Snippet #2195589

The men from Whiterun did not get very far.

The old man in the wagon stood and yelled, “Hey! You won’t take them bandits so easily!”

Ulrich raised Fang and yelled back “then we’ll take ‘em hard!” At that, his fellow Nords went wild, roaring fiercely and banging their axes on their shields.

The old man was unconvinced. “You won’t get to use them axes with arrows lodged in your skulls!”

“Arrows?” Ulrich asked.

“He means archers,” Bryling answered before the old man had a chance. “Vaegir archers.”

“He means Vaegir archers shooting from tree cover,” one of the Companion archers chimed in.

“Shit!” Helvard growled.

“Shit.” Bryling agreed.

“These Vaegir scum will trouble my people no more.” Ulrich planted his feet and crossed his huge arms.

Bryling walked right up to him. He could not match Ulrich strength for strength. No man in Whiterun could. Bryling did have age and experience on his side, however. “Ulrich, listen, our men are brave. They will charge the forest if you give the order. They will die like men, but they will die.”

Ulrich flexed his arms and stared Bryling full in the face causing the tension in the air to immediately thicken. Helvard moved to intervene, but before he took a step Ulrich motioned for him to remain still.

“Bryling,” Ulrich began, “you have always given me wise counsel, but you are a fool if you think I would give that order. I want you to take one of your archers, the three Companion infantrymen, and five of the town guard. I will take the other archer, Helvard, and seven of the guard. We will split our force, enter the forest from the east and west, and flank these sons of whores. As soon as you hear Helvard’s warhorn, unleash hell.”

Bryling grinned fiercely and nodded in satisfaction. He took his men and moved off to the east. Ulrich and his men went west.

The sun was beginning to set as the men from Whiterun entered the forest. A thick canopy plunged the warriors into near total darkness. Torches were out of the question. The going was tough, but not impossible. These were Whiterun pines. This forest was not even half a day’s march from the village proper. Many of the Nord warriors had played hunter and bear in this forest growing up. They were still the hunters. And these were their woods.

Ulrich led his team forward. As they neared the position the old man had pointed to, Ulrich got down on all fours and crawled. His men followed his lead. The day’s chill had become a biter, hard cold. A light snow was beginning to crawl. For men not of Nord blood, this was an evening best spent indoors.

Ulrich paused and listened. He was still for so long that Helvard was about to say something.

Ulrich slowly turned and cupped his hands in Helvard’s ear, whispering, “listen. Do you hear that?”

Helvard listened intently, and heard nothing but a breeze rustling the pine trees overhead. Then, the noise reached him. It sounded like bones knocking together, beating out a quick staccato.

Helvard grinned. He whispered to Ulrich, “the Vaegir sentry is cold. His teeth betray him.”

“He will soon be colder.” Ulrich had to have faith in Bryling. The older veteran would know what to do.

Ulrich had each of his men ready their weapons. Then, Helvard raised his warhorn to his lips.

A deep, throaty bellow ripped the forest’s stillness. The bellow was followed by Ulrich’s enormous war cry.

Ulrich raced toward the chattering teeth. Fang, his huge war axe, actually led the assault.

The bandit archer was leaning against a tree, rubbing his hands. He reacted slowly to the sound of impending death, frozen by more than the weather.

Ulrich took his head in one giant swing of his axe. Fang severed bone and flesh like a hot knife going through butter.

A nearby bandit archer reacted quicker than his companion. He had been watching for the Nords, and was lining up a shot on Ulrich’s back. He never saw Helvard, or his axe. The housecarl had once sworn a blood oath to defend his Jarl with his life. He would not break that oath. Not this day. Helvard’s ax bit deeply into the archer’s elbow, nearly severing the arm. Blood spattered the nearby trees and reddened the snow on the ground. The man groaned and stared at his wound. His left arm dangled by a single sinew. Helvard buried his axe in the nearest tree trunk. He dropped his round shield, and grabbed the archer’s head with both hands. Helvard shoved the archer’s head with all his strength into the axe head. There was a sickening crunch, more red snow, and the archer’s eyes closed. Helvard retrieved his axe and shield, and moved on.

The bandits seemed to be in groups of two, scattered along the tree line, facing the clearing. They were not expecting an assault from the sides, from the forest.

Ulrich looked around and saw the Whiterun guard engaged with bandits in the forest. Sightlines were too broken for most archers to take up their bows. Daggers did not fare well against axes, especially Nord axes. Ulrich heard sounds of battle from the other end of the forest. This made the Jarl smile. Bryling did not disappoint. He would have to buy the man a keg of Honeybrew for this…

His reverie was cut short by a thrown dagger that missed his face by a hair and lodged into the pine tree near his head. Ulrich turned to find the man who was now short one dagger.

A much smaller, much thinner man stood off at a distance. Was this the bandit the old man spoke of? Ulrich laughed, strapped Fang to his back, and ran after the man.

Ulrich was not fast over long distances. But, he moved like an angry mother bear protecting her cub over short stretches. The smaller man severely misjudged Ulrich’s ability to close, and he almost paid for it with his life.

Ulrich charged the small bandit. He reached out to grab for him. Focused on the bandit, Ulrich missed the exposed tree root. He went down like a ton of rocks.

When he pulled himself to his feet, the smaller bandit was gone. And the battle was over. Fifteen bandits lay dead or dying. Five were being tied together. Three of the town guards were dead. Two were wounded.

“Ulrich!” Helvard yelled.

Ulrich ran to his friend to find both of the Companion archers kneeling on the ground, struggling to support Bryling’s head.

Bryling was dying. Ulrich had seen enough dying men and animals to know the smell of death.

The old Companion had a dagger stuck to the hilt in his abdomen. An arrow was stuck in his chest. Bryling was coughing up blood.

“Did…did we get the buggers?” Bryling coughed, and more blood came up.

Ulrich knelt beside his thane. “Some managed to escape, but they won’t be troubling Whiterun for a long time.”

“You…(cough)…should have seen (cough, cough) the first bastard I caught (cough, cough, cough). He was taking a shit!” Bryling laughed, and there was a lot more blood. Then, the coughing abruptly stopped.

“Bryling!” Ulrich yelled. “You do not have your Jarl’s permission to die!”

He was gone. Ulrich balled his fists. He could not let his men see how much Bryling meant to him. This only deepened his anger. If I ever get my hands on that little man…

“Men,” Ulrich shouted, “we will take our prisoners and our wounded back to Whiterun. We take our dead home to their families. We return on the morrow to bury what’s left after the wolves take their due.”

With that, the men of Whiterun returned home.