Balgruuf the Great ch 43 preview (Patreon)

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Hammerfell

It was too bloody hot, Trecano thought to himself.

It became clear to the Altmer soldier that his posting would not be pleasant as the ship which had first carried him to Hammerfell drew closer and closer to the docks of Sentinel and slowly by slowly, he felt himself roast inside his armor. His armor was made of Refined Moonstone, a light metal that was stronger than the steel the Imperials commonly used and twice as light. However, it was still metal and the more he lounged around in Hammerfell, the more he felt like he was being cooked.

He had learned his lesson quickly, opting for mail and his greaves, putting on the rest of his armor only when they were actually going to fight the Redguards. It made him feel less protected but he would rather not burn and die of heatstroke. Sure enough, he was an Altmer. In his blood was the careful lineage of warriors and soldiers. By himself alone, he was worth more than a hundred humans. However, he was still a living creature that needed to sleep, eat, and drink. His pedigree, his bloodline and his skills didn't matter to the Alik'r desert he was travelling in.

He would burn and thirst, like so many others that came before him.

Immediately, his hand reached for the waterskin on his belt. He popped the cork open and glanced inside. His lips marred into a frown as he saw the amount of water left inside the waterskin. Sighing, he made a mental note to moderate his thirst some more as he painfully took a careful sip, not too much but enough to momentarily sate the dryness of his mouth.

It was not enough. It was never enough. Mentally grumbling, he returned his waterskin to his side and resumed marching.

"We are going to stop and rest in an oasis further up the road!" Their captain called out. "We will only have to march some more then we can rest!"

If anything that only made their pace even quicker, each mer in their company relishing for the chance to sit and relax while the worst heat of the Alik'r would pass. If there was a bright side to this, there wasn't a sandstorm.

After much marching and complaining, their little troupe finally reached the oasis their captain spoke of. Curiously, it was a clearing nestled inside a set of protective heights. After making sure the oasis was clear, they finally allowed their guards to relax as all of them made to rest and scattered throughout the clearing.

''Thank the Gods," Trecano whispered as he went on his knees and scooped more than generous amounts of water into his mouth. He made sure to greedily slurp up as much as he could. Thirst satiated, Trecano reached for his waterskin and filled it up. He reckoned it would be enough until the next oasis they could find. He picked up his kit and glanced around for a place to lay down. Spying a large date tree, he made his way there and dropped his pack. He turned around and leaned back, resting against the tree.

Not a second later, he was joined by a fellow Altmer who brought out a fan and eagerly fanned himself. "Numaril," Trecano acknowledged him. Like all Altmer, Numaril was golden-skinned and tall like the rest of them. His hair however was a blood shade of red and for the purposes of the heat, tied into a long braid.

"Trecano," Numaril responded back. "I have a complaint."

The Altmer footman resisted the urge to sigh. "I am all ears."

Numaril gestured around them . "Hammerfell is too hot."

"We are all aware of that." Trecano responded, his voice matter-of-fact.

He pointed to himself. "I have been cooking inside my armor since we arrived and I can feel sand way up my rear end."

Trecano pinched the bridge of his nose. "So have I, Numaril. The last part, I did not really need to know." At his side, Numaril crossed his arms. "I find myself intensely disliking this place and sand."

This was their dynamic. He would have a list of things to complain, Numaril would listen to him with the patience of a mother. And when Numaril would have a list of things to complain, he would in turn listen to him. It was neat little arrangement they had formed. A nice peaceful way of letting out their frustrations without going mad.

"Why are we here?" moaned Numaril. "Surely, it cannot be history. Hammerfell was never part of the ancient Dominion. Why are we here, Trecano? Just to suffer?"

Honestly, he had no idea himself. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be in Hammerfell in the first place. It was too hot and frankly, he couldn't see anything worth gaining from taking the damn place. Yes, the cities of Hammerfell were rich but they were rich from trade and the production of spices, rugs, perfumes and other items. Unless the Dominion planned on trading again with the Empire then surely that was not the reason. He doubted if denying the Empire peppers, perfumes and rugs would cripple them strategically.

"Let us think then, on what we would deny the empire by taking Hammerfell," Trecano began theorizing. "Theoretical: We have taken over Hammerfell and for the time being, occupy it." Now, it was time to dwell on what the Empire lost. He took the moment to examine what Hammerfell was known for. There was of course, trade. 

''By removing this province from the Empire, we take away the revenues from the Redguard trade." Trecano pointed out. 

''Hm, and since that trade is mostly done by ship then we take away the Redguards merchant fleets and navy, both formidable in their own right," Numaril answered, his moaning from earlier gone. "Our earlier demands of the Redguards coastal cities is sensible since the coast is where they base their ships at. What does not make sense is why we've tried taking over the entirety of the bloody province." 

"That does make one wonder..." Trecano agreed. The Thalmor, their oh-so glorious leaders, had demanded the cessation of Hammerfell and the weakling Emperor had capitulated. "However, the question remains: Should we care, as soldiers?" 

Numaril gave him a dry look. "You both know that answer. We do not have enough magical prowess to quantify even joining the lovely club our elders have formed. That doesn't mean it's not fun to speculate, however." 

"Of course you would enjoy the speculation, you scroll rat." Trecano snorted. Numaril gave him a cocky grin. "My lot are scholars and philosophers. Frankly, I'm surprised you can think as well as I do, you uncivilized brute." 

"Education makes better soldiers," shrugged Trecano as he reached into his pack and pulled out a small green leaf. Unwrapping it revealed bread, creamy and soft. He munched into it, his tongue tasting heaven. Taking it as a sign the conversation had ended, Numaril rolled his eyes and reached into his own pack. 

"Have you tried any of the food the locals made?" While the Altmer made decent rations for its troops, certainly more palatable than what the races of men could make, there were times he wished for something a bit more. Frankly speaking, he had to admit that there was a certain level of excitement being in Hammerfell. As the Dominion isolated itself from the rest of Tamriel, there was little to not contact with the rest of the continent and that usually meant that their society was isolated. Yes, theirs was sufficiently more advanced and refined than what the pitiful races of men could think of but it didn't mean the races of men were totally incapable of civilization. 

Apparently, the Redguards made some fine spiced foods that burnt the tongue but tasted damn good as your cried for the Divines. He never had the opportunity to do it as his unit was shuffled quickly into a forced march across the desert. 

"The food? I never had the chance," Numaril admitted. "Although I heard it would make one's bowels loose." 

''And set your tongue on fire," Trecano added, his face puzzled. "Why they would make their food hot when they live in the desert, I can never understand." 

"Not all of Hammerfell is desert, you know. Southern Hammerfell is more dry and less sandy." Numaril said after swallowing down his food. "I think that place sounds agreeable to me once this war is over." 

"That sounds delightful," Trecano had to admit. Their ship did pass by the southern coasts and he could spy friendlier climates on that part of Hammerfell. But, there was going to be issues with such a plan. "This war...I thought it was over when the Empire turned over everything to us. The Redguards didn't seem to understand that. A people ought to know where they are conquered." 

''But we never really conquered Hammerfell, did we?" pointed out Numaril. "Lady Arrenelya never truly defeated the Redguard Legions and even now, its remnants continue to harass us. Then there are the Redguards themselves." 

"Perhaps we ought to do public executions then? Cow them into submission?" He suggested. Numaril shook his head. "And that would enrage them even more. Remember, we are in their homeland. They will continue to fight with the same ferocity we would if Alinor itself was invaded." 

Trecano gave him a dry look. "Be careful how you talk, Numaril. Some might mistake your tone as admiration for the Redguards. Best not to let the Justiciar hear it." 

"Well, that's your Practical to your Theoretical," Numaril said, uncaring though he did glance around to check. As a good Altmer, Trecano had to report such interesting views to their company Justiciar however, Trecano thought the woman a harpy. Even then, he wasn't interested in telling on the only intelligent conversation he could have in the blasted desert. "It is fact that we are being spread all over the country, chasing down ghosts and it is fact that the Redguards have resisted us even before the ink on the concordant dried." 

''Perhaps more reinforcements then? More troops to garrison the cities?" Trecano suggested. Numaril shook his head at that suggestion. "I think we both know it would be hot day in Skyrim before the Thalmor would allow the Home Army to leave Alinor. It's needed there now, more than ever, since our latest foible in Cyrodiil. 

Immediately, Trecano understood what Numaril was talking about. His lips curled into a frown. 

"A pity. Then how do they expect us to police Hammerfell?" raised Trecano. Numaril afforded him a sly grin. "Perhaps the mages can terrify the locals with soul gems and train us footmen to toss our boots at them?" 

At that, the two shared a laugh. A short, sardonic one that fell into a still silence. 

"We are going to be here for a long time, won't we?" Numaril asked silently. Trecano offered him a look of pity. "Then we ought to get used to sand."

Numaril groaned. "I do not enjoy sand. Tis coarse, rough, and gets everywhere."  

Just as Trecano was about to make a retort, he paused as an overwhelming sense of dread filled him. All his senses screamed at him that danger was near. Numaril's eyes also narrowed as a sense of stillness settled in the oasis. No blowing of the wind, no low moaning of the sands, neither was there the bubbling of water. 

There was a scream as the sand burst like fireworks in the sky. Figures, dark and hooded emerged, glinting curved blades in their hands. Dark flinty eyes beneath headscarves, murderous in their intent. Already, a few elves died to their blades, their faces frozen in shock before they were cut down. 

"Ambush! To arms!" cried out their captain, a shimmering blue blade appearing in his hands. The elves responded quickly, dropping everything they had to defend themselves. As they were resting, some had truly let their guard down and had even taken the opportunity to catch some sleep. They were murdered as they slept, their throats cut and their hearts stabbed. The ones who had roused awake died with whatever they could get their hands on. Trecano was not going to let the Redguards take him so easily however as he quickly swallowed down the rest of his ration and got to his feet, his sword freed from its scabbard. 

There was another bursting of sand, behind them, Trecano sensed. Turning, he found himself facing a charging Redguard, his silhouette masked by the sand. Trecano gripped his sword and held it up to defend himself. Their blades met in a flash and battle was joined all around. His attention was focused firmly on his opponent however and he attacked. He pulled back, his left leg planted firmly against the sand to support him. He pushed against the Redguard who was shorter than him and stumbled. Trecano brought his blade low and cut open the Redguard's throat. He twisted on where he stood, lying and dying as his blood choked his dying breath. 

"Rally to me! Rally to me!" their Captain cried out, his voice drowned out by the sea of battle and screams but Trecano heard him and so did Numaril who fought a fighting retreat as they fought and made their way back to their captain. Flashes of blue and green illuminated the walls of the clearing as their mages got to work, blasting magicka at their foes who were not at all intimidated, despite their number getting turned to ash or electrocuted on where they stood. 

The Altmer were more than skilled fighters. They had centuries of training and practice on them. A single one of their footmen could match five men in terms of skill. But five men were still five men and the footmen did not have eyes on their back. A footman near him yelped as a pair of Redguards thrust their spears into his back. Another was brought to his feet as another Redguard smashed a hammer into his hip as the elf struggled with another redguard. He did not have the time to scream in pain as the same warrior buried the pick side of his warhammer into the unhelmeted elf's head. Thanks to their natural abilities of hearing things much more cleanly and succintly than men, every elf there heard how skulls and bones broke, how the muscles were torn, how their comrades hearts stilled as steel pierced them, how their last breaths left their bodies over the battlecries of the Redguard warriors. 

Trecano was an experienced soldier and so was Numaril. They had seen and experienced such things that would have broken most men. But some in their number weren't. Some were new, fresh from Alinor. Terror filled them as they turned around and fled, remembering that there was an escape from the oasis. And so, they ran out despite the captain's fervent orders. "Come back, you miserable little insects!" He yelled as the more experienced mer formed into ranks, their company mages quickly throwing all manner of wards and protections on them. "You dare call yourselves Altmer? Come back!" 

If their situation wasn't even better, he could make out the distinct sound of hooves against sand. No, hundreds of hooves against sand. If he heard it then so did Numaril. They shared a look. 

"If I die and you live, my mother is your mother," he declared. Numaril nodded, offering his hand to Trecano. A hand he firmly grasped. "I ask the same, then." added Numaril. 

"Of course," he said, gripping his blade. Silently, they turned to face their enemies as the thundering of hooves grew closer and the sound of a warhorn echoed in the deep. The fleeing elves were cut down quickly as from the entrance poured rider upon rider, pale-skinned instead of the Redguard black. On the poles of their lances were flags. Some, a dragon on a faded red. And others curiously enough, a horse in a golden field.

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A/N: Desert Power.