The rhythmic sound of the catapults winding and releasing, the heavy whine of flame-coated boulders slicing through the air, the boom as those same boulders reached their destinations with fearful impact, both inside and outside the walls; the screams of soldiers who did not get out of the way in time. All of it together created a cacophony of noise that made it impossible to hear a word of what was probably a very rousing speech by Galmar.

 

Apparently Swordsinger was not the only one to have that difficulty – Hammerleaf bent toward her and murmured, “Can you hear what he’s saying?”

 

She shook her head. “Not a word. We’ll just cheer when it looks like he’s done.”

 

“Aye.”

 

Swordsinger had not known Galmar long – she had only had any meaningful contact with him in the last couple months – but she knew he was not a man of many words, so the length of the unheard speech surprised her a bit. It wasn’t as if the Stormcloaks needed extra motivation - today was the day they had all been waiting for. The day the war started in earnest. The day her vengeance truly began.

 

Today was the day they took Whiterun.

 

The soldiers in front of them cheered, so they joined in. Then the companies began to move to their positions.

 

“You’re sure your Catty guys know what to do?”

 

Hammerleaf looked wounded. “Don’t you trust me?”

 

“I trust you, yes. I don’t trust people I haven’t met.”

 

“I’m touched! Don’t worry, the wall will be breached. I’m told Vnig is the best there is.”

 

“Hope you’re right or we’re going to spend this battle watching helplessly from outside the wall. Speaking of which, we need to hurry.” She turned to the squad.

 

“All right, boys and girls. We need to move quick. Let’s go open a gate.” The squad just nodded back, all business. She smiled at Galmar’s back as they started to jog. “That’s how to give a speech!” she did not say.

 

As they made their way through the growing darkness, she realized there was a small flaw in their plan. She leaned toward Hammerleaf and said, “Next time, remind me to leave with the squad earlier. We really should be in position now, not just making our way there.”

 

“I respectfully disagree, oh not-so-wise-in-this-case leader. The enemy would surely have noticed us had we moved into position earlier. We need the distraction of the frontal assault to keep their attention.”

 

Swordsinger frowned. “I suppose. It just feels like we’ll be wasting men this way.”

 

“If they had managed to fix the front gates, perhaps we would have. Since the only barrier is the Frisian Stakes, it shouldn’t be too hard to breach the outer bailey. Of course, if we don’t get the drawbridge down, they’ll just be archer fodder at that point.”

 

“Aye to that.”

 

Silence, then, as they came to the remains of a burned and broken watchtower and turned north.

 

Pride looked up at the jagged remains of the tower. “Do we know what happened there?”

 

“Dragon,” Wooly responded. “One of the first ones. I heard the Dragonborn killed it with one hit.”

 

“What?” Flea shook his head. “That’s not possible. Besides, I’m not sure I even believe there is a Dragonborn.”

 

“What do you mean? Everyone knows…”

 

“No, everyone heard rumors, but that was almost two years ago and we haven’t heard anything more about him.”

 

Pride frowned. “It is true that she seems to have disappeared. Maybe she’s still training with the Greybeards?”

 

“Maybe, but…”

 

“We’re getting close to the walls,” Hammerleaf interjected. “Quiet, now.”

 

The squad moved in silence the rest of the way to their spot then huddled behind the scant cover of some jagged boulders. Swordsinger peered around the edge at the wall.

 

“I wish there was a way to send a signal so he would know when to…”

 

The flaming boulder whined through the air and hit the top of the wall with a flash and a resounding boom. Stone shot outward, leaving a gap that seemed just big enough.

 

Hammerleaf grinned. “Looks like a sign to me!”

Swordsinger laughed. “Couldn’t be more clear. Let’s go kill some Imperials!”

 

She leaped to her feet and sprinted over the very ground she and Hammerleaf had helped to consecrate. Some part in the back of her mind had the leisure to wonder whether their participation had lent some of Dibella’s aid to them, because when they came to the stony ledge, they found the gap in the wall was a mere three-foot jump away and, as she had hoped, the defenders had not yet noticed the breach. She sprinted forward and hurdled the gap.

 

The noise was deafening; battle cries and screams of pain, clashing metal and buzzing arrows, a cacophony so loud and visceral, it seemed a living force of its own. The slow bend of the road from the broken front gates to the hale and hearty drawbridge that protected the inner bailey teemed with bodies.

 

Fortune smile upon them; the outer walls were empty. Every defender either fought on the path below or hid behind the walls of the inner bailey. Swordsinger spared the scene little more than a glance but, from twenty feet above in the growing twilight, she could make out little besides a blob of movement. She turned left and began sprinting along the walkway. When it turned and began running under the walls of the city proper, which loomed yet another twenty feet higher, she turned and gestured.

 

“Okay, before they notice us, time for part two.”

 

She was met with a wall of confused faces, which was not unexpected – only she knew there was a part two. “Fodder, give your shield to Wooly. Good. Now, Wooly, Hammerleaf, hold it flat between you. Good. Lower. Good.”

 

She stepped onto the shield and crouched. “Now throw me onto the top of the wall.”

 

“What?” Hammerleaf almost dropped the shield and Swordsinger was forced to balance herself on his shoulder. She gave him a glare.

 

“No time to argue. It’s a miracle they haven’t noticed us already. Hurry!”

 

“But…”

 

“Now!”

 

Hammerleaf looked like he was ready to argue some more, but a shout from the direction of the defenders gave them notice their time was up. “We’ll fight about this later. Wooly, one, two, three!”

 

The two men shoved the shield upward and Swordsinger sprang at what she judged to be the highest point and prayed to whatever Divines might be listening that this stupid plan worked.

 

Galmar’s attack strategy was as plain and straightforward as the man himself – just charge and cut through the enemy until no more enemies were to be found. What it lacked in imagination, it made up for in casualties since it did not take into consideration small details like moats, raised drawbridges, or heavy fortified doors. Even if they managed to get the drawbridge down – and she had no doubt Hammerleaf would be able to get the squad to do just that – they would still need to break down the doors to the city while death rained down on them from above. It was not a good plan.

 

Of course, it could be argued that sending one person to open the doors from the inside when the bulk of the enemy defenders were probably there was also not a good plan. But she couldn’t think of another.

 

Her trust in her companions, at least, was well-founded – she not only reached the top of the city walls, she cleared them enough that she was able to land on her feet instead of something more dramatic like just making it by the ends of her fingers.

 

Fortune or the Divines or just plain Imperial incompetence favored her once again – this portion of the city walls was undefended. The archers she had expected were gathered two hundred yards to her right, poised to rain arrows down on the inner bailey if the attackers broke through. It made some sense, Swordsinger supposed – it would have been nigh impossible to pick out targets when the combatants on both sides were mired together in one giant slog.

 

She turned left and made her way to the nearest stairs and there she found what she needed – three Imperial soldiers peered out the entryway of the bastion toward the city gates while they groused.

 “Dammit, Maun, this is your fault. If you hadn’t run your mouth at Call, we’d be out there thumping Stormcloaks, not stuck where nothin’s going to happen.”

 

“Nah, the Quaestor would have done it no matter what. She don’t like us. Never has.”

 

Swordsinger sidled up behind them and peered over the shoulder of the one furthest back. “Can you see anything yet?”

 

“Nah. Probably never will – even if they somehow get the bridge down, they’ll never get…wait…”

 

Swordsinger smiled. “Wish we had more time.”

 

She tried to be neat as she cut off their heads; she needed one of their uniforms, after all. But blood is hard to contain from a severed neck. She settled for the least bloody pieces from the three men then hid her uniform and raced out of the bastion toward the gate.

 

“Stormcloaks!” She screamed the word as she pelted past the first groups of Imperial soldiers gathered around the gate. “A bunch of them!” She pointed back toward the bastion.

 

An Imperial officer of some sort frowned at her as the soldiers started murmuring and looking back.

 

“Stormcloaks? How? Are you sure?”

 

Perhaps the blood was helpful after all. She gestured at it and back the way she had come. She didn’t have to hide the waver in her voice; it stemmed from cold fear but sounded like desperation. “Yes! They killed the others! They’re circling around to get to Dragonsreach!”

 

The officer cursed and started yelling. “Contuberniums Wuk, Se, Zha, Nya, Mis with me! The rest of you, keep that door closed!” He turned to Swordsinger as the Imperials ran to their new positions and nodded. “Good work, Private. Stay here with Contubernium Kuhbi.” He clapped her on the shoulder and strode off without waiting for an acknowledgement, which was good because Swordsinger wasn’t sure how to salute the Imperial way.

 

Secret plan part one complete. She looked around the remaining soldiers as she sidled to the edge of the group. Twenty-four had remained behind, still too many to take on by herself.  And the bar across the gate was massive – she would never be able to lift it off herself.

 

Time for secret plan, part two. Once she figured out what that was.

 

A cry went up from the archers at the top of the wall but with the noise, it was impossible to hear what was said. The other soldiers around Swordsinger craned their necks and shouted back, which didn’t help.

 

“What?” “What’s going on?” “What did he say?” “I don’t know, I think…”

 

“He said the Stormcloaks are trying to retreat!” The words sprung from Swordsinger’s mouth in a moment of inspiration. Or stupidity. It was hard to tell which, but once they were out, she had no choice but to put all her energy behind them. She grinned in as rabid a way as she could manage. “They’ve been pushed back! We’ve won! Quick, open the gates – we need to help finish them off!”

 

Her words sent a shock through the remaining men which only spread as they were passed on. Soon the small group was abuzz with excitement and hope…and not a little frustration that they hadn’t been able to join in the route. It didn’t take much more prompting to encourage some of them to run to the gates and, despite calmer, smarter heads trying to stop them, remove the giant bar and swing wide the doors.

 

In the utter chaos that followed, as Swordsinger’s twenty-four new friends were swept under the tide of the bulk of the Stormcloak army, Swordsinger slipped back to the bastion and changed back into her uniform. The city was theirs but the keep at the top was still another matter, and she had no fresh ideas how to break into there.  

 

She needn’t have worried. She re-joined her Company (ignoring the looks of disbelief) as the army spilled across the city. They met the returning soldiers she had tricked into leaving the gates but those forty soldiers were the largest group of enemies they encountered until they slammed open the doors of Dragonsreach itself.

 

 The battle in the confined space of the building contained a perfect balance of longevity and brutality. Jarl Balgruff’s most elite soldiers met the Stormcloaks as they burst through the door, and for a moment, the tide was stemmed. But Hammerleaf’s hammer slammed a hole in the corner of the defense large enough for Swordsinger and her squad to squeeze through, and once the crack opened, the defense was forced to widen and loosen.

 

 Swordsinger wasn’t sure how long it lasted – it seemed like hours. They made their way through wave after wave of Whiterun guards until they came to the core, where Balgruff himself stood waiting with a giant sword in his hands. Before Swordsinger to reach him, though, his lapdog, the dark elf Irileth, interposed herself.

 

Having just spent however many minutes or hours cutting through the Jarl’s elite, Swordsinger was in no mood to play around. She shifted to vod enmê and went for the quick kill.

 

 It almost ended her. Irileth parried the blow and riposted in a move so flawless, Swordsinger almost didn’t see it in time. She felt the burn as the elf’s sword cut across her cheek.

 

She cursed herself for making stupid assumptions and shifted into on ezh as her mother laughed at her from a distance.

 

The Dunmer was fast - faster than anyone Swordsinger had encountered since she left home – and precise, and pressed her advantage without hesitation. It took several backward steps before Swordsinger was able to recover enough equilibrium to move away from pure defense.

 

The elf’s style was similar to Lebzus êzha, focused on precise strikes to key targets. Swordsinger countered with keep ke us, a flowing style that kept the body – and therefore its targets – in a constant state of motion. There was a pattern to it, but it did not repeat, so it was hard for most people to gain clean hits. That led to opportunities when the opponent overreached, such as right th…

 

No, that was a feint. Swordsinger saw it just in time and it clued her in to the fact that her opponent had adjusted as well. The elf’s sword was coming in at lower angles, almost horizontal strokes. This gave Swordsinger the opportunity to switch to her version of Lebzus êzha, and she got almost immediate results when her off-sword slipped through a gap of the Dunmer’s defense, pierced her leather armor, and drew blood along her collar bone.

 

Irileth hissed and drew back, but only as another feint as her next attack came sizzling in from the left. Swordsinger stepped out of its reach then tried to step right back in to take advantage of the gap only to be met with the blade on its return trip. It sliced open the cloth of her armor and left a scratch across her stomach. She shifted briefly to vod enmê and nearly managed a clean hit on the elf’s head, but Irileth danced back and out of the way, and they both reset.

 

Swordsinger found herself grinning, almost laughing, as she circled. She hadn’t had this much fun in years! Just when she had grown to accept that Skyrim had no true fighters, here one was. Although Irileth was a Dunmer, so it was possible she wasn’t from Skyrim at all.

 

Swordsinger shook her head. Time for that later. She shifted to keep ke dud’, similar to keep ke…

 

“Enough, Irileth. It is over. We have lost.” A deep voice, tired and bitter.

 

“What?” Swordsinger and Irileth said the words in unison as both turned to Balgruff. He was on his knees, his greatsword on the ground in front of him.

 

“I said it is over. Put down your sword.”

 

“But my Lord, I can take her!”

 

“Perhaps you could, though it would be a feat should you be able to win against a disciple of Shûyaa Shî Yee Y̌êz. But even someone who could accomplish such a thing would not be able to win against an entire army.”

 

Swordsinger blinked in surprise. How did he know about…

 

“Ah, that explains that.” The elf sheathed her sword and gave Swordsinger a small bow. “A shame it had to end, and a shame you chose the wrong side of this war. It was an honor.”

 

“Well, if Imperial soldiers hadn’t killed my husband, I wouldn’t be here, so you have no one to blame but yourselves. Still.” She returned the bow. “You are remarkable.”

 

“I ought to be.” Irileth chuckled but didn’t explain herself as she moved to Balgruff’s side.

 

Swordsinger shrugged and turned back toward her company, feeling tired but exultant.