Chapter 14 (Patreon)

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Reachmen

His father was stagnant.

Oh, he knew that his father, Madanach, meant well. There was simply no way for them to fight two invading armies at the same time. The best thing that they could do was to simply harass the invaders as they slowly made their way into their homeland while conserving the rest of their strength in the city where they could simply outlast the invaders.

When they had risen up in Markarth, they had managed to do so in such a quick and efficient way that the stores of the city was left intact. And such, they had resources and time on their hands to outlast the marauding Nords. Their stores were full, their supplies greater, and their patience even more so. The invaders had to contend with paying and supplying their soldiers and endure the hardships of a siege meanwhile getting picked off one by one by skirmishers.

It was a good strategy. It was a sensible strategy.

And it was a unreactive one.

Homuldrud respected his father, having reigned over his people long and respectably. And under his leadership, they had managed to overrun the Nords in a single uprising what had took their people centuries to do so. But, he was so infuriatingly slow, and couldn’t grasp the politics of the outsiders.

With the Nordic High King declaring his people enemies of Skyrim, and having the tacit approval of the higher Imperial authorities, they could kiss his father’s earlier plans goodbye. They were now enemies of the state and as such, would be treated accordingly by the punitive expedition that was being sent their way. They couldn’t just wait it out, they had to take up arms and fight.

The reasoning was simple. They had to win a battle, a big and glorious one, to convince the Nords and the Empire that the Reach was home to a people that was fierce and free. If they could make an example of any of the invading armies, the already exhausted Empire would have no choice but to recognize the Reach as a independent kingdom. The Nords would seethe, of course, but they were an enemy that his people could handle. Their people could handle a hostile Skyrim, having done so for as long as they could remember.

What did Skyrim have to offer them, when there were other provinces that was richer and more prosperous than Skyrim? Their kinsmen in High Rock had culture and wealth that his people needed, Hammerfell would no doubt have need of talented fighters for their armies in their war against the Dominion, as well as ingots to make weapons and armor. And Markarth just had endless stores of dwarven ingots just ripe for smithing.

The future for his people was bright, and just in reach in front of them. All they had to do was take it. And plus, his wife had just given birth to his daughter and he wanted nothing more for his first-born to breathe free air now, rather than later.

And so, with the support of his friends, he delivered his speech in his father’s court, urging for them all to act and intercept one of the two Nordic armies on their way.

He was heartened to see when important members of the court agreed. With their support, his father had no choice but to concede to an interception. As soon as his father nodded, Homuldrud went to planning.

The Nordic army invading from the North consisted of the remnants of Markarth’s Nordic armies as well as a mercenary company of Redguards. From the east, a primarily cavalry based force from Whiterun. The Prince of the Reach considered his options. While the northern army was smaller in number, roughly eight thousand strong, the Nords would most likely be much more difficult to fight than last time, having wised up to their tactics. The army from Whiterun on the other hand had more men and horses in them, but they were a cavalry based forced.

And cavalry does not do well in mountains.

And so, he ordered the Reach to march to war, against the men of Whiterun. He had clad himself in the bronze-armor of a Nordic Jarling, and had taken the man’s weapons for his own. Marching alongside him were six-thousand men, a good portion of his kingdom’s host.

As they marched, Homuldrud could not help but feel hope and excitement for the first time in his life. Once they won the battle, the Nords would retreat and he could swing his army to deal with the remaining invading force. Once victory was achieved, a treaty would have to be written down and the Reach would be free. Once that would happen, oh how he had so much plans he wanted to pursue. Homuldrud was not blind. He knew that his people were seen as barbarians and savages, no thanks to their traditions. And once peace was assured, Homuldrud had every intention to prepare his people for the future. The practice of briar-hearts was to be no more, and communing with the wise hags was now to be illegal. The more…bloodier parts of their religion would have to be moderated.

Homuldrud swore that he would give everything, even his life, so that his people, and his daughter, will have a future that would not only have them live prosperously, but even better than he and his father ever did.

Before all that could happen though, he had an army to defeat.

The plan was simple. Intercept the Nords in a select valley road and throw everything they had at them. If the Nords engaged them, then they would meet them on a slope, pikes in hand. His army would have every advantage, being up hill and having the Nords ride up to them, which would no doubt tire them out. Homuldrud had travelled Skyrim before, and he saw how the men of Whiterun conducted warfare. They could rain arrows on them from their horse-archers but the incline of the slope would not only tire their horses but also make sure their arrows would fall short of their targets. Their heavy lancers could also charge them but the energy of their charge would be negated by the climb they would have to do.

And so he and his army waited, for the invaders to arrive. And arrive they did, in full force and splendor. Golden banners fluttering in the valley wind, armor shining in the light, and lance-heads glinting. Homuldrud thanked the gods that they were fighting them in the mountains rather than the plains. He doubt that he and his army could survive even to the best of their ability. There were some problems however, as an advanced force of scouts led by some Dunmer had chanced upon his army.

Thankfully, they were chased off into a different direction and the secrecy of their ambush was preserved.

And speaking of ambush, as soon as the Nords halted thanks to the roadblock they had set up, Homuldred gave the signal and the Reachmen attacked.

He wasn’t exactly someone that enjoyed needless cruelty, but had to admit the cries of dying Nords and the screaming of their horses had a certain spell to it. Arrows were loosed, rocks were dropped, burning hay was rolled down, traps were activated, and magicka was thrown at the Nords below them. His spirit grew as horse and rider fell, an arrow piercing them, a rock rushing them, or having them tumble off the cliffside at their rear. He swore he saw the banner of the Jarl fall, and thought that victory was at their grasp, but the banner was later raised and the Nords stopped panicking, instead they turned their own arrows at the Reachmen and were readying their weapons.

So, a battle it was.

Homuldrud then signaled his force of skirmishers to retreat back into the high-ground, where the rest of his army stood ready. It was just in time too as the Nords had rallied and were now charging up at the slope. They didn’t pursue him and his men however, content to form their lines at the bottom. As soon as Homuldrud rejoined the rest of his army, the Nords rode up the hill, horns singing in the mountain side. Despite them being enemies, the Prince of the Reach had to admit it was quite a magnificent sight. He had to moderate his admiration though, and ordered his men to stand their ground. As the Nords neared, he could see that they were horse-archers and Homuldrud had guessed their intent immediately.

”Shields!” he yelled. He knew that the arrows would fall short but he didn’t want to take any chances. The Nords let loose, and the arrows flew. Most landed a distance in front of them, but a lucky few managed to get at the front of his lines.

”Brace, and return volleys!” the prince yelled. His men roared back, and let loose their own bows. Rider and horse fell, the Reachmen’s arrows able to travel further and faster thanks to them going downhill. For awhile, time seemed to be lost the prince, they kept up the exchange. The Nords rushing up and down to let rain arrows, only for them to suffer casualties from the Reachmen’s own bows and magicka. Steadily, they were losing more horsemen each attack they pursued and Homuldrud briefly thought that they were insane to keep up their attacks while only whittling down his forces with an arrow here and there.

Then, the Nords sounded a horn and just as quickly as they arrived, they turned tail and fled.

Homuldrud could hardly believe it.

They…won?

When the reality of their situation finally hit, his army slowly broke out into cheers and finally, they cried out at the top of their lungs. They could hardly believe it. The Nords were driven off!

Homuldrud on the other hand was suspicious. It all looked so…easy. The Nords still had plenty more horsemen to spare, and they could still have charged up the slope to engage his army, but the Prince concluded that the enemy commander realized that doing so would be folly. Little by little, Homuldrud allowed himself to hope and ordered his men to stand their ground, just in cast it was all a feint. And so they waited, and waited, until finally the sun had run its course, and was to set in a few hours. Even if their throats thirsted for water and their bellies cried out for food, he hadn’t allowed his army to move. Finally, Homuldrud decided that they had waited long enough and ordered a force to advance and survey the damage downhill.

The men moved, and his army waited. For awhile, they heard nothing but the marching of feet on the earth as a the advance force marched downhill. For a few more anxious minutes, they heard nothing else, then screaming. Eyes widening, Homuldrud thought that they were caught in a trap, then he saw smoke rising from below and the sweet sweet delicious smell of meats being roasted. Despite himself, Homuldrud couldn’t help it as his mouth watered. Each man and woman under his command had their senses honed thanks to their training. Their hearing was clearer, their sense of smell sharper.

And they all smelled beef being roasted slowly over a fire.

”The army shall advance below.” Homuldrud finally ordered. And so, they crept down the hill, their paces fast and their tongues licking their lips. Eventually, the arrived downhill and saw that the advance force had ignored the bodies of dead Nords, and had helped themselves to the left behind wagons brimming with supplies. The men and women were laughing, feasting, and drinking away at the left behind impedimenta.

And like hungry beasts, the army lost its discipline, having not ate and drank for the entire day, and joined the feast. Men and women either sheathed their weapons or dropped them entirely to paw at the barrels of mead and ale; to get at the salted pork, the corned beef, the wine, or to pocket at the chestfuls of Septims that was the pay for the Nord’s army. The only ones that still held their discipline were his own guard, who were slightly more professional than the normal Reachmen. Still, Homuldrud could see they were faltering at the sight of the bounty before them.

And so, he made his decision.

”Let the men have their fill, and once we have finished, we shall take the loot back to Markarth.”

And so, they all descended on the abandoned loot. They ate, they drank, they made merry. Homuldrud on the other hand, drank and ate little. A part of him was still suspicious on how easy their victory was, and he did not want to partake in the feast when they were still out of Markarth. It was all so…suspicious. The Nords had retreated, yes, but their retreat was so…orderly.

Then, he felt it.

A slight vibration on the rocks.

At first, he thought that he was only seeing things as he had drunk some fine wine. Cup in hand, he stood from a overturned box he was using as a chair and wandered to the cliff wall. Dropping his cup, he walked and placed a hand on the stone.

Vibrations. And they were getting stronger by the minute. Was there an earthquake happening? Taking off his helmet, the Prince of the Reach placed his ear against the stone to better figure out what was going on.

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.

Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop.

CLIP. CLOP. CLIP. CLOP. CLIP. CLOP.

The Prince pulled himself back and noticed pebbles on the valley road shaking and rolling. All his worst fears were confirmed as his gut screamed at him.

It was all a trap.

The Nords were coming.

”TO ARMS, REACHMEN, TO ARMS! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!” Homuldrud roared out as he hastily put on his helmet and unsheathed his sword.

Just as he screamed out in horror, he heard the bloody screams of men and women, the deathly cry of horses, and the deafening song of warhorns. Around him, men who were still sober enough to stand rushed to get to their weapons and arm themselves, but the horsemen were upon them. Hooves thumped on the earth as the riders, silent as the grave, thundered through the Reachman lines. Illuminated by the fires of still cooking meats, Homuldrud caught sight of the golden banner of Whiterun fluttering in the wind as a rider came upon him, his lance glinting against the fire.

The last thing he thought of, was his daughter sleeping the arms of her mother, as the rider speared him through with his lance.

That night, the valley ran red with blood.

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A/N: Next chapter update. What do ya'll think?