage,' is it?" the jarl echoed sardonically, folding his thick arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes. "How are we any more bloody or savage than a race that tortures helpless slaves for sport?! Also, you call yourself a king?! If you lived in Skyrim, your tiny patch of land would barely be considered a thanedom!"

"Ah! There! You see?!" snapped another Ayleid – the King of Elenglynn, Telepe recalled. "You admit that you'd love nothing more than to conquer our lands and strip us of our titles!"

"None of us claimed that!" the Jarl of Riften protested. Then he sneered. "But even if we did, surely life under our rule would be preferable to all the horrors you've inflicted on your slaves! Don't you agree?" he added, turning to one of the nearby guards, who glanced away uncomfortably.

"Do not blame us for the crimes of our kin!" the King of Nornalhorst shouted back, stepping closer so that his face was inches from the two Jarls. Telepe felt his heart starting to pound as a crowd began to gather around the shouting nobles. "I have never laid a hand on a single one of my slaves!"

"Perhaps not, but you still owned them! Under your rule, Nedic men and women have been treated as livestock and playthings, and you would happily return to that way of life, given the chance!" the Jarl of Winterhold accused, half-trotting over to join the argument. "You don't even wish to fight with us, do you? After all, you were forced to submit to the Paravant. Admit it – you would gladly plunge a knife in our backs the second we turned away, wouldn't you?"

The King of Nornalhort's eyes widened with fury. "You needn't even turn your back!" he snarled, his hand dropping to his blade. The Jarl smirked and let his own hand fall to his axe, and the other kings and jarls quickly began reaching for their weapons.

Telepe quickly sprang to his feet and held up his hand, gathering magic in his palm. Before anyone could move, he released the magic all at once, and a deafening crack echoed through the camp. That was enough to startle everyone into silence, and they all turned to face him as he strode into the center of the small circle they had formed.

"Enough!" he said, speaking loudly enough that everyone could hear him. "Is this alliance truly so fragile that the Paravant and Morihaus cannot leave for one day before it fractures?! You would turn on each other like wolves after a single defeat?!"

"If need be, yes!" the Jarl of Winterhold snapped. He then jabbed a finger at the Ayleid kings. "We never should have allied ourselves with these vermin! If this is how our so-called allies intend to treat us, perhaps we should return home and leave you to your fates!"

"You could," Telepe agreed simply. The jarl stared at him, taken aback by his blithe response. "But then what was the purpose of marching all the way from Skyrim? What of your glory? What songs will be sung of you if turn back now? 'Gather 'round, children, and hear the tale of the Nords who marched to Cyrod, were defeated trying to cross a bridge, and returned to Skyrim in disgrace!' What a heroic epic! Yes, I think the bards and skalds will be telling that tale for ages to come!"

As tittering laughter filled the air, the jarl's mouth hung open, his eyes darting back and forth as he struggled to respond. Before he could, however, the King of Nornalhorst walked up behind Telepe and grabbed him by the shoulder to try and push him aside. "Move, boy," he snarled. "If these Nords wish to fight, I'm happy to oblige them."

"Over what? A mere insult?" Telepe asked coldly as he shrugged the king's hand off his shoulder and turned to face him. "Surely you've suffered worse from your own kin, Your Majesty. Tell me, how much of your people's blood have these Nords spilled, and how much has been spilled by the army across the bridge? If your anger has been stoked, then turn it upon those that are worthy of it," he added, pointing towards the bridge.

"I shall turn my blade upon whomever I wish, boy!" the king snapped. He drew himself up to his full height so that he could look Telepe in the eye as his face contorted with fury. "You dare presume to command me?!" Then he scoffed. "There is a grain of truth in that ape's insults. I never wished to fight with this rebellion! Your slave-queen subjugated us and forced us to join her foolish crusade!"

Telepe stared levelly at the king, not flinching from his gaze. He let the heavy silence between them linger for a long moment, and then he asked quietly, "And what do you wish to do instead?"

"I wish to take my army and return to my homeland!" the king exclaimed. "I wish to regain my kingdom's sovereignty, which your precious slave-queen stole from me! From all of us!" he added, sweeping his hand around at the Ayleids, who began nodding in agreement.

Telepe tilted his head slightly. "If you did, you would be left to face Umaril's wrath alone," he pointed out. "You've already raised your banners against him, forced or not. You must know that you will not be granted mercy."

"I would not submit to Umaril either!" the king declared, drawing himself up. "If necessary, I would face him myself! Better to die fighting against him than to bow to your slave-queen's rule!"

"Ah. So you would fight to prevent your submission to another mer?" Telepe asked, raising an eyebrow. When the king nodded, he motioned to the Nedes standing off to the side. "Then you have more in common with these men than you do with Umaril."

The king's mouth fell open, and then he snarled, "Do not dare compare me to those-"

"Very well. Let's suppose that you were successful," Telepe interrupted, folding his hands behind his back. "Let's say that the Paravant let you return to your homeland uncontested, and by some miracle, you defeated Umaril on your own. What then?"

The king scoffed. "What else? I would return to ruling my kingdom independently, bowing to no man or mer. As a king should!"

"Then you desire a return to the status quo, the way Cyrod was before this rebellion?" Telepe asked.

"I do!" the king nodded firmly.

"Do you? Have you truly enjoyed fighting with your neighbors over scraps of land?" Telepe pressed. "Sending your kin to die in petty wars? Watching as your home is ravaged by two enemy kingdoms that just last month you supped with, drank with, and laughed with as friends?" He raised his voice, then added, "Is continuing this age of endless chaos and strife truly what you wish?!"

A long silence followed Telepe's question. Then, softly, the King of Silorn retorted, "And our only other option is to submit to the rule of this slave-queen? To surrender our autonomy and bow to her will?"

Telepe glanced at the king, inclining his head slightly. "Your options are to return to a realm of bickering, endlessly fighting city-states, or to forge a united Cyrod, where all men and mer can live in peace."

"Yes, but why should she rule over it?" the King of Nornalhorst asked. "Why not one of us?"

Telepe slowly turned to the sneering elf and folded his arms over his chest. "Your Majesty… what is your homeland?" he asked.

The king blinked at him, then replied, "Nornalhorst, of course."

Telepe nodded, then turned to the king beside him. "You, Your Majesty?"

"Silorn," the elf replied.

Telepe then turned to one of the Nedic warriors standing nearby. "And you?" he asked.

The young woman hesitated, then stammered, "V-Veyond, emissary."

Telepe glanced at Tari, smiling lightly at her. "You?"

Tari frowned at him, trying to discern his game. "Ceya-Tar," she replied slowly.

Telepe nodded slowly, then turned to the Jarl of Whiterun. "And what say you?" he asked.

The jarl frowned as well, but replied firmly, "Skyrim."

Telepe snapped his fingers and pointed at the jarl. "Precisely!" he exclaimed. As the Ayleids and Nedes stared at him in confusion, he turned back around. "Our Nordic friends do not consider themselves citizens of their holds and towns. They are subjects of Skyrim, a single, united realm." He turned back to the jarl and asked, "Your Grace, would you consider turning your blade on the Jarl of Winterhold if he held a farm that you coveted?"

The jarl blinked. "Of course not!" he cried, almost sounding offended.

"Because he's a fellow Nord. Because you are both children of Skyrim, and you would not dream of slaying your brother over a mere scrap of land. Because you're both sovereign citizens of the same land, yes?" Telepe asked. When the jarl nodded, he turned back to the other kings. "Can any of you say the same? Can you look at your fellow kings and call each other brothers?"

"What's your point, boy?" the King of Nornalhorst snapped.

"My point is that none of you see beyond your own borders. None of you consider yourselves anything more than citizens of your own city-states," Telepe said firmly. "Only one person in this entire realm had the vision to see everyone not as citizens of their various kingdoms, but as children of Cyrod. The Paravant alone brought together men and mer alike from all over Cyrod and united them under one banner. What's more, she didn't merely conquer your territories and forcibly subjugate you. Certainly, she fought when necessary, but even in victory, she treated you with dignity and offered you generous terms. She respected your titles and thrones, and she forged alliances with you, rather than stripping you of your crowns and claiming your lands for her own. Can any of you say that you would do the same?" he added, staring pointedly at each of the Ayleid kings. "Can any of you truly claim that, if you had won the same victories that she has, you would not raze your enemies to the ground and take their lands as part of your own kingdoms? Can you truthfully say that you would try to unite Cyrod, simply for the sake of ensuring peace and freedom for all?"

Telepe let his words hang for a moment, and then, before anyone could interject, he added, "Umaril wouldn't. If he wins this war, he will impose his will upon all of Cyrod, friend and foe alike. Those of you who stood against him, even for an instant, will be executed as traitors. However, even those that remained loyal shall be subjugated, perhaps even enslaved. He will reshape Cyrod in the image of his goddess, and I am certain that he shall outlaw the worship of any deity other than Meridia, Aedra and Daedra alike. You will bow before his goddess, not because she is worthy of your devotion, but because you shall have no choice." He paused for a moment to let them consider that, then he added, "Yet the Paravant, though she favors the Aedra, has asked for your opinions about which gods you would venerate. She seeks to create a pantheon that is acceptable to men and mer alike, and while not all gods may be included, she is at least trying to compromise, to discover what you would find tolerable in a shared faith with the rest of Cyrod.

"And that is why she is worth following," Telepe concluded, casting his gaze at his audience – whom, he was pleased to note, was listening to him attentively. "She has not sought to conquer Cyrod, but to unite it. If nothing else, you should stand against Umaril, because he, unlike the Paravant, seeks to dominate you." He paused for a moment to let his point sink in, then continued, "Either way, you cannot return to the past. Cyrod has been reshaped forever by this war. The age of warring states is over. At its conclusion, it will be united. The only question is who shall sit upon its throne. If you are content with bowing to a tyrant, then go. Leave now, and allow Cyrod to fall into the hands of Meridia's puppet, Umaril. However, if you truly wish for your voice to be heard in a united Cyrod, it is in your best interest to maintain this alliance and continue to fight with the Paravant."

Telepe took a deep breath and paused to glance around at his audience, quickly assessing their mood. To his relief, he saw that some were nodding thoughtfully, and the Kings of Silorn and Elenglynn were looking away, suggesting that they had decided not to protest further. However, a few moments later, a new voice broke through the muttering.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot agree with this vision you seem to have," said a young Ayleid woman, her shield and polished bronze armor marking her as one of Nenyond Twyll's captains. Telepe didn't know her name, unfortunately, but he turned towards her nonetheless and inclined his head.

"And why is that?" he asked, imploring her to continue with a wave of his hand.

"You've painted a beautiful, idyllic picture of a united Cyrod, but we all know that it can never come to pass," she said bluntly. "A united Cyrod implies that you expect us Ayleids to live in peace and harmony with these… Nedes." Telepe could tell from her tone that she was about to say "slaves," but the glares from the spear-wielding humans surrounding her made her rethink her choice of words.

"I concur," growled one of the Nedic centurions, who was glaring furiously at the Ayleid captain. "Though I am loath to agree with anything a slaver says, we've suffered too much at your hands to simply forget all the pains and torments you've inflicted upon us."

The Ayleid glared, then spat at the ground at the centurion's feet. "Savage," she hissed viciously, as the Nede's eyes widened. "No," she continued, turning back to Telepe as two other Nedes grabbed the centurion by the arms to keep him from attacking the elf. "A united realm of mer and men is impossible."

Telepe grimaced as the Nedes and Ayleids began to furiously mutter while glaring at each other, and before the crescendo could rise too intensely, he raised his voice and called out, "Neither of you is wrong!" That quieted the muttering for a moment as the onlookers stared at him in surprise. "Yes, there is a great deal of hatred between both your races, and that cannot be overlooked. To ignore the past is to repeat its mistakes. However, I assure you that man and mer can live in harmony. We do in my homeland."

"Where elves continue to rule, do they not?" one of the Nedes quickly pointed out.

"As they should," an Ayleid sneered. "Or perhaps you expect us mer to mate with these animals and produce a race of half-breed mongrels like you, emissary?"

Telepe felt a flare of anger rise in his chest, but he quickly suppressed it. "Yes, the Altmer in my homeland rule," he admitted. "And yes, there is inequality between the races, which many of us – myself included – wish to change. Malabal is imperfect, certainly. However, that simply means that we can learn from the flaws of my homeland and avoid repeating them here in Cyrod. What's more, you're mistaken if you believe that my people consider race more important than our loyalty to our homelands. Our Nordic friends can confirm that, above all else, we still consider each other kin, regardless of if we are man, mer… or mongrel," he finished with a self-deprecating smile, which elicited a few chuckles.

"He's correct," a booming voice called out, and several eyes turned to see King Vrage standing off to the side, his arms folded over his chest, a slight smirk on his lips. "When we tried to take the Highlands, it was a combined army of men and elves alike that gave the most powerful empire in northern Tamriel pause. In truth, I shudder to think how mighty a united army of elves and men from Cyrod would be."

There was a lengthy pause as a some of the audience began muttering to each other once more. The Ayleid woman, however, stubbornly placed her hands on her hips and shook her head.

"I still maintain that man and mer cannot live as equals. Not in Cyrod," she state flatly. "The differences between our races cannot be reconciled. They run as deep as our very blood."

Telepe stared at the captain for a long moment as the crowd quieted down, and then he repeated, "Your blood? You believe your blood is what makes you different?"

"What else?" she shrugged. "We're different races. That cannot be changed."

Telepe nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he gazed around at the faces of the crowd, awaiting his response. He then softly asked, "Tari? Prince Dynar? Could you come forward?"

His lover and the prince, who were standing side-by-side near the center of the circle, glanced at each other, then approached him. As they did, Telepe reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a small sheet of papyrus. With his other hand, he withdrew his belt knife and pressed the tip of it against the little finger of his left hand. He pushed down until a few drops of blood stained his finger, and then he wiped the blade clean and handed it to Tari, softly asking her to do the same. As she did, Telepe was surprised to see King Vrage step forward and press his own knife to his finger. He gave Telepe a sly grin, apparently having caught on to what he was planning. Dynar pricked his finger as well, and when their hands were all stained with blood, they pressed them against the papyrus.

As the others wiped their hands off to stem the bleeding, Telepe rolled the papyrus around, smearing the bloodstains across its surface. He then held it up, showing the crowd the red splotches on the sheet.

"Tell me, captain," he said, holding it up to her face. "Which drops of blood belong to which race? Point out for me, if you would, the Ayleid blood that you hold in such high regard. Tell me, which is the Nedic blood that you so despise?"

The captain narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "You mock me!" she hissed.

"Answer the question," Telepe insisted. "Go on! This should be a simple task! You have four different races here – Ayleid, Nord, Nede, and Manmer! If the blood of each race is so distinct – if our differences are so irreconcilable – then why can't you tell me whose blood is whose?"

The Ayleid's face contorted with rage, and she snapped, "That does not matter!"

"No! It doesn't!" Telepe agreed fiercely, lowering the papyrus. "What does matter is the fact that you've shed your blood together. Blood pacts are forged by the mingling of blood. In the battle yesterday, even if it was the first battle you've fought together, even if you were reluctant to stand shoulder to shoulder with other races, you bled foreach other. You became brothers and sisters, and in so doing, created an army that truly represents Cyrod."

Telepe held up the stained piece of papyrus for the audience to see. "This is what Cyrod is! It is a realm of men and mer alike! That is not a weakness! That is its strength! It does not matter that we suffered one defeat! It does not matter that the Paravant isn't here to lead the army! She is not Cyrod! You are! And despite what some of you may think, all of you are here because you wish to be here!" He heard a few cries of protest, but he continued, "If any of you truly opposed this rebellion, you would have stood and fought against it as fiercely as the first rebels did, when they were nothing more than a few dozen dirty, starving slaves armed with sharpened sticks, crouching in the swamps of the Blackwood! You are here because all of you, in some way, believe in the dream of a united Cyrod, where man and mer alike can live together in peace!" He pointed to the nearby bridge, then added, "And there stands an army led by one who would strip you of your freedom, who would make you his slaves, and who would never relinquish his throne once he's seized it! So! Will you allow him to enslave you?"

"No!" a few voices answered hesitantly.

"Will you bow to him as your god?" Telepe continued.

"No!" several voices answered, much more forcefully.

"Will you fight together as brothers, man and mer, for your freedom?!" Telepe shouted.

"Yes!" nearly every voice screamed in reply.

Telepe nodded in satisfaction as raucous cheers filled the air. He could see that some still weren't convinced – and not just among the Ayleids, as a few of the Nedes also refused to meet his gaze – but they knew that if they protested now, they would be shouted down. They had little choice but to reluctantly bow to the will of the majority.

However, as the infectious elation of Telepe's speech began to cool, the King of Elenglynn commented, "Well spoken. However, you still did not answer our question – who shall lead the army in the absence of Morihaus and the legate Edanu?" He paused, then added stubbornly, "While I shall consent to fighting alongside men, I shall not allow myself to be led by one who does not have the Paravant's blessing."

"Nor shall I submit myself to the orders of an Ayleid king," one of the Nedic centurions added, and a few of his fellow centurions let out shouts of agreement.

Telepe grimaced as he noticed the Ayleids and men starting to glare at each other again. Already the fragile unity he had managed to forge was on the verge of being torn apart. As he glanced between them, however, an idea crept into his mind. It was a thought that terrified him. His heart was hammering, and his stomach was turning with nausea. However, it was the only solution he could think of, and possibly the only solution both sides would accept.

"I will," Telepe stated tentatively in a quivering voice. As dozens of eyes slowly turned towards him, he cleared his throat, then forced himself to repeat in a steadier tone, "I shall lead the army tomorrow."

Ayleid and Nede alike glanced at each other, and while they didn't laugh, he could see the doubt and derision in their eyes. "You?" the King of Silorn asked skeptically. "Have you even fought in a battle before?"

"Several, actually," Telepe replied tartly, with an indignant frown.

"Yes, but you've never led the army," one of the centurions pointed out, before scoffing. "Or do you simply desire the glory-"

"I couldn't care less about glory!" Telepe exclaimed. "In truth, I don't see why we need a single general to lead this charge! Taking a single bridge should not be a difficult task! However, if you all insist that you must follow a single leader, then I shall take that role. You will only follow a mer, yes?" he asked, glancing at the Ayleid kings. "And you will only obey a man?" he added, turning to a couple of the Nedes, who glanced away. "Then neither of you should have any objections! What's more, I have no allegiance to any single kingdom. By the Divines, I don't even have a kingdom to call home anymore!" he pointed out with a bitter chuckle. "As such, you can rest assured that I shall not show favor to any one realm. This battle also does not require a great deal of strategic planning, so my inexperience as a commander should not hinder us. All we must do is take the bridge, drive off the Ayleid army, and then we can decide what to do next." He paused as he noticed the unease on the faces of several kings and centurions, and he added, "I understand many of you may have reservations about this proposal, but this is the best compromise I can offer. Will you accept it?"

There was another long pause, and then, to his surprise – and relief – King Vrage announced, "I shall. I believe your proposal is sound. My men and I will follow you, emissary."

Telepe glanced at the king and gave him a grateful smile, which Vrage answered with a wink. A moment later, one of the centurions added, "We shall as well. You've served the Paravant loyally, emissary, and we know that she trusts you as she does Pelinal and Morihaus." Most of the other centurions nodded in agreement, and the few that looked away at least didn't raise any protests.

"My mer will follow you too," Prince Dynar added, flashing Telepe a grin as he looked over. "As if you doubted that we would," he added, lowering his voice so that only Telepe could hear.

Seeing this, the other Ayleid kings, one by one, pledged their support to Telepe as well, until finally, only Nornalhorst and Nenyond Twyll were the only holdouts. The former seemed reluctant to follow any commander, while the latter was clearly still furious about the way Telepe had cowed him into submission. However, when it became clear that the rest of the army was willing to let Telepe take command for the battle, they traded looks, and then simultaneously seemed to sag with defeat.

"Very well," the King of Nenyond Twyll agreed reluctantly. "I suppose that the Paravant shall return shortly anyways, so I doubt you can cause much harm leading the army for one day."

"Hmph. Don't underestimate the damage that a fool can cause," the King of Nornalhorst growled. He then pointed at Telepe sharply and snapped, "Do not fail, mong- Manmer, or we shall see just how fragile this alliance truly is."

Telepe held the king's gaze until he spun on his heel and swept away. Once he was out of sight, Telepe sighed and turned to the centurions and kings surrounding him. "Very good," he said, raising his voice once again so that he could be heard. "Now then. It's already late. So, warriors, rest as soundly as you can. We'll be attempting another crossing as soon as dawn breaks. I would like to speak the centurions and kings for a few moments longer, if you could spare a bit of your time."

The leaders immediately carried out his orders to see the men to bed, save for a few guards that remained posted at the bridge. As they did, Telepe entered the Paravant's tent and walked over to the large wooden table in the center. He then hunched over, put his hands on the hard, smooth surface, and inhaled sharply as sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He suddenly found it difficult to breathe. It was one thing to volunteer to command the army, and he didn't think he had made the wrong decision, but now that he had a moment to realize what he had done, the enormity of his task threatened to crush him. The fate of the entire rebellion now rested on his shoulders! How could any one person care the fates of several kingdoms in their hands?! How had Perrif managed all this time?! Was this how she always felt?! How could she bear it?! If he failed-!

"Telepe?" a voice asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. He inhaled sharply as he looked up to see Dynar holding up the tent flap and frowning at him. "What is it?"

Telepe took a long, slow breath, then shook his head and forced himself to stand up straight. "Nothing. Merely trying to devise a plan," he replied, not wholly untruthfully. Dynar nodded and stepped inside, followed by the other kings and centurions. As the leaders began to take up positions around the table, Telepe ruthlessly suppressed his fears as best he could. He couldn't allow himself to dwell on the weight of his responsibility. All he could do was focus on completing this one task.

"Thank you for your time," Telepe said, folding his hands behind his back in an effort to appear calmer than he actually was. "I would like to discuss our plans for this upcoming battle. Despite what I said, I am well aware that taking this bridge is not simply a matter of throwing our men at the enemy and waiting for them to break. I will also readily admit that I know little about commanding an army. I do, however, know the importance of influencing the thoughts and emotions of others, and I feel that our triumph or defeat will depend upon maintaining our morale, and upon crushing the enemy's. To that end, I have a few thoughts about how to conduct this battle…."

Telepe briefly outlined his plan of attack. It was unorthodox, especially compared to their standard order of battle, and he could see that some of the commanders were skeptical. However, they had already been repelled once using their standard tactics, so he figured trying something different might secure their victory. When he finished outlining his plan, the other kings and centurions stated their objections and concerns, though most were simply concerned that implementing changes that were too radical would impact their own effectiveness. As such, Telepe and the other commanders spent the next hour negotiating the fine points of the plan, until they had devised a strategy that they all found acceptable.

"This is a gamble," the King of Silorn remarked as Telepe stepped away from the table. "It's not the way one usually conducts a battle."

"Yes, but our opponents did not wage a traditional battle yesterday either," Telepe pointed out. "So we must adjust as well."

The king nodded. "I cannot argue that point, and I do believe this shall suffice. Very well. Let's get some rest while we can."

"Please do," Telepe agreed. "In the meantime, I'm going to seek out Moralasil."

"He should be at the edge of camp," Dynar offered helpfully. When Telepe nodded in thanks and began to move past him, however, the prince put his hand on Telepe's shoulder. "Don't push yourself too hard," he warned.

Telepe opened his mouth to protest, but then simply nodded in response. "I'll try," he said simply, before smiling faintly. "Still, it's not as though I'm going to be able to sleep, so I may as well make use of the additional time I've been given. I suppose I should thank Meridia for that," he added sardonically. Dynar responded with a short, humorless laugh, before releasing Telepe, who brushed past the prince and stepped out into the camp.

---

Fortunately for Telepe, Moralasil was still awake, and while he was surprised by Telepe's late request for training, the sage agreed without hesitation. After all, Moralasil pointed out, it wasn't as though he was going to be participating in the battle, so he might as well be of use to the rebellion however he could.

Telepe asked Moralasil to help him with two spells. For his strategy in the upcoming battle to succeed, he needed to master one, and improve another. Moralasil admitted that he didn't know if Telepe could do both in just one night, but Telepe insisted that they at least try. Moralasil didn't refuse, but he did caution Telepe not to be disappointed if he didn't succeed.

Throughout the night, flashes of green light could be seen in a secluded corner of the camp. Neither Telepe nor Moralasil rested at all, and by the time the sun began to rise, Telepe was on the verge of collapse. He knew that he could not simultaneously conserve his energy and master the spells at the same time, so he instead threw himself wholeheartedly into his studies. In doing so, he completely lost track of time, and he was caught by surprise when a guard pushed open the tent flap and peeked inside.

"Emissary," he said softly. "Dawn is approaching. Do you still intend to attack at sunrise?"

Telepe was gasping for breath when the guard asked his question, and it was a few moments before he could stammer in reply, "Y-yes. Allow me to-"

"A moment, Telepe," Moralasil said, motioning for him to come closer. Telepe almost fell to his knees as they nearly gave out under him, and the sage held him up by pressing his hands against Telepe's chest. Telepe inhaled sharply as Moralasil's spell erupted through his body, restoring life to his exhausted frame. He also noticed that, when the spell faded, he had an undercurrent of energy that he didn't usually feel when Moralasil curbed his fatigue.

"What did you do?" Telepe asked, frowning as he flexed his fingers.

"I expended additional magicka to restore yours," Moralasil explained as he sat back on his hands, a faint smile on his face. "If your plan hinges upon your ability to cast spells, then it won't do you any good if you've exhausted your magicka reserves before the battle has even begun."

Telepe hadn't realized that restoring another's magicka was even possible, but he nodded and replied softly, "Thank you."

"There's no need for thanks. You have far greater need of it than I do," Moralasil chuckled, before waving him off. "Now go prepare yourself. Meanwhile, I'm going to enjoy some rest. Unlike you, boy, I'm no longer youthful, and it's difficult for me to stay up for this long. Good fortune in the battle!" With that, Moralasil unceremoniously fell onto his leather bedroll, and mere seconds later, began snoring loudly.

Telepe stifled a chuckle as he crept out of his tent and into the cool pre-dawn air. A heavy fog had rolled in overnight, enveloping the camp in a heavy grey shroud. Through the gloom, he could see many of the centurions hurrying about, rousing their men. The hoplite that had roused Telepe handed him a plate of flatbread and a clay cup of tea, then motioned for him to follow. Telepe quickly wolfed down the food as he fell into step behind the hoplite, allowing himself to be led to the large command tent.

Once inside, he was surprised to see that a set of polished bronze armor had been laid out on the central table. When Telepe gave the hoplite a curious look, he explained, "The other kings requested that you wear this in the coming battle. If you intend to command our army, you must look the part."

Telepe momentarily considered protesting, as he preferred his lighter leather armor. However, he quickly dismissed that thought. For one, the kings had a point – the leader of the army needed to project an air of authority, and simple leather armor didn't have the same impact as gleaming bronze. What's more, there would be little room on the bridge for him to maneuver as he usually did, and his leather armor was woefully insufficient against dozens of spears, axes, and arrows all raining down on him at once. As such, he began pulling on the armor without complaint, with the hoplite helping him with some of the straps. He was pleased to see that it rested on his frame surprisingly well – he supposed that his tall, lean figure was similar enough to the Ayleids' that finding a set of armor that fit him was not particularly difficult.

As he was strapping greaves on over his ankle-high leather boots – the hoplite had suggested that he fight barefoot like most of the men, but Telepe had bluntly refused, wanting as much protection as possible – the tent flap swung open again, and Tari stepped inside. Telepe turned towards her with a faint smile as she looked him up and down, his stomach starting to twist as he waited for her to protest, or at least glare at him. To his surprise, however, she simply approached him and took his arm, then turned it over to tighten the straps of his bracers.

"You're not going to stop me?" he asked quietly, flexing his hand to make sure that she hadn't pulled the straps too tight.

"What do you want me to say?" Tari replied with a shrug. "Certainly, I wish that you didn't have to do this, but it is necessary, and I believe that you made the correct decision by taking command when you did." She looked up at him and smiled lightly. "We've been with each other long enough to know when to fight together, and to know when all we can do is trust in each other. This time, it's the latter."

"Sadly, yes," Telepe agreed with a soft sigh. Then he smiled faintly. "Though it's not as though we won't be supporting each other. You will be fighting with the other mages."

"True enough," Tari agreed. "I wish I could be standing beside you the entire time, but we both know that isn't possible. Still, I have faith in you." She paused for a moment, gazing down at his arm, and then she suddenly reached up and took his face in her hands. "Just please, return to me unharmed," she murmured. As Telepe opened his mouth to reply, she put a finger to his lips. "Don't promise me. Just do so."

Telepe blinked at her, then chuckled and closed his mouth as he nodded. "As you say," he replied gently.

Tari nodded, seeming satisfied, as she reached down to her belt pouch. She pulled out four stoppered wooden bottles, which she pushed into his hands. "Keep these with you," she said. "The two potions in the red bottles will stem the bleeding from any wounds you suffer, and the potions in the brown bottles will relieve your fatigue."

Telepe's eyes widened slightly with surprise, and then he smiled gratefully to her as he opened his belt pouch and slipped them inside. "I'll use them wisely," he assured her.

"That's all I can ask," Tari replied. She smiled gently, then leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "Divines smile upon you, love."

"You as well," Telepe replied as Tari swept out of the tent. He let out a soft sigh of regret as he watched her depart, then shook his head. He then reached down and grabbed the bronze helmet, capped with a thick, black, horsehair crest. As he pulled it on, he glanced to the hoplite who had been assisting him, and he nodded slowly, gathering his courage and suppressing his nerves as he did. "Let's be off."

As he and the hoplite stepped outside, Telepe noticed that the campgrounds were covered in a bright silver fog, so thick that he could hardly see beyond about a hundred feet. A figure stepped out of the fog, and Telepe stopped mid-stride as Pasare ran up to him, grinning broadly. "Telepe! I have excellent news!" she announced. "We did some scouting on the bridge. This fog has completely covered not only our camp, but the entire river… including the bridge itself!"

Telepe's eyebrows rose as he realized what had Pasare so excited. "Meaning that their archers will be blind," he concluded.

"As will their mages!" Pasare nodded. "Admittedly, so will ours, but since they rely much more heavily on their archers than we do, they won't be able to use one of their greatest assets! Either they tell their archers to shoot blind and risk striking their own men, or they refrain from shooting altogether, turning this into an infantry battle, which we're certain to win!" Her grin broadened. "If I were more devout, I would go so far as to say Kyne is favoring us!"

Telepe hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Perhaps she is," he murmured. "Would you be so kind as to relay my request that the men get into formation?"

"Most already are," Pasare informed him. "As soon as the kings and centurions realized how thick the fog was, they made haste to prepare for battle. They're simply awaiting your command."

Telepe grimaced, worrying that they thought he had been wasting time. "Thank you," Telepe nodded as he began to hurry towards the bridge. As he made his way through the camp, he noticed that most of the men were indeed already standing in formation in their centuries. He broke into a jog, and the hoplites deferentially nodded to him in greeting as he made his way to the front of the army, where the Ayleid kings, Nordic jarls, and Nedic centurions were waiting.

"General!" King Vrage greeted him as he approached. Telepe winced at the title and held up his hand.

"I'm not a general," Telepe insisted. "I'd prefer if you continue to refer to me as 'emissary.'" When Vrage smiled and nodded, seemingly pleased by his humility, Telepe asked, "Has anything changed on the bridge?"

"We can't see anything due to this damned fog," the King of Nornalhorst replied with a growl. "We don't know how many mer we're facing, or if they're even still holding the bridge."

"Good," Telepe said with a faint smile. "Then there's no better time to attack, since they won't know the forces that we're sending either. Have we made the changes to the first three centuries?"

"As you requested," Orina, one of the centurions, replied firmly. "A few of the men are uneasy about it – men and mer alike – but since we only exchanged few of the men, there shouldn't be any significant reduction in our fighting prowess."

"Very good," Telepe nodded. "Then we shouldn't waste any more time. Let's take advantage of this fog while we can." He turned to the Ayleids. "If this fog does clear, feel free to call upon your mages and archers as you please. Until then, I'd ask you to save your spells and arrows, since we don't want to accidentally wound our own men."

"As you say, emissary," the King of Silorn answered for the Ayleids. The other kings nodded in agreement, and though one or two seemed annoyed that they were being kept in reserve, they clearly realized that he had a point."

"King Vrage, have you chosen someone, as I asked?" Telepe asked, turning to the king.

"I have. Freya will accompany you to start," Vrage replied. Telepe glanced over to the tall, pale-blond woman standing beside him, clad in bronze armor and carrying a handaxe and shield. She grinned at Telepe, who answered with a smile and a nod.

"Very good," he replied. "Then let's not waste any more time. I feel a speech is unnecessary, as we all know what must be done. Prepare to march!"

The kings nodded and made their way back to their men. Telepe took a slow breath and turned towards the bridge, trying to calm his pounding heart. If fortune was with them, they would catch the Ayleids unawares. The conditions were good – it was early in the day, the fog was still quite thick, and they weren't blatantly announcing their intentions. Of course, they also weren't attempting a true sneak attack, and Telepe still expected to face stiff resistance once they stepped onto the bridge. He was hoping, however, that they might at least catch the enemy army somewhat unawares.

As the centurions began preparing their men to march, Telepe walked to the front of the first century and strapped a plain bronze shield to his arm, then drew his sword. As he did, he noticed that Vrage was watching him curiously.

"You don't intend to wield a spear?" he asked.

"I trust our men. I feel that I can simply holding the line with a shield, until we get close enough that I can use this," Telepe replied simply. "Besides, this sword is enchanted with a spell that I hope will throw our enemies into chaos."

Vrage stepped a little closer and peered at the blade. "It's a fine weapon," he remarked, sounding genuinely impressed. "Is it of Ayleid make?" When Telepe nodded, he smiled lightly. "Does it have a name?"

Telepe paused, then tilted his head as he gazed at the blade, considering. He hadn't named his sword, now that he thought about it. After pondering for a few moments, a sly smile spread across his lips. "Heca," he replied simply.

Vrage blinked at him, then chuckled. "You named your sword 'Begone?'" he asked incredulously.

"A sword that causes whomever it strikes to flee?" Telepe pointed out with a grin. "Can you think of a more fitting name?"

Vrage's grin broadened, and then he tilted his head back and let out a roar of laughter. "I suppose not!" he agreed. He then clapped Telepe on his back. "Kyne guard you, emissary."

"It seems she intends to," Telepe replied, motioning to the fog. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Vrage nodded in reply, then stepped away to join his men. Telepe, meanwhile, took another slow breath, then glanced over his shoulder at Orina, who nodded to him encouragingly. He swallowed, then held his sword up and slashed it forward. Orina screamed the order to march, and Telepe could hear it being repeated through the fog as he raised his shield and stepped onto the bridge.

Telepe could feel his heart pounding in his throat as he slowly advanced across the bridge. Any minute, he expected to encounter the Ayleid army, spears lowered, bows drawn and pointed at him. Worse than that, though, he could feel the rebel army at his back. While some might have found that comforting, knowing that they were supported by their allies, Telepe instead found it terrifying, as it meant that there was no way to escape if the battle turned deadly. Worse, if he did try to flee, his comrades would mark him as a coward and a hypocrite for demanding that they fight to their deaths while proving unwilling to do the same. Thus, he almost felt as though he was being pushed towards his own death, pressed between two walls of spears that were steadily closing in on each other, with him in the middle.

His morbid musings were suddenly cut short when he caught sight of a line of figures lurking in the fog – roughly a century of warriors, he guessed. He abruptly held up his hand, and the army behind him came to a sudden halt. Telepe held his breath as the shadows in the fog slowly became more solid, indicating that they were drawing closer. Instinctively, Telepe began to back away, and as he did, he began gathering magicka in his left hand.

He took a long, slow breath as he imagined himself vanishing, his body turning as clear as water, while focusing as much energy as he could into the center of his palm. The additional energy that Moralasil had gifted him seemed to surge through his body, and a moment later, he released the magic. Just as the Ayleids before him came close enough that he could see them clearly through the fog, he vanished.

He allowed himself a split-second of elation as the square of Ayleid warriors glanced around curiously, frowning in confusion. The rest of the army was far back enough that they still could not be seen through the fog, so evidently, his spell had worked perfectly. He was fortunate that he had succeeded this time – he had finally learned the invisibility spell with only about four hours left until dawn, and even then, his control was still somewhat shaky. However, with his success, had bought himself a precious few seconds to gather the magicka necessary for his next spell.

Telepe had not only asked Moralasil to teach him invisibility, but to improve another spell – a spell that had saved his life several times throughout his adventures in Cyrod. Exhaling softly, he sheathed his sword and slung his shield over his back, then gathered magicka in both hands. He couldn't see his palms glowing green, but he could feel them tingling with energy. Holding them both out , he released the magicka, and as the invisibility spell ended, a large bolt of green light erupted from his hands.

The Ayleids let out a short cry of surprise as the spell streaked towards them. It struck the center of the formation and erupted in a cloud of sea-green magicka. As it washed over the elves, many suddenly went slack, staring into the distance with a glassy-eyed expression. Telepe grinned to himself as he lowered his hands and exhaled. Unlike the invisibility spell, learning to calm multiple targets at once had come fairly swiftly to him. He had simply thought of it as convincing a crowd to relax and lay down their arms, rather than an individual. After the training he'd undergone to cast invisibility, he had more than enough power to cast the improved spell, although it did take him a bit of time to gather the energy needed. That would improve with time, Moralasil had assured him, but for now, the invisibility spell gave him time to prepare.

From what he could see, elves as far back as the first three or four rows were under the influence of the spell. Not all were affected – some had unconsciously resisted, and were now shouting at their comrades and shaking them, visibly confused by their dazed expressions. Others tried to push their way to the front, causing disorder in their ranks, and further back in the fog, he could hear confused voices demanding to know what was happening.

Telepe quickly faded back into the fog before the Ayleids could spot him, and as he did, he called out, "Freya!" A moment later, the tall Nordic woman slipped out from the front ranks and nodded to him. As Telepe slipped behind her, he said in a softer voice, "Kindly remove these elves from the bridge."

Freya grinned at him, then turned to face the distant elves, who were once again little more than shadowy figures in the fog. She inhaled sharply, held her breath for a moment, then shouted at the top of her lungs, "FUS RO DAH!"

The fog in front of her parted as a wall of force tore through the air. The bickering elves were caught unawares as the Shout slammed into them, knocking the fortunate ones prone, while sending most hurtling over the sides of the bridge, screaming, into the water below. For a few moments, the fog was parted, and Telepe could see that at least three or four centuries further back on the bridge had been struck by the Shout. Scattered bodies were strewn across the bridge, and most were too dazed to even pull themselves to their feet. The Shout had created a perfect opening.

Telepe hurried forward, taking a moment to clap Freya on the shoulder in silent praise as she made her way to the back of the column, since she could only Shout once every hour or so, and he didn't want to lose a valuable Tongue if he could avoid it. He then drew his sword and shouted, "Forward!" The order was repeated, and bloodthirsty screams erupted from the throats of the army behind him.

The army took off at a jog, with Telepe falling in line with the rest of the phalanx. As they approached the stunned Ayleid warriors, the men unceremoniously plunged their spears into them before they could rise again. Their screams echoed through the fog, alerting the rest of the Ayleid army to their attack; in the distance, Telepe could hear the elves shouting orders and preparing themselves for battle.

As they approached another line of shadowy figures in the distance, green bolts of magic streaked towards them. Telepe reflexively lifted his shield as a ray of light struck him, but it did nothing to ward off the magic as it spread across his body. He glanced down at himself for a moment when he realized that he was unharmed, but he suspected that the Ayleids hadn't intended to wound him. To test his theory, he opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no sound escaped his throat.

Grimacing, he mentally revised his plans. Since Freya's initial Shout had been so successful, he had been considering bringing up another Tongue, or their battlemages, to help clear the bridge more swiftly. However, if the Ayleids still had mages in their ranks that knew how to cast Silence, then it was more prudent to keep the battlemages and Tongues in reserve. There was only about a score of mages and Tongues total, and if they were Silenced, then they would be little more than common soldiers. Of course, they were all excellent fighters, but he didn't want to risk losing them in a melee if he didn't need to. For now, it was better to trust in their hoplites, and if the tide of battle shifted, he would call the mages and Tongues up. Besides, he could cast silently, and he could also Silence enemy mages if necessary. If the Ayleids wanted a pure melee, he would grant their wish.

With that in mind, he pressed on, and after a few more moments, the next group of elves solidified out of the fog. This band was much more prepared, with their shields raised and their spears lowered to meet the rebels' charge. As the two groups neared each other, however, Telepe could see some of the elves hesitate when they saw the enemy they were facing. Their confusion brought a grin to his lips, and he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Rather than the entirely Nedic infantry that the Ayleids had been expecting, they were instead met with a mixed force of Nedes, Nords… and other Ayleids.

When he was planning the battle, Telepe had realized that for all their talk of integration, the humans and elves of Cyrod, and the Nords of Skyrim, had always maintained separate units composed of their individual races. He was surprised to realize that the thought of their elven allies fighting alongside their human hoplites had never truly occurred to him. It had been natural to think of the Nedes as hoplites, the Ayleids as skirmishers and archers, and the Nords as light infantry. That realization had given birth to a devious thought – if he was surprised by the thought, how would their enemies react?

To his delight, the sight of their fellow mer fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with the rebel slaves, rather than in separate centuries, elicited cries of shock and disgust. He could see a few of the elves visibly recoiling, and others murmuring to each other in bewilderment and horror. They were visibly shaken by the sight, and that momentary lapse in focus gave Telepe an opening he could exploit.

Telepe transferred his sword to his left hand, holding it loosely over the grip of the shield, and with his right hand, he once again gathered magicka, before releasing a single bolt of aqua-colored light. The spell exploded in a small cloud of ghostly green magicka as it struck the front rank of the formation. While the calming spell didn't spread as far as when he had cast it with both hands, he could see about ten or so Ayleids in the first two rows go limp, with glassy-eyed expressions and slack jaws. It wasn't much, but it did create holes in their formation. As he tossed his sword back to his right hand, he felt the press of his allies' shields on his back, and he quickly began jogging again, keeping his shield raised until the two sides collided with a heavy crash.

Telepe shuddered as the Ayleids' spears scratched loudly, but harmlessly, over the face of his shield. He stepped back to rejoin the rest of the rebel line, then held his ground as the men around him began thrusting their spears into the Ayleid ranks, while the enemy mer responded in kind. His men were clever enough to avoid striking the mer that were affected by Telepe's calming spell, as their mere presence obstructed their allies, preventing them from properly attacking the rebels or moving up as their fellow warriors fell. In the confusion, the rebels started to push them back without much difficulty, and the front ranks began to collapse.

When they were close enough that the spears were becoming unwieldly, the front rank of the rebel phalanx passed their spears to the row behind them and drew their swords and axes, while the enemy Ayleids did the same. Telepe soon found himself facing down a tall young woman wielding a short mace with a bronze head. In such close quarters, Telepe couldn't move as he usually did, so he instead kept his shield up and grit his teeth, bracing himself as she rained blows on him. After her third strike, he saw her overextend, and he took the opportunity to slash upwards. His strike was shallow and barely grazed her arm, opening a thin line of red blood. Even so, when the point of his blade made contact with her arm, he grinned in triumph.

A flash of red light erupted from his sword, and a moment later, the woman's fierce, determined expression melted into wide-eyed panic. Screaming, she threw down her arms and turned to flee. In her blind terror, she began shoving her way back through the Ayleid ranks, forcing her way through the narrowest of openings. In their confusion, her companions shifted out of the way for her, and that momentary distraction gave the rebels an opening, which they immediately exploited. While the hoplites jabbed their spears into the gaps in the formation, Telepe slashed twice more to the left and right of the fleeing elf, cleanly slicing into the arms of two more Ayleids. Terror seized them as well, and they also screamed and tried to flee, throwing the enemy formation even further into disarray.

The rebels took advantage of the collapsing formation, their spears jabbing into the gaps left by the terrified elves. More mer fell, and the sight of their comrades fleeing and dying threw the rest of the formation into a panic. Within a few minutes, the rest of the century was trying to push their way back off of the bridge, with the rebels hounding them all the while.

Eventually, the fleeing Ayleids joined a fresh century of warriors, then turned and lowered their spears, bracing themselves for the rebels' onslaught. Using the momentum of their push, Telepe managed to knock aside a spear that was thrust at him, and in return, he jabbed at the unprotected hip of his assailant. The tip of his blade grazed his opponent, opening a shallow wound, but to his dismay, there was no flash of red light – the blade's enchantment had already been expended, and would need a bit of time to recharge. He managed to raise his shield in time as his opponent retaliated with another spear thrust, and he clenched his teeth as the bronze point scraped across the face of his shield with a grating screech. He backed up a couple of paces and held his ground, bracing his shoulder against the shield as the Ayleids continued to jab at him. After several long moments, he noticed that the green Welkynd Stone in the crossguard of his sword was glowing again, and he took the opportunity to peek over the edge of his shield and deliver a quick thrust to his opponent's face. The Ayleid managed to sway backwards enough to avoid being stabbed through the eye, but the edge of Telepe's blade bit into his cheek. A flash of red light struck the skin of his unfortunate opponent, and the Ayleid shrieked in terror and turned to flee. Telepe smiled faintly to himself as he stepped back and stole a glance at his sword. Once again, the Welkynd Stone was dull, and he knew he would have to wait for it to recharge before he could use its magic again.

With that, Telepe fell into a routine as the battle raged. Most of the time, he simply held his ground, protecting his body from the Ayleid spears, swords, and axes as they rained blows down on him, while waiting for his sword to recharge enough to allow him another fear-inducing strike. It was exhausting, enduring the constant onslaught of Ayleid weaponry, and by the time they had routed another two centuries, his left arm was aching. Nevertheless, they slowly pressed on across the bridge.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as they advanced foot by foot. The Ayleid army continued to cycle in reinforcements as their vanguard fled the battle, which in turn gave the rebels time to bring in fresh units of their own. Though the rebels were eventually able to repel each enemy unit through a combination of magic and tenacity, they also suffered significant losses of their own. Soon the bodies of both men and mer lined the sides of the bridge. Some of the corpses were even pushed over the sides of the bridge and into the river so the warriors had room to fight. Telepe tried to keep casting spells and slashing with his sword to open gaps in the enemy lines, but he could feel himself being worn down. The fatigue he had accumulated over the past several days was taking its toll, yet every time his eyes began to feel heavy, the searing light of Meridia's curse re-awoke him and drove him on. He couldn't continue on forever, though. His shield was dropping as his left arm grew heavy, and the tip of his sword was dragging along the ground….

"-epe! Telepe!" he suddenly heard someone shouting in his ear. He blearily looked over his shoulder at Orina, who nodded to a spot on the bridge. "Rest for a moment. I'll take command."

Telepe considered protesting, but the allure of a quick respite was too tempting to refuse, so he simply nodded. He ducked out of the line and knelt against the low wall, carefully avoiding sitting in the blood streaming from a Nedic hoplite's corpse. As he caught his breath, he reached into his belt pouch and pulled out two of the potion bottles Tari had given him. First, he downed the contents of the fatigue potion, and he felt life returning to his aching limbs, though he noted that it didn't fully energize him the way it had when he had first started taking the potion. He then unstopped the other bottle and tossed his head back as he poured the viscous contents down his throat. He had suffered several bruises and small gashes over the course of the battle, and as he swallowed the mixture, he could see the bleeding wounds covering his body starting to congeal. They weren't healing per se, but he was no longer losing blood.

Telepe wiped his mouth, then pushed himself to his feet, stood on his toes, and craned his neck to see where they were. By his reckoning, they had managed to advance a little more than halfway across the bridge. The fog was clearing, however, and as the sun rose higher into the sky, he could see the vague, distant shadows of the rest of the Ayleid army massed on the others side of the bridge. He had gradually realized that fewer Ayleid spearmen were being sent forth to protect the bridge, which suggested to him that the elves were willing to cede the bridge and instead surround the rebel hoplites when they finished crossing.

As that grim conclusion crossed Telepe's mind, he noticed new figures appearing out of the fog. For a moment, Telepe wondered if they were more spearmen, but then he saw something bright flying towards him. His eyes widened, and he ducked just as a flaming sphere seared the air above his head. It struck an unfortunate hoplite, who screamed in pain and fell to the ground, writhing. More balls of flame flew towards the hoplites, though thankfully, this time most were able to duck, and the spells flew over their heads harmlessly, though a few unlucky soldiers were struck by the flames. Then, moment later, he heard a familiar wooden creaking, and Telepe's blood ran cold.

"Shields up!" Telepe shouted, banging his sword against his own shield before ducking behind it. The hoplites crouched down and pulled their shields over their heads, just as a torrent of arrows rained down on them. Thankfully, their heavy bronze shields and armor protected them from the worst of the damage, though Telepe still heard screams as a few of the bolts sank into unprotected flesh.

Moments later, he heard a similar wooden creaking from further back on the bridge. A cloud of arrows rose from the rebel ranks, and Telepe glanced up in time to see them arcing through the air before disappearing into the fog. A few moments later, the screams of the enemy Ayleids filled the air as the arrows pierced their thin leather armor, and the shadows quickly began fading back into the mist before they could suffer more losses. Silently, Telepe thanked whichever Ayleid king had ordered the retaliatory volley – likely the King of Silorn, if he had to guess – and then he took a deep breath and hurried forward to take his place at the front of the rebel formation once again.

By this point, Orina's century had fallen back to rest, and had been replaced by a century led by a man-of-ge named Vors. The centurion nodded to Telepe silently as he slipped back into the ranks, then motioned to another block of Ayleid spearmen advancing towards them, now that the enemy archers and mages had completely fallen back. Telepe groaned to himself, then nodded and swung his sword forward, ordering the men to advance once more.

As the day wore on, the last of the fog burned away, yet the rebels' progress across the bridge continued at a slow but steady pace. Telepe eventually realized that they must have been fighting for hours, as the sun was starting to reach its zenith, and with each passing minute, his pain and fatigue continued to grow. At last, however, the final unit of spearmen turned and fled, giving Telepe an unobstructed view of the other side of the bridge.

A wall of spears waited for them, with the elves beyond snarling at them. To his horror, he saw dozens of dead Ayleids already piled at the feet of the spearmen –mer that had tried to flee, and had been cut down by their "allies." Behind the spearmen were the remnants of the Ayleid archers, reduced to about two-thirds of their number by the rebels' own bowmen. He also spotted a dozen or so white-robed mages arrayed on either flank of the bridge, and two score Daedra – silent, golden suits of armor and bloodthirsty dremora – lurked behind the spearmen, waiting patiently in reserve to meet the exhausted rebel army. At the rear of the army, atop a black stallion, sat an unfamiliar sorcerer-king, clad in gleaming bronze armor and wearing a helmet-crown bedecked with a train of feathers. He was accompanied by eight nobles, also sitting on horseback, who were glaring imperiously at the rebel army. However, while the army that faced them was formidable, it made no move to advance on the weary rebels. It seemed that, despite their obvious fatigue, the king was treating them with caution.

Telepe held up his hand, bringing the army to a halt. He waited for a few moments to see if the Ayleids were going to attack, but they continued to hold their ground. Taking advantage of their hesitation, Telepe turned to Vors and said quickly, "Hold the line here. If they attack, retaliate, and if they launch arrows or spells, defend yourselves." The centurion nodded in reply, and Telepe cast one last furtive look at the back lines of the enemy army to make sure that the mages and Daedra were not about to attack. Fortunately, it seemed that they were wary of harming their own troops with their spells, so they were willing to let the infantry take the brunt of the assault. When he was certain that the enemy was going to wait patiently, Telepe slipped out of line hurried through the lead century to find the other officers.

Fortunately, Vrage was only two centuries back with his own men, and beyond him was the King of Silorn, still commanding his archers. He motioned for Vrage to follow him, then hurried over to the King of Silorn. Moments later, they were also joined by the King of Nornalhorst, who had evidently seen Telepe pulling away from the front lines.

"Why are you not leading our men, 'general?'" the Ayleid demanded with a sneer.

Telepe ignored the implied insult, instead responding breathlessly, "The enemy is waiting for us to make the first move, and I don't intend to simply charge blindly into his spears. So, first, Your Majesties… do you believe your archers can reach their mages from here?"

The Ayleid kings traded looks, then craned their necks to get a better view. "It will be difficult, but I believe so," the King of Silorn said hesitantly.

"That's acceptable," Telepe assured him. "In truth, we don't need to slay them; we merely need to keep them distracted. King Vrage, do you have a Tongue or two who can still Shout?"

"One, yes. I've kept him in reserve throughout the battle, in case we needed him," Vrage replied quickly.

"Very good," Telepe nodded. "I'll return to the front lines and use the last of my energy to calm as many soldiers as I can. King Vrage, when I do, send in your berserkers.. The hoplites will support them. Your Majesties, as I said, keep your archers' focus on the mages, and if they withdraw, turn your attention to their bowmen. Bring up the battlemages as well, and keep them in the second century behind the berserkers and hoplites. If the Daedra attack, we will rely upon your Tongue and the battlemages to repel them." He glanced quickly between the leaders, then added shortly, "This plan cannot succeed if we do not cooperate perfectly. Only together can we achieve victory."

The kings traded looks, then nodded in agreement. Telepe smiled faintly, then made his way back to the front of the army as the kings returned to their units and began shouting orders at their warriors.

When he was a few feet from the front lines, Telepe unstopped the second fatigue potion and downed its contents with a shudder. He then took a moment to sling his shield over his shoulder and sheathe his sword, and then he cast the invisibility spell and pushed his way to the front of the line. To his relief, the enemy were still waiting for them to attack, though now the archers were peppering them with arrows. Fortunately, only a few of the men had been injured by the rain of bolts, but Telepe knew that the hoplites were frustrated, being forced to endure their volleys without retaliation. Whispering a quiet apology, he took a deep breath and once again gathered magicka into his hands.

Behind him, he heard Vrage's berserkers pushing their way past his hoplites, and further back, the Ayleid kings shouted for their men to loose their arrows. As the cloud of arrows flew overhead, Telepe exhaled, and the moment that he reappeared, he unleashed the last of his magicka into a bolt of aqua-colored light, which he released with both hands. The spell struck the center of the Ayleid formation and washed over the first few ranks, who were so tightly packed that dozens were caught in the explosion of light. Telepe smiled wearily as he saw that the majority of the first three rows went slack, while their companions stared at them in confusion – or horror, if they had seen Telepe cast this spell before.

"Charge!" Telepe shouted, drawing his sword once more. The bersekers let out screams of bloodthirsty delight and pounced on the dazed Ayleids, their heavy weapons hacking viciously into their lines. Though the mer had been prepared for their attack, Telepe's calming spell had once again thrown them into disarray, as those in the back ranks couldn't respond to the furious assault. Despite their numerical and positional advantage, they swiftly began to be pushed back by the Nords' ferocity.

Vors shouted for his men to advance as well, and Telepe joined them as they followed the Nordic berserkers into the wall of spears. They advanced steadily behind the Nords, jabbing over their shoulders as the berserkers continued to push back the collapsing elven lines. Beyond them, Telepe could see the mages trying to aim their spells without hitting their men, but the rebel Ayleids' arrows kept them at bay.

As the defenders' line was about to collapse, however, Telepe heard the enemy king shout, "Daedra! Forward!" His stomach tightened as he heard the heavy footsteps of the red-skinned demons and the soulless, golden armored beings approaching. Before he could give an order, however, the Nords suddenly pushed outwards in both directions, opening a gap and allowing a tall man with bright red, braided hair to stand in the center of their formation and face the Ayleids' final reinforcements directly.

Telepe watched, half-delirious with exhaustion, as the young man inhaled sharply, then set his feet. Telepe had expected him to unleash another Force shout, but instead, he screamed, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" A stream of flame erupted from his mouth, dousing the Ayleids and approaching Daedra in a scorching blaze that made Telepe's eyes water, and he was forced to turn away and blink rapidly. When he turned back around, dozens of Ayleid warriors were screaming and running away in sheer terror, and even a few of the Daedra had been reduced to blackened husks. More importantly, a massive gap had been opened in the Ayleid lines.

"Into the breach!" Telepe shouted, and the berserkers responded immediately, charging directly at the king with their weapons raised high, screaming mindless battle-cries at him. The mages finally had a clear view of their quarries, but even as they began to cast their spells, the rest of the army pushed up far enough that the rebel archers were, in turn, able to fully come within range of the mages. Arrows rained down on the mages just as they unleashed flame and shock spells on the rebel army, and though a few hoplites fell, two mages likewise fell screaming to the ground as arrows pierced their thin cloth robes.

As the berserkers sprinted for the Ayleid king, the elf hesitated and glanced around at the battlefield. Telepe did the same and saw that most of the Ayleid army was fleeing, their discipline utterly broken. The elven spearmen were in a full rout, while the archers were retreating in a more orderly fashion, firing at the pursuing rebel forces as they fell back. The Daedra were holding their ground, and as the berserkers neared their king, they met the Nordic warriors head-on, halting their advance and saving the Ayleid king's life.

For a few moments, it seemed the Daedra might turn back the berserkers. As the Nords began to fall back, however, balls of flame and streaks of lightning shot towards the Daedric elites. The spells staggered and scorched the demonic warriors, who let out screams of pain as they were pushed back. Out of the corner of his eye, Telepe could see Tari near the center of the line, dressed in leather armor, both of her hands crackling with lightning as she focused her energy on a distant dremora. As the storm of magical energy washed over them, even the Daedra fell, their bodies disappearing in flashes of violet flame.

Seeing this, the king's noble advisors spoke to the king, who scowled in frustration at whatever was being said. For a brief instant, Telepe's eyes met the Ayleid king's, and the elven monarch snarled at him before raising his sword. "Retreat! Quit the field!" he shouted. "To Vanua!" The remainder of his forces glanced at him, then quickly disengaged and followed him as he turned his horse and fled to the south.

As the Ayleids began to flee, the rebels took a moment to let out a jubilant scream of triumph. It was all the centurions could do to keep them from chasing after the routing elves, though even they seemed to be barely restraining themselves. Telepe, meanwhile, nearly collapsed with exhaustion as his shield dropped from his hand and clattered to the ground. As it did, he felt a heavy hand clap him on the shoulder, and he nearly fell to the ground from the impact.

"Well done, general," a familiar voice said, and he turned to see the grinning face of King Vrage. "You've won an outstanding victory here today."

Telepe shook his head. "We still lost hundreds of men," he remarked grimly, motioning to the bridge, which was covered in corpses. "And while we've taken the bridge, our task isn't over yet. We'll need to have the men regroup, and then we must march to Vanua and lay siege." He paused, then murmured thoughtfully, "I'll need to draw up terms of surrender, and then we'll need to decide whether to exile-"

Vrage's grip on his shoulder tightened, and Telepe stopped mid-sentence to see the king shaking his head. "Worry about that in a moment. For now, look around you." He swept his arm at the bloody field, then stopped to point at the bridge. "You won this battle, emissary. You took that bridge."

Telepe gazed at the bridge for a second, then shook his head soberly. "I'm not Whitestrake," he pointed out. "I didn't single-handedly vanquish an army. We won this battle."

Vrage tilted his head, then barked out a short laugh. "Your humility is admirable," he remarked, sounding almost incredulous. "Make no mistake, though, Telepe. You led this battle, so you deserve the credit for our victory." He clapped Telepe on the back, making him stumble forward a step. "Take a moment to enjoy it."

The king flashed another grin as he turned to walk off. Telepe stared after him, then sighed and pulled the final potion that Tari had given him from his belt. He gazed down at it, then took another look around the battlefield, until he found his eyes drifting along the length of the bridge, from one bank of the Niben to the other. It was a long bridge, he mused. As a faint smile spread across his lip, he tried to contain the elation growing in his chest. He tried to remind himself that they had only won a single battle. That they still had barely over a week to retrieve the Staff of Magnus before their enemies. That they still had to contend with the likes of Umaril and Meridia, and that it was possible that they might yet have to do so without the likes of Morihaus and Pelinal. This was a minor victory, at best, and he had not won it alone.

Even so, as he unstopped the potion bottle and poured the thick, viscous liquid down his throat, he found himself wondering if he had ever tasted anything sweeter.