Chapter 13 (Patreon)

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Balgruuf

The screams of horses and the shouts of men echoed in the valley road, but my eyes did not leave the man that was my father. Spurring my horse forward, a chestnut colored stallion, I broke into a full gallop towards his position. Around me, men screamed and yelled as arrows both bone-tipped and steel-tipped rained down at horse and rider, rocks from heavy stones to boulders fell, and flaming stacks of hay were tossed down, spreading fire and panic through the lines.

Nearing him, my heart sank when I saw his legs and his horse was crushed underneath a rock. His face was pink in exertion as he tried and failed to push the rock of him. I wondered on where the hell were the mages were that was supposed to ward him but then I realized wards while incredible, had no defence for a boulder the size of fuck you. Around him, his honor guard and housecarl had formed up a shield wall around him and was also trying to get the rock of him.

"Father!" I cried out, my concern for my father drowning out my discipline as an officer.

"Do not concern yourself with me!" Heorot groaned. "This army cannot fall to chaos. Deal with the Reachmen and get us victory!"

A part of me protested, and wanted to bring him out of the battle. But I had to ignore that, and listen to the officer inside of me. I turned and found the men of his guard looking at me, their eyes asking me for orders. My mind went to work quickly.

We were at a massive disadvantage, with most of the army unfit to fight in the narrow mountain road but what they had were discipline and arms, and I was going to use that to get us victory.

Quickly, a plan formed in my head.

"Raise high the Horse standard, the House that rules Whiterun still lives!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs.

"Go the back of the lines and tell our infantry to abandon our baggage train and withdraw quickly, but not hastily!" I yelled out. The rider nodded and sped off to the back.

"Your orders for us, my lord?" asked another rider. I glanced at him, and noted that he wore the armor of the guard.

"Free my father and withdraw, as for the rest, we follow the slope to the top and engage the Reachmen briefly. Be prepared to withdraw on my command!" I roared, spotting the burning trails left behind by the hay. The riders all glanced at each other in confusion, before understanding dawned. Steel formed in the eyes of the riders as they unsheathed their swords, tightened their grips on their lances and unslung their bows from their backs.

Hundreds of horsemen galloped up the slope, their hooves drumming on the rocky earth. As we formed our lines, the Reachmen skirmishers were retreating into the distance, where I saw the Reachmen infantry, at least five companies worth arranged in a sort of U-formation facing down at us. Most were armored lightly, tunics or gambesons over chainmail. But at the center of their lines were bronze armored Reachmen, and a banner whose design I hadn’t seen before. Soon, our ranks were formed in the standard battle formation, horse-achers at the front and lancers at the back.

”Order the first ranks to advance and harass the enemy,” I ordered to a nearby rider. He then took out his horn, and the crescent shaped instrument sang. 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 first ranks of horse-archers charged, their mounts whinnying in the mountain air. As they advanced forward, their riders loosed arrows at the Reachmen. The air whistled with arrows flying and soon, there were screams from the Reachmen.

”Send forward the second ranks! Keep the pressure up!” I yelled. The same rider from before nodded and blew his horn, and the second rank blew their horns back. They advanced, their riders steely-eyed as they joined the fray. The first wave of horse-archers drew back right before contact with the enemy and turned. As they did, the riders twisted their bodies around, loosing arrows just as effectively as if they were facing them front-faced.  

This battle-tactic was called the Parthian Shot, a hit-and-run tactic developed by the Parthians, the successors of the Achaemenid Persian Empire. Such a tactic was effectively used to harass the enemies of Persia, and now, it was being used to harass the enemies of Whiterun and by extension, the Empire. Despite being separated by literal universes, some things remained the same with cultures.

The Reachmen, for their part, did not take the onslaught sitting down. They replied with their own arrows, or lobbed ice spikes, fireballs, and other ranged magicka at the horse-archers. As they traded blows, my mind wandered into thinking. Where the hell was Irileth and why hadn’t she warned us about the ambush? I had assigned her and other men to be forward scouts for us and they had done splendid work sighting out potential ambushes.

Where the hell was she now?

I shook my head out of my thoughts. As much as I worried for her, I had to focus on the battle now.

Looking back, the second rank had harrased the reachmen and were now pulling back, as they did, the first rank returned to loosen their own arrows. Beside me, I could feel the men getting anxious, their body language screaming at them to join in the battle. These men were Nords, and battle roused something in their blood. I saw it in their eyes. The gripping of weapons, the half-lidded stare. Honestly, the battle too was getting me excited and I wanted nothing more but to sound a charge to ride down the Reachmen. But I had to keep myself, and my men in check. If my plan were to work, we all had to keep discipline. And so, we sat on our saddles, watching as our horse-archers peppered the Reachmen with arrows then retreat. I had to give the Reachmen credit though. They still hadn’t broke from the onslaught.

It was then I heard a rider coming up from behind me. Turning around, I saw that he was wearing the armor of my father’s guard. He strode next to me and saluted. I saluted back.

”My lord,” he started breathlessly. “We have recovered the Jarl and he is absconded back. The infantry have also left the valley, and are awaiting further orders.”

For the first time since the battle began, I smiled.

”Good!” I said cheerily. I then turned to the same rider from earlier. “Sound the retreat.” A few younger faced riders turned to me, confusion in their eyes. The older men and women however grinned. A horn was raised, and it sang once more. Without a word, we all turned our horses and rode off. From behind us, I could hear the horse-archers following us.

As we rode down the slope we had climbed up on, and went pass our dead and our wagons brimming with supplies, I couldn’t suppress the excited giggle that went out my lips.

Oh how much I loved this part of the job.

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A/N: Heya friends. Sorry for being so late. I've finally felt good enough to come back to writing and here it is. Expect more updates in the coming days.