Chapter 31

I gazed down at my hand, clenching my fingers tightly into a fist and watching the way the dull light glinted off of the bracers of my Daedric armor. The helmet of the same material rested on Gormlaith's saddle in front of me, the empty eyes of the piece of armor staring back at me.

Pulling my attention away from my armor, I glanced to the left, then back to the right, once more running my eyes over the ranks of Stormcloak riders from where I sat at the front of the army. Some sat on their horses' backs sharpening weapons, the shriek of stone against steel permeating the air. Some sat as I had, gazing down at their saddles or helmets. Others sat tall and straight, watching the rise of earth that marked the final descent out of the mountainous region to the south, knowing that it was over this formation that the enemy would appear.

"Do you think the Imperials know we're here?" Ralof asked quietly so only I would hear.

"I have no doubt of it. I'm sure they have dragons scouting ahead, and in this weather one could have easily spotted us without us noticing it." Of course, we had our own dragon scout, one with instructions to return and give the signal when the Imperials were about half a mile away.

Ralof fingered the blade of the smaller axe he fought with while on horseback, testing the edge. "Let them come. This is the kind of battle I like best. Each army knows the exact position of the other, and yet they meet equally in the middle. None of this underhand, ambush business today."

Personally I could care less if the battle was fought on unequal terms as long as those terms were on my side and my forces won, but I didn't say so.

A dragon appeared on the horizon and I squinted at it, just making out the blue banner of the Stormcloaks hanging around its neck. Silsivhir made one or two graceful and entirely unnecessary circles, no doubt designed to keep the entire army in suspense, then roared twice.

The Imperials were coming.

A flurry of activity swept through the riders as helmets were donned, weapons were gripped, and last prayers to the divines were whispered.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the memories of past battles rush into my mind. I imagined swinging my swords, smoothly beheading an Imperial. I practically felt myself duck to the side, barely avoiding a poorly aimed arrow and taking out the owner of the projectile with a well-timed fireball. My arm automatically twitched to deflect an imaginary sword before I plunged both swords into the man's chest.

I slowly opened my eyes as my heart beat faster, pounding like a herd of horses running wild. Fire ignited in my blood and caused me to shiver slightly as a thrill of energy ran up my spine. This must be where that saying about feeling most alive when you're about to die made sense.

I was still exhausted from not having enough sleep, my back still twinged a bit from where Brynjolf had rammed me into the door, and my head still ached slightly from the aftereffects of using the Death Shout, but as the desire to fight rose in my mind those little pesky details ceased to matter.

Absolute silence reigned over the waiting soldiers as the sound of boots crunching snow was carried toward us by the gentle breeze. I met Ralof's eyes, and he nodded slightly. I nodded back and slipped on my own helmet, satisfied that if one of us fell in this battle, the other would rest easy in the knowledge that he had said goodbye.

First one horse came into view above the rise, the beast and its Imperial rider halting at the top. Like a spilled bucket of water spreading across hard ground the rest of the mounted Imperials fanned out to span the width of the rise, their horses chafing at their bits and stamping.

I sat silently, waiting. No way in Oblivion was I going to order my troops to try to attack the Imperials going uphill. We would wait until they came to us.

The silent standoff continued for several seconds, then an Imperial wearing the attire of a general appeared in the gap between two of the horses in the center, his own steed bedecked in the red of the Empire. He was too far away to make eye contact and we were both wearing full-faced helmets, but I had the distinct impression he was looking directly at me.

The Imperial general raised his sword and a group of six dragons shot into sight from below the rise, several letting loose battle cries as they hurtled toward us. Four roars sounded from behind the Stormcloak's own lines of cavalry as Odahviing, Silsivhir, Yolzahkfron, and the other dragon darted into the air to meet the assault.

Another roar sounded from somewhere behind the Imperial forces, then the whole line of horses started the march down the hill, churning the light sprinkling of snow as they gathered speed.

I rode Gormlaith out in front of the Stormcloaks, feeling every eye upon me. Doubtless some of them at least were expecting a morale-boosting speech. Something, maybe, that would make them feel better about the most likely impossible odds we were facing, or something that would set their blood on fire with eagerness to fight.

I had never been the type for speeches. Standing in the stirrups so every rider could see me, I felt the corners of my mouth twitch up into a smile. "Let's send some of these milk-drinking Imperials to Oblivion, shall we?" I drew my Daedric sword with my right hand, raising it toward the warring dragons in the sky.

As one the Stormcloaks followed my example, their weapons joining mine to create a bristling forest of steel.

"For Skyrim!" I roared, almost feeling a little bit of the power I used to Shout manifest itself in the words.

"For Skyrim!" To a man the Stormcloaks surged forward, following Gormlaith's lead to drive across the plains like a tidal wave.

I leaned low over Gormlaith's neck, feeling her powerful muscles surge beneath me as she flew across the plains at a full gallop.

Five.

I could see the light glinting off of the helms of the riders in front.

Four.

Every breath I took, every beat of my heart, somehow seemed louder than the thundering horses of both armies.

Three.

The fastest horses were starting to break away from the main pack, their riders raising weapons high.

Two.

I could see the determination in the Imperials' eyes.

One.

There was a confused sound of metal banging on metal, horses and men screaming, and war cries as the two armies collided. Trusting Gormlaith to make her own way through the sea of horses and fallen riders, I hacked viciously at anything wearing Imperial red, ignoring the occasional sword that bounced off of my Daedric armor. I could hear the screams of the Stormcloaks behind me that were not so lucky in their possession of armor as they were caught by a sword, mace, or battleaxe and cut to the ground and spurred Gormlaith forward with a shout, renewed vigor flooding my veins.

After the initial bloody and murderous charge, the battle divided up into several smaller skirmishes with groups of Imperials and Stormcloaks fighting each other all over the plains. I buried my Daedric sword in the eye of one Imperial woman and dropped the reins to set fire to another with a well-aimed Spell of Fireball, then reined in Gormlaith, gripping tightly with my knees as she snorted and danced nervously in a small circle. The Imperial infantry stood silently at the top of the rise, watching the battle unfold below and making no move to join the fray. The red-cloaked Imperial general sat calmly on his horse just in front of his army, and despite that I knew he couldn't see it, I sent a sneer his way. Despite that I knew he possessed at least enough experience to realize that this was just an attack designed to give the Imperials something to think about more than anything, I couldn't respect any leader who wouldn't fight along with his soldiers.

I turned my attention back to the battle, taking advantage of the momentary lull. Many riders had been unhorsed in the battle, their steeds either killed or bolted, and these were fighting on the ground. Those who still had horses were galloping every which way, killing any soldier on the opposing side they came across or getting killed themselves.

A line of fire swept across the plains, setting a swath of grass alight. My head snapped automatically to the skies as I cursed myself for forgetting the aerial aspect of this battle.

The line of fire was abruptly cut off as Odahviing dashed down from the sky and snapped at the enemy dragon's flanks, distracting it. The two beasts barreled back up into the sky, snapping and growling as they went. Even with almost two to one odds, the Stormcloak dragons seemed to be handling themselves well, managing to keep the Imperial dragons mostly distracted and holding their own.

I kicked Gormlaith forward, steering her toward a lone Imperial rider. The man saw me and urged his own horse toward me, holding his steel greatsword in one hand and grinning through his open-faced helmet.

I was pretty sure I knew exactly what he was smiling about. My Daedric sword was certainly far more impressive than his ordinary steel weapon, but its reach left something to be desired. If the two horses passed next to each other, his weapon would probably hit me before mine got close to him.

Good thing for me that I had no intention of getting close to his horse. I transferred my reins to the hand that held my sword and watched the man's face turn suddenly pale as fire licked my hand. He jerked the horse to the side as the ball of fire left my hand.

He just managed to save himself, but his horse wasn't so lucky. The force of the hit snapped its neck with a sickening sound that I heard from my position on Gormlaith and it fell on its side without a sound, also coincidentally landing on the soldier's leg in the process.

I halted Gormlaith close to the downed man and vaulted down from her back. The soldier looked utterly terrified now, practically trying to squirm underneath the horse as if to hide.

Terrified of me, I realized. I had seen it in his eyes as our horses galloping toward each other that he did not fear death. A sudden image of how I must appear presented itself to my mind: a tall, inscrutable figure wearing full black and red armor with a sword to match, holding a ball of fire and standing framed by the smoke the dragonfire had left to hang over the battlefield.

Yeah, I think if I was fighting me I would be afraid too.

Suddenly realizing that all I was doing was prolonging the man's misery, I put him out of it with a quick stab through the heart and just a tiny twinge of guilt, then swung myself back up on Gormlaith to dash on to the next group of Imperials.

As the battle dragged on, the Imperials slowly started drawing back into one cohesive force. I couldn't identify who was parceling out the orders, but whoever it was, they were quite clever. The Imperials on foot managed to draw together enough to form a defensive circle, outside of which the soldiers who still had horses galloped back and forth and harried the Stormcloaks.

"To me!" I shouted, my voice hopefully not totally lost amidst the confusion. I just needed a few soldiers to hear me and listen, then the rest would get the idea and follow. "To me!"

Sure enough, after a couple captains managed to gather their scatter forces together and join in the effort to prevent more Imperials from reinforcing the defensive circle, more Stormcloaks joined in until my force was also somewhat rallied.

I reined in Gormlaith, chest heaving from exertion and eyes blinking out smoke and a little Imperial blood. Through the haze of smoke, horses, and soldiers I could see that the Imperial circle was still very much intact, and I growled out a quiet curse. I should have spotted their movements sooner and prevented this obstacle before it had ever formed, but I couldn't worry about that now.

We could kill them all, you know.

I nearly dropped my Daedric sword out of shock, barely managing to remember how to tighten my fingers before the weapon plummeted to the ground.

It was the voice, the same voice I had heard say that single word when I was talking to Cerawyn outside Jorrvaskr. The voice which I knew somehow had to be connected to the Death Shout. The voice which now, apparently, wanted me to use that Shout.

I ran out of time to consider about the implications of the voice as an Imperial horseman took a hack at me that I just managed to block. Returning it with a shout, I forced her to rein her horse backward. The respite didn't last long as she recovered from my energetic attack and went on the offensive, sword moving so quickly that I quickly became the one on the defensive.

Despite that she was clearly a cut above the ordinary Imperial swordsman I had encountered thus far in the battle and she even managed to nick me where my glove met my breastplate, I still managed to finally knock her off her horse and finish her off with a fireball.

The next second I was forced to throw myself forward on Gormlaith's neck as an ice spike shot over my back, just missing me. The offending mage lined up another shot but was forced to turn his attention elsewhere as a pair of Stormcloak soldiers engaged him.

Hoping that they could take him down, I glanced back at the defensive ring. The Stormcloak attacks had somewhat managed to eat away at the ranks of foot soldiers, but the Imperials had superior numbers and didn't have to guard against attacks from behind.

I dispatched another attacker, then turned my gaze to the field. The number of Imperial red corpses clearly outnumbered those that wore Stormcloak blue. We had done good work here and struck the Imperials not a crippling blow, but a blow nonetheless, and now we needed to retreat, not give up our success hurtling ourselves against a wall of Imperials.

I sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the smoke, and shouted, "Retreat! Retreat to Whiterun! Those on foot go first, mounted soldiers form a rearguard!" The order was repeated throughout the mostly gathered Stormcloak force, and slowly I could see it being put into effect as the soldiers on foot dispatched their last opponents and began to fall back behind the horsemen.

It was as smooth a transition to retreat as I could hope for, and the Imperials made no real move to follow as the Stormcloak force began to move as one in the direction of Whiterun. Their horseman harried the rearguard a bit as if to ensure our retreat, but the foot soldiers made no move to follow.

However, when I glanced to the skies, I could see the dragons still heatedly clawing away at each other. In the madness of ten dragons flying every which way across the skies, I couldn't really determine which was which except for the blue banners I had constructed for the Stormcloak dragons.

"Odah-VIING!" I Shouted at the sky, my voice sending out ripples of power that made several nearby horses start. Odahviing looked in my direction and saw us retreating. He guessed what I wanted him to do and shouted something to the other three dragons in Dovahzul, then all three broke off the attack and winged their way toward us. As I had expected, the Imperial beasts made no move to follow, instead being content to merely watch our retreat, hovering protectively over the Imperials.

I gave the distant Imperial commander one last glance, wondering who the man under the helmet was, then nudged Gormlaith after the foot soldiers.

As we walked back to Whiterun the fire of battle gradually burned out of my blood, leaving behind the familiar exhaustion and also an acute sense of unease. It wasn't until the whole force was safely inside Whiterun's protective walls and I was sitting at the table inside Dragonsreach along with Jarl Vignar, Cerawyn, another Companion I didn't recognize, and the captains, however, that I allowed myself to address it.

"The Imperials lost far more men than we today, but they still outnumber us greatly. No dragons on either side were killed," I stated.

Vignar leaned forward. "And the Imperial general? Is he this Miraak person?"

"No, and that's what worries me," I admitted. "The Imperial general is just that, an Imperial general. He didn't fight in the battle and I couldn't see his face through the helmet."

Vignar sat back in his seat. "Unless the Imperials sent a new general from Cyrodiil after Tullius was killed, this general may have been a captain from the Civil War. I'll look into this and see if I can ascertain who it is. That knowledge might give us an insight into his tactics."

"If Miraak was not with the Imperial army, where is he?" Cerawyn asked.

"I don't know," I said heavily. This little fact bothered me so much. I hadn't actually seen Miraak even once since Apocrypha, but evidence of his hand was everywhere. It was like he somehow had something more important to do than oversee his own army as they launched an assault on a heavily defended and extremely important city. What could he possibly be doing? I didn't know, but my gut told me that whatever it was, we needed to beware.

"What can we do about it?" Ralof shrugged, rubbing a small cut on his face. I was always telling him to wear a full helmet instead of a Stormcloak captain's helmet, and he was always telling me that he was a captain and needed to wear a captain's helmet. I had rolled my eyes and subsided, but I for one would never be caught dead in any type of Stormcloak armor, regulation or not. No, I would stick to my Daedric attire.

"Nothing," I responded. "There's no use in looking for him if we don't even know where to start, and there's still Whiterun to defend. We'll just have to do that to the best of our ability and hope we can handle whatever Miraak's getting ready to throw our way."

No one looked happy about that, but there was nothing else to be done. I dismissed the council a few minutes later, the captains heading back to their men, the Companions disappearing assumedly off to Jorrvaskr or their assigned companies, and Jarl Vignar disappearing into his chambers.

Sighing, I grabbed my helmet off the table and put it under one arm, then headed up the stairs that led to Dragonsreach. Yolzahkfron and the other dragon were up there, shaking water out of their wings and craning their necks around to look at their sinuous bodies, probably checking for injuries.

I advanced toward them, feeling slightly awkward for some reason. "Are either of you injured?" I asked.

Yolzahkfron turned his head to look at me. "No, Dovahkiin. The youngling, Silsivhir, however, does not know how to protect his flank."

"Silsivhir is hurt?" My heart fell. With every dragon we lost, Miraak's odds just about doubled.

"Not badly, I think." Yolzahkfron turned his tail to me, making it very clear that this conversation was over.

I headed back down the staircase, stuffing my helm into my endless pocket as I did so. While I'd never heard of a dragon taking a healing potion, I couldn't see why they wouldn't work on dragons. We could at least offer Silsivhir a potion, and anyway, I doubted any healer I could find would know how to bandage a dragon even if that person could be convinced to go near Silsivhir in the first place.

It turned out that neither of these things was necessary, since once I had found Silsivhir and asked after his health, he told me the wound was just a scratch and claimed that "the rain will wash the blood away". I wasn't entirely convinced and wondered if maybe he just didn't want to appear weak in front of humans, but Odahviing didn't seem concerned about him, so I took his word for it.

Still, as I walked away I took one last look at the wound, thinking how such claw mark would have left practically any living thing but a dragon writhing on the ground in a pool of its own blood.

Well, a pool of blood and water. Silsivhir hadn't been making a joke when he talked about the rain, since it was definitely hard enough by now to wash away blood.

Inside the city, there was little room for the dragons with the roads having been fortified and all the streets swarming with activity. Realizing this, Odahviing and Silsivhir had opted to sleep on top of the houses. The roofs seemed to be holding up to the unaccustomed weight so far, so I wasn't going to complain, but it made the Stormcloaks who were staying in the buildings nervous. They would walk slowly and carefully up to the houses, then dash through the doors and slam them behind them as if there were frostbite spiders waiting above the doors. It was silly and pointless, but I didn't want to expend energy telling them that.

I knew that I should probably get some sleep while sleep was still possible, but I didn't want to just yet. I needed to go somewhere quiet where I could think, and clearly I wasn't going to get that in the busy city.

Since I obviously couldn't go outside the walls and take a walk, I went up on the wall and picked the soldier on watch farthest from the commotion. "How long until you're relieved?" I asked him.

"Two hours, Dragonborn General," the man replied, stiffening to attention.

"Just General, and you're relieved," I told him tiredly. After thanking me twice and saluting, the man finally disappeared, probably to get some sleep himself.

I sat down, wincing as my glove dug into the cut on my arm. It wasn't really deep enough to warrant a bandage, but I might put one over it anyway. Every time I bent my arm the glove scraped up against it and caused a distracting twinge of pain.

Straightening out the arm, I sat down against on the floor up against the wall and looked out over the plains. The outlines of the surrounding farmhouses could just barely be seen through the thick rain and half-light of dusk, their windows lacking the familiar light. All the inhabitants were either inside the walls or off to another city to wait out the conflict.

The Imperials had yet to near the city either, but I knew it wouldn't be long. Mostly likely they would start mobilizing either at dawn, or, if the commander was impatient, when the rain abated. Or if Miraak was impatient, actually. Although, if he was, would he not have started the attack sooner?

I pondered the problem, turning it over and over in my head. What could Miraak possibly be doing that was more important to him than the war he had started? More dragons? I asked myself mentally. It was possible, but he didn't really need more dragons. And even if he wasn't sure if he could overwhelm Whiterun with the number of dragons he had, why would he mobilize the Imperials, start out toward Whiterun, and only then decide to look for more? It made no sense.

A few other possibilities presented themselves to my mind, each more ludicrous than the last. It was no use. I would just have to watch, wait, and hope that whatever malfeasance Miraak might be planning would be something Whiterun's defenses could handle.

Satisfied that any more thought on the subject of Miraak would only frustrate me further, I turned my mind to my other pressing problem. There was something in my head. Or at least, something talking to me using thoughts. Either way, it definitely had something to do with the Death Shout.

I rubbed my forehead. Why, oh why hadn't I asked that dragon in the Dwarven ruins more questions? I'd pretty much been happy with "it has five Words of Power" and "it can kill anything". The dragon had told me there would be a price, but I hadn't thought to inquire further into the nature of this price.

Maybe I could ask Paarthurnax about the Shout. He hadn't known the Words, but he had known of it. If all else failed, I supposed I could always go back to the ruins and ask the other dragon for help.

In the meantime, what could talk to someone through their mind? Daedric Princes probably could, and I shuddered to think what it would mean if one of those shifty schemers was in my head. If it was a Daedric Prince, I was at least certain it wasn't Hermaeus Mora, which was the one I was most wary of at the moment. The voice in my head was different from his voice, of that much I was certain.

Of the other Daedric Princes, I had familiarity with only one. As a Nightingale, I had come into direct contact with Nocturnal, the Daedric Prince of night, darkness, and luck. I could also say with certainty that the voice didn't belong to her, nor did it make any sense for her to be associated in any way with the Death Shout. She could probably just ask Karliah to go find me if she had a task for me.

Death Shout... Which Daedric Prince was most associated with death? Sithis was the patron of the Dark Brotherhood, but as far as I knew he didn't take any active part in the Brotherhood's business and anyway, I was fairly sure he wasn't exactly a Daedra either.

An insane and tentative idea began to form in my mind. Could I just ask the voice? The first time it had spoken, it had replied directly to me asking it a question, albeit I hadn't really anticipated an answer.

Feeling suddenly ridiculous even though I wasn't speaking out loud, I just thought the word hello, trying to turn it into a mental question.

I had mixed feelings of idiocy, disappointment, and sheer relief when the mysterious voice didn't reply.

Oh well. I supposed I ought to act like an actual lookout and keep an eye on the surroundings, so I stood up, scanning the dark horizon.

The voice would just have to wait.  I had a war to fight.

Okay, finally managed to get this updated.  It may be missing some italics here and there because I had to do some interesting maneuvers to get it to actually post.  Oh, and the chapter song is To Glory by Two Steps From Hell.  Listen to it while reading about the battle :D