Chapter 15 (Patreon)

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Balgruuf

I looked down on the bound men and women kneeling before me.

”Present me their leader,” I commanded from horseback.

One of the Reachmen glanced up at me, hatred in his eyes. “Our lord is a Prince!” he spat, reddish liquid leaving his bloodied lip. He was too low however, and the liquid was spread on the floor. For his impudence, a nearby guard delivered a kick into his stomach. The man moaned in pain as he fell front-face onto the dirt.

For a moment, I glanced up to scan the aftermath of the battle, and it was the picture perfect image of desolation.

Carrion birds squawked as they feasted on the dead, or perched themselves on where they could, patiently waiting to dive onto the dead being piled by stone-faced Nords. They had their work cut out for them, as the dead were many. Equipment and loot were going to be piled and distributed as a reward to those who proved themselves in the battle. Briefly, I coughed, as the wind picked up and the noxious smell of death punched it’s way into my nose. This was always the part of the battle that was difficult, taking in the odor of sweat, blood, and suffering. It was difficult to build-up a resistance to at first, and the first time I had vomited my breakfast on the floor.

I mean, it takes a special kind of stomach to tolerate the aftermath of a battle. I forced myself to get used to the smell though, as I was going to see shit like this in the future and being queasy about it wasn’t going to help me in the future.

I turned back from looking at the dead and back into the kneeling Reachmen under me. As I did, a pair of men approached us carrying a stretcher, on it was a body wrapped with the Reachmen’s banner, and on it was a bronze-tinted helmet.

Immediately, I recognized who the body might be. And so did the Reachmen, as they wailed as the stretcher-bearers got closer.

Honestly, it was rather difficult to not feel sorry for these guys. They had dreams of freedom and we basically just crushed it. And plus, seeing other humans crying their hearts out also was, well, difficult to not feel sorry for as well. But I had to remember that these were Reachmen, who worshiped deplorable Daedra and did deplorable shit in their name. Plus, what I had done and will do was for the benefit of Whiterun. I had to think of my people and Hold first rather than these guys.

”Take the body, and burn it,” I commanded. My men nodded and walked off to perform the function. 

"What shall be done with the prisoners, my lord?" Wiglaf asked from my side, the commander of the Guard having joined me after accounting the men.  I glanced to him, then back towards the Reachmen. Some were wailing, others were giving the stare of death. A few were expressionless. I thought of my options first, then I spoke. 

"Take them prisoner. I want men to figure out their identities first and see what information the have. They might know something we don't," I ordered. Despite my meta knowledge and having the Markarth Nords with us, there might be details that we didn't know, such as troop numbers, defenses that the Reachmen might have set-up, and other surprises. 

With that, the guards around the Reachmen barked at them to stand, and lead them away. With that matter settled, I grabbed hold of my horses' reigns and urged it forward. "What is the situation with the supply wagons?" I asked 

"The Reachmen managed to pilfer through most of them, my lord," Wiglaf reported. "The remaining supplies left will last us three days at least, four if we ration them." 

My face fell. At time like this, the options were to raid, forage, or purchase supplies. Each of these options had their risks especially in a still-hostile Hold such as the Reach. Fortunately, we had a supply depot set up in Fort Sungard. 

"Send riders to the depot at Fort Sungard and have them send us supplies. They have two days," I commanded. With that, Wiglaf glanced back at a pair for riders who nodded and sped off. Turning away, I glanced down at a pair of Nords picking up a fallen rider who had burns all over his armor from the road. 

"What are our casualties?" I asked. 

"Two-hundred dead, horse and rider. Some are unaccounted for, fallen off the cliffs. The rest are wounded, my lord," Wiglaf answered. I sucked in a breath. it wasn't too big of a loss relatively speaking but we needed every single man and woman available for the upcoming siege. You simply must outnumber the defenders if you want to take a castle. You have to. 

The greatest casualty of the battle so far had been Father. I've yet to speak to my old man about what he was going to do now, with both of his legs crushed. I've seen Restoration magic at world, and saw the wounds it could heal but I doubt Restoration magic could heal the sheer amount of trauma that was inflicted on his legs. 

If we could find someone who could do that, I'd make sure that they'd be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams. At the College of Mages perhaps? 

That reminds me, I would have to deal with the College pretty soon. My memory was a bit fuzzy if the Collapse had occurred or not but the College would no doubt welcome a investment into their institution, and Whiterun could always use more mages. 

It was then I noticed a commotion from the front of our lines, riders coming at a frantic pace. The guards around me reached for their weapons but I halted them when I saw a streak of red hair coming close. 

Irileth looked like she had seen better days, and so did her horse and the scouts that accompanied her. They were haggard and bloodied, with grime and dust on their armor. A rider had a bandage wrapped around his eye, and another rider had a bloodied stump right where his right arms was. It was pretty impressive he had managed to ride with one arm. 

"Irileth. You're late," I noted as my Nightblade halted her horse right in front of me, taking care to keep my voice level. Irileth wasn't the type to fuck off  without good reason, and I could see that she had a pretty good reason to not warn us about the ambush.

"I deeply apologize, my lord," Irileth breathed out. "The scouts and I had encountered the gauntlet before you and they surrounded us. We had no choice but to fight our way forward. We rode back when we were confident that we were no longer followed. We will accept whatever punishment you have for us, for failing to return and warn you of the ambush." With that, she bowed her head, and so did the other riders. The armless rider groaned as he struggled to bow. 

"You do realize that you failing to return endangered the army," I spoke slowly, not mentioning that my old man would be possibly paralyzed for the rest of his life. Irileth tensed on her saddle and I could see her gripping her reins. 

I sighed. She probably thought I was going to go execute her or some shit. I mean, their failure to report back resulted in the army getting ambushed and having the Jarl's legs crushed. The legion would have had them lashed, and more zealous commanders would have cut their heads off. 

I was not so zealous however, and to execute them would be a waste of their talents and my time. Plus, they were ambushed as well and didn't exactly have a choice. 

"It is good that you have returned. I shall hear your report fully first before I shall decide on anything. Get yourselves food and rest. For now, the army shall continue to march to Markarth just as planned," I commanded. The riders let out a breath and looked relieved. 

It was also at that moment the armless rider slid out from his saddle and collapsed on the ground. 

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"So, you got ambushed."

The army got moving as soon as possible. Sitting still in a vulnerable as hell valley didn't sit right with me and the sooner we got to Markarth and linked up with the other Nordic armies, the better.

Irileth slumped on her saddle, her expression every bit dejected as she reported to me what had happened the day before.

"Yes, my lord. We had ridden on that road when we found ourselves surrounded on all sides by the Reachmen. It was as if they just...spawned from the rocks," Irileth sighed. "We had no choice but to push through the gauntlet or we would all be killed."

"How did you not detect them? Surely you could have heard them from a mile away?" I asked.

Irileth gripped her reigns. "At normal circumstances, I could have. I suspect that they had used Illusion spells to shield their forces. If only I was better at magicka I could have detected it!" Irileth hissed.

I stayed silent, lending my ear to Irileth as she spoke. I was pretty miffed that Iri hadn't shown up to warn us about the ambush, but she frankly had a legit reason why. Giving her too much shit for it would be a miscarriage as far as I was concerned. I was still intending to censure her though.

"I put your life, and that of your father at risk, my lord." she whispered bitterly. "Maybe it is best if I-"

"Don't even think about it, Irileth," I cut in. 

"How can I call myself your shadow if I canno-" Irileth tried to protest. I cut her off once more.

"Irileth, listen. I understand why you'd feel that way. But look, you couldn't have possibly predicted that ambush, neither could you have warned us considering the circumstance. That does not diminish your skills either way. In fact, you managed to save the lives of your men. That is commendable at least," I spoke succinctly, thinking back to the armless rider from earlier. Dude was practically being held together by what little Restoration magicka that Irri knew. When he collapsed, it was because Irileth had literally ran out of magicka.

That was impressive at least.

"But I-" Irileth whispered.

"Look, you're still going to get a punishment, don't mistake that. I'm not going to let you off lightly from this as father, myself, and the army was put at risk. However, don't you ever think that your skills are lacking simply from something you had no control over. You are a talented nightblade. Don't forget that," I said with some finality. I wasn't down to let those under me let themselves be consumed by doubt or some shit. It was a waste of their time and talents. Better to nip it in the bud before they get carried away.

"My lord...." Irileth whispered.

For the next few minutes, we did not speak. The clip-clop of hooves, the creaking of wheels, and the clinking of armor dominating our ears. I took the chance to turn my attention to my father, who was riding ahead of us looking every bit the Jarl he was.

Earlier, we had the army's best healer examine him. After looking him over, the Breton's expression told me everything I needed to know.

"My lord, the rock has effectively...crushed your legs. I will do what I can for your leg, but at this point, only the most talented in the art of Restoration can restore some semblance of function," the breton looking healer said, trying his best to be as apologetic as possible.

SIlence permeated the command tent. Only father's inner council was permitted to be inside. The Jarl of Whiterun glanced at his legs, then back at the healer.

"I wish to know something," he spoke gravelly. His tone set me on edge.

"Yes, my lord?" tensed the healer.

"Does my tool still work?" he asked abruptly.

We stared at the Jarl of Whiterun.

"Um...yes?" squeaked the man.

He smiled contentedly as he lounged on his chair. "Then when we return home, my wife will not be too angry at me then."

Fuck's sake, dad.

Anyway, everyone in the council recommended him to sit back and return to Whiterun, or if he still wanted to participate, head back to Fort Sungard and lead the war effort from there.

He flat out refused.

"A Jarl must be there for his men. I am ordering these men to die for me. I must be there for them."  He stated with finality.

The court stood still, silently gnashing our teeth as father kept to his decision stubbornly.

"Then, what about a compromise?" I said blithely as I rubbed my head in frustration.

"What do you have in mind, my lord?"  Unferth asked me.

"If father insists to stay and command, he shall. But when it comes to battle, he must stay in the rear," I eased out. For the first time since I've returned, he frowned.

"I will not sit back and lounge while my soldiers fight and die. I will fight," the Jarl of Whiterun interjected. 

"My lord, you are...injured," I sent back, biting my tongue before I could say crippled but everyone in the tent was thinking it. " We do not doubt your skills, father. But with your injury, it will only cause me harm than good."

"Aye, my lord," Wiglaf added. "You are still a warrior, but to fight while so gravelly injured will not only endanger yourself, but also the men."

For a while, father sat silently. Then finally, he looked into my eyes.

"You still follow my commands?" he asked. I straightened my back and saluted.

"I am still your faithful servant, my lord!" I said aloud.

"Then your Jarl commands you, lead this army to victory." he said with finality.

There were many reasons why Father refused to call it a day, but principally, I chalked it up to him not wanting to be seen as weak. I reasoned that morale would plummet if the Jarl wouldn't be seen by the guys leading them. He must have to keep up the façade of command so that the guys below would feel much more secure. A cripple leading men into a siege would be a bad look not only for the army but also for our allies.

Judging by the look he sent me after the meeting, the discussion was not over.

But that discussion would have to wait however, for the army suddenly stopped marching. Bringing myself out of my thoughts, I looked up to see that we had stopped at a fork in the road.

And on the fork was an opposite army with banners of a Ram.

We've finally linked up with the army of the Reach.

The objectives of the war were simple. Invade the Reach, Link up with the other Army then march to Markarth as one.

Now, we just had to complete the next part of our war goals.

Besiege Markarth.

Then win.

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A/N: Chapter 15 is now up! That took way too long for me to complete. Sorry about that, it's the final month for my university and I had to go haul ass with it.

So, what do you guys think?