Chapter XIX: Battle of Dawnstar, The Rout
The battlefield around us seemed to quieten once more as I rested a foot on a mangled corpse to my side while giving the remaining 'elites' of the enemy a mocking smirk they could more feel than see at this distance.
Now that we were not attempting to rend each other into tiny bits, Ulfric finally got a good look around him and the dozens upon dozens of corpses of his shield brothers, all of them looking like they belonged at a butcher's shop and not a battlefield.
His eyes found mine once again, a cigar lazily held between my fingers as I leaned on my glaive without a single spot out of place. It could in fact be said that I looked cleaner than many a Thane stationed in the Blue Palace.
And it was that sight that confirmed his decision as he gave me one final glare before ordering in a voice more bitter than even I, in all my low opinion of the man, had expected "We retreat." He grit out.
His words seemed to almost drain all the fighting spirit left within his men but he should have expected as much. He, a Nord King by his own words, was turning tail and running from an elf.
Before any of them can react to the command I lazily raise my hand as if to stop them, my Magicka already bubbling back to the surface in preparation for a lunge making them all tense up and focus back on me "And what exactly gave you the impression any of you were going to be leaving this field alive?" I ask in a falsely polite tone.
Fear enters the less powerful among them, even as they attempt to hide it from their brothers in arms, but the leaders seem to have a completely different reaction as Grimnir gives Ulfric a solemn look, and a nod is shared.
"I will see you in the halls of our ancestors brother." Ulfric offers to shake his hand but the old man simply smiles and proceeds to kick him away.
Just in time for my blurry form to pass them both and stop only as I impale one of their unsuspecting magi on my glaive, setting him on fire in the process and tossing his burning carcass at a nearby man who was trying to bring a horse to his retreating lord.
I blink away from my position and appear at Ulfric's side, my weapon already in full swing but I have to pull back at the last moment as Grimnir also uses teleportation and attempts to smash my hand with his hammer.
By the time I could look back, Ulfric had already used whirlwind sprint and was halfway across the battlefield, his elites retreating after him at much lesser speeds, all of them leaving their best mage to his fate.
"Yeah, as if." I scoff and as Grimnir goes in for an attack and spell combo, attempting to hold me in place and smash me at the same time, I use the small window of time before the spell lands to yank a nearby shadow and appear just behind a breathless novice tongue.
Suffice it to say he would remain breathless for an eternity as I promptly removed his head with a rapid swing.
Things devolved into a deranged version of a game of cat and mouse as Grimnir attempted to chase me down and stop me from teleporting around while I proceeded to murder as many of Ulfric's prized warriors as I could before the old man finally did.
Finally, after twenty dead men, one of the idiots got their head out of their ass and actually tried fighting back with his greater than average strength and he bought enough time for the old man to catch up and cast a temporary spatial lock from a very expensive looking scroll.
I pulled the Ebony Blade out of the eye socket of the brave Stormcloak, the man dead before his body hit the ground, and turned back to Shatter Shield "Bought that just for little old me, have you?"
"Shut your cursed mouth you monster." He grits his teeth, his eyes almost alight with the hatred he held for me.
"What is it you old fart? Upset I did not play along with your little heroic sacrifice bit?" I ask in a mocking drawl as I lightly swing the piercing ebony dagger and let the blood fly off its surface.
"Silence you honorless cur!" Whatever little composure must have been completely broken by my utter lack of care for his men "Just shut up and face me!"
"Oh, don't you worry." I drawl on "I had every intention of making this place your grave." I point to a hole which wasn't there a moment ago "Look, I even dug it in advance."
He doesn't answer save for an enraged battle cry and a wall of frost and lightning slamming into my previous position.
I pivot on one foot just as I land from my sudden jump and with a flick of my hand blast the rushing old man with a massively overcharged fireball, completely ruining his shield hand and launching him bodily against a nearby tree.
Grimnir barely had the time to raise his hammer and prop himself up against the now felled bit of forest before I appeared in front of him once more, Blasphemy raised high and ready to remove everything in its path.
He only barely managed to stop my overhead swing, the deadly blade held back just an inch away from his forehead as he struggled heroically against my attack, his eyes focused fully on my weapon as he had seen what it could do with a mere touch.
And that focus cost him his life.
Without the barest hint of any respect or mercy, I kicked him in the chest, and with a pained grunt, his guard faltered, letting my blade descend further and turn his wizened face into so many fine chunks of shattered meat as the vorpal curse went to work.
With that bit of work done, I shunted the now headless corpse into the 'grave' I made and turned to the rest of the battlefield.
The scene that greeted me was encouraging as I saw the enemy morale faltering, especially those who were close enough to me to see the events that occurred in front of the Legionary Fort's gates as they all looked just about ready to contemplate a full rout.
My own people held their own pretty well and I mentally kicked Oren up a notch in the usefulness department as I saw him deliberately having my marksmen target enemy officers and what little tongues Ulfric decided to disperse among his less important units, filling them with so many bolts poor fuckers were probably more steel than flesh at that point.
Nords were brave but seeing one of their heroes fall after their 'King' was forced to retreat would break even their spirits.
And so naturally I decided to abuse that fact. I cleared my throat, already enhancing my voice to make it carry for kilometers "To all rebel idiots still thinking they can pull out a victory." I held back a wince as I almost deafened myself but still managed to soldier on "Your leader has fled before me and his mage lies slain at my feet. Kindly stop wasting my time further and surrender."
And just if the lazy self-assured drawl I just delivered wasn't enough, the moment I finished speaking the only breach in our lines that looked so obviously engineered it was insulting, even as thousands of the Stormcloak rebels poured within, was filled with the sound of pained screams and galloping hooves.
The battle cries invoking the names of High Rock cities and some of the more obscure Breton deities coming from that direction left little doubt as to what was happening.
The full knightly contingent of our army broke through those lines, completely shattering any cohesion the rebels may have still held with their heavily armored horses and lances that failed to break even after slaughtering five Stormcloaks a piece.
Behind the knightly chargers rode the horsemen of Whiterun, reminding me a bunch of Rohirrim as they rode down anyone lucky enough to survive the Bretons' wrath, gleefully cutting through the enemy flanks as they emerged onto the main battle line.
Some of the more well armed and armored rebel groups attempted to form a rearguard to hold back the tide of flagging morale but I had grown tired of their stubbornness and ascended into the skies once more, doing my best impression of a carpet bomber as I showered them in fire and lightning.
Needless to say, the Stormcloaks' morale was well and truly crushed at this point and hundreds, maybe even thousands more of them died before they could reach the relative safety of their camp, and hundreds more would succumb to their wounds before the night was through.
'Truly a productive day' I think with a satisfied smile and pointedly ignore the small tiny part of me telling me that thousands of men dying in a bloody melee in the span of mere hours was in fact supposed to be a bad thing.
---
The mostly Nordic force of the Legion of Skyrim gave me a wide berth as I walked through the main camp of our forces, a mix of awe and respectful dread obvious in their eyes as they watched my passing.
Oh they had heard tales of my exploits, a good number of them even participating in the pacification of the Reachmen years ago, but none save for those who participated in the assault on Volkihar or those who were stationed at Helgen recently knew just how far my powers had risen.
Ulfric was himself something of a legend among the Nords, even with his obvious use of Nordic tradition only when it suited him he was still respected as the man who would stand up against the elves and push them out of Skyrim with an honorable Nord warrior's hand.
That had been shattered most thoroughly today.
Any sympathy the legionaries from the loyal holds may have held for the man was lost when he abandoned his men to die and fled before an elf who had done more for Skyrim than his hairy ass ever would.
Tullius' guardsmen saluted me crisply as I entered the command tent, the place was even more swamped than usual with messengers running in and out as they delivered the battle reports from their positions.
Everything was taken into account by the veteran command staff and their newly raised apprentices, the amount of shields broken, the unrecoverable javelins, the artillery ammunition spent, and a thousand other details that may seem inane at first glance but swiftly formed a neat picture of the battle's expenses and would allow our logistics to flow without any interruption or mistake.
"General." I greeted and to their credit all officers save the old Imperial remained fixated on their tasks as he looked up at me.
"Court Mage." He greets with a court nod even as his eyes glint with appreciation "If my reports are to be believed your actions alone have saved thousands of my men today." He informs me "You have my thanks."
I offer a satisfied smirk in turn "It was my genuine pleasure." My tone this time was more than enough to make some of the less experienced officers gape for a moment before they thought better of it and got back to work.
"How are the casualties?" I ask as I take a seat.
Tullius' eye twitches in irritation "Our center has approximately three thousand fallen while the enemy has seven, almost half of those losses happened in the rout caused by you and our Breton allies." He sighs "There was also an attack from the city itself, aimed toward the eastern fort but it was held back, if just barely."
"You think they will sally out again?" I ask immediately.
He nods grimly "Yes, we will have to station even more men to garrison those positions."
"Right." I agree, sharing some of his consternation "As much as I would like to have all of this over and done with, I do not believe for a second we have broken the rebels' spirits with only today."
"Quite." The General confirms "Rarely is a battle over after only one clash, especially one this... intense."
I nod along "And what of our other flanks?"
"Rikke has held her position with relatively light losses against Galmar Stone-Fist's assault but has not done much damage in turn either. The two seem to be perfectly content in bashing their shieldwalls against each other, and I am more than happy to let them continue." He lists off while glancing at a nearby report "Fresh reports have yet to arrive from the forest but the most recent one implies a costly victory for our side."
Almost as if summoned by Tullius' words, a man in Morthal livery rushed into the tent and almost fell on his face as he forced himself to stop running, he looked around in a panic before his eyes landed on me "Sir! Battlemage Tiberius took a javelin to the thigh, we are unsure if he will survive without immediate aid!"
The entire tent turns silent as many of the officers grew rather worried about the cheerful young man but Tullius and I could only share looks of disappointment.
After slowly palming my face I got up from my seat and spoke "General, permission to put your Battlemage through a training regime from Oblivion itself?" I ask with false cheer.
The satisfied grin the man's face twisted into sent shivers down the spines of his subordinates as he nodded "Granted."
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