Stallion of Whiterun (Skyrim Balgruuf SI) Chapter 28 (Patreon)

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They weren't blind to what was happening.

A gathering army was not easy to hide and Nords themselves weren't even making it hidden, as if they were taunting them. As soon as the declaration reached their ears, agents were sent to monitor the invaders, both inside their camp and out. It wasn't exactly particularly difficult to embed their tendrils into the enemy camp as they had sent spies posing as mercenaries. The Nords were hungry for bodies and theirs was accepted easily.

Arguments were made on how to deal with them. He made his arguments, to fight them in the field than to just sit back down and wait. Now however and with the Nords ringing their horns in alarm, his argument was clear.

There was only once course left, thought Prince Homuldrud, as he raised his sword high and yelled aloud, "Shed your spells, men! Now is the time to rend our bonds forever! Forward! For the Reach! For our Freedom!"

His battle cry was picked up by the others, his loyal followers. A thousand and one voices echoed through the valleys and left the hills shaking with its freedom cry. Reality shifted as their mages made their summons; snarling wolves, roaring bears, the ice and fire of atronachs. Deathly warning cries of Dremora too joined in, louder and fiercer than their own. Nothing was left to chance. All was used in this fight.

The Reachman Prince thought of his father and the strategy they proposed; to wait for the Imperials to arrive and negotiate on their behalf. It made sense to do it considering the provinces would be exhausted after the war and the Imperials were favourable towards their missives. Homuldrud himself thought they would get the recognition. But then, the missives became quiet when word reached of the Nords amassing an army to re-take the Reach, as if it was theirs to take back in the first place. It was then he and a more like-minded people realized what was going on and he kicked himself for his naivety.

The Imperials couldn't just wholesale agree to Reach independence, not when Markarth was worth its weight in silver. Sure, they had ruled the city well for the past few years but they were untested in battle. The Nords had proved their worth in the Red Ring and now, it was time for them to see if the Reach could prove themselves here. If he could secure a military victory for his people then it would grant them the right to say that they could defend it and administrate it far better than the Nords ever could.

They paid their taxes to the Empire, begrudgingly. Now, it was time to prove their mettle.

With that in mind, Homuldrud had taken a thousand loyal men to confront the enemy. The Nordic army wasn't particularly hiding itself and the spies his father sent fed them good intel for them to act on.

"Remember our goals! Kill the officers! Kill the leaders!" he cried out. There was simply now way for them to utterly defeat the army in the field. The only thing they could do was kill the head of the snake. This was an army of mercenaries. Without its financiers, they would surely turn on themselves in the confusion. With that goal in mind, the Reachmen charged. The enemy had established themselves in a narrow pass; with rocky cliffs on its flanks and a palisade erected to protect themselves. The palisade was quickly destroyed by a barrage of fireballs. The dark night sky temporarily returned to day as orange-red light kissed the sky, the boom bouncing against the rocky walls. It was beautiful but there was little time for him to admire the sorcery, not when there was killing to be done.

He was the first through the breach, bodyguards at his side. As expected, the Nordic camp was in chaos. Men and women were running around trying to form ranks or even putting on their armor. Invaders died to their blades and their spells. The killing was going to be glorious but, he had his objectives. Lots of infantry, he assessed, but no cavalry. 

Well, they were resting. Surely, their horsemen had all dismounted.

"Cut a path through them! Find the tent of their leader!" Homuldrud ordered and sure enough, battle was joined. Facing them, a team of half-armed mercenaries charged them out of desperation, weapons glinting from the burning palisade and the light of the moon bearing on the camp. Homuldrud did not fight them, his bodyguards and followers did, clearing a path towards the tent of their leaders as ordered. It was not hard to miss it, the command tent dwarfed the rest with its grandiosity, scarlet in color with gold trim. Homuldrud marched towards it with his skilled men, ignoring the iron-copper scent of blood and the screams of the dying drumming in his ears. He quickly picked up his pace. It was only a matter of time until the Nords would regroup and bear upon them with their numbers.

"Victory or Sovngarde!" cried aloud a Nord, charging towards him with a sword and shield. Homuldrud was half the man's size and in a straight fight, he surely would be battered. But Homuldrud wasn't going to delude himself with his prowess with the blade. He reached out to the Nord with a open left hand and soon, a whip of blue electricity coiled around the Nord's neck. His eyes widened in surprise but only for a moment as Homuldrud pulled at him, throwing the man on the ground. Homuldrud took the moment to dig his sword into the man's back.

The Nord died and Homuldrud could only pull his sword back out and not give the dying Nord a second thought. Instead, he turned his attention back towards the command tent. "Now!" he cried out. His followers took a step forward and once more lobbed fireballs towards the tent. More explosions rocked the earth as the tent vanished in a blaze of fire. That would have normally been enough but the Prince did not want to take any chances. He rushed forward, ready to behead bodies if he must. His nostrils flared with the scent of fire and ash, burning and choking all the same. He wiped away the smoke to see better and glanced down where the enemy should have been.

Except there was nothing.

No bodies, no furniture. No articles and chests of a filled camp. His heart stilled in his chest as he processed their situation. They had infiltrated through their sentries successfully, muffling and invisibility spells made quick work plus, they knew the valleys and the hidden paths. Their spies had reported that the whole Nordic army had been brought into the valley...

Ah, he quickly realized.

So that was where the horses were.

"New orders!"' he barked quickly. Time was of the essence. If they left now, they could quickly melt into the hills. "Let your summons loose and have them cause as much destruction as possible! Burn everything down as we leave! Retreat, now!"

His soldiers all glanced at him, confusion in their eyes. His friend, Talhun, walked over. His bronze-tinted breastplate chinked as he neared. "But we've just arrived? Why are we retreating?"

"Do as I say!" he roared. "This is a trap!"

Then, he felt it.

Vibrations. Against the pebbles at first, then the rocks. Then, like a overpowering explosion of song, a warhorn blared in the din of the night. Soon, a few more joined, then a hundred. And straightway all the horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Whiterun in that hour was like a storm upon the valley and a thunder in the mountains. The Stallions of Whiterun had come and with it, Homuldrud thinking of the danger they were in. The Nords were going to regroup and with additional support from their horsemen, their ragtag raiding party would be massacred. 

They had to run, now. 

"Retreat! Now!" He ordered, ready to break into a sprint. Talhun nodded immediately and took out his own horn. Unlike the Nordic ones which were deep and majestic, the Reachman horn was ancient in a primal sort of way. Hearing it was a balm to his heart but he had little time to bask in it. 

Homuldrud grit his teeth. 

This was not over.

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A/N: I am proud to say that my finals are done. Back to regular scheduled program.