Chases-The-Wind
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“Move!” I shouted. “Mind the way!”
Pushing through the crowded hallways of Whiterun’s guard quarters, I hurried to reach the outside. With the main doors of Dragonsreach blocked, I took an underground passage through the barracks and palace dungeon. Precious seconds were wasted.
I burst out from the dark, cold stone of the keep and dashed into the courtyard. Shafts of smoke rose up from burning buildings in the districts below. The dragon, soaring hither and yon through the air, rained its fire upon the city of Whiterun. I stood overlooking the scene in horror.
Xhuth! How can a beast like this be stopped!?
There had to be some way to combat the threat. Arrows flew uselessly through the air, striking no more than the dragon’s tail wind. It was too fast, too great. What could be done? What could I do?
I barked in my mind’s ear.
Time to think is time to act! People are dying!
I postponed debating the finer points of my tactics and set off to join the fray, descending to the Wind District by way of stairs beyond the broken bridge. In doing so, I became a target for the dragon. It set its sights on me from further out and made a banking turn to intercept, readying its fire. The monster’s shout rang clear.
“YOL…”
There was a pool some feet below to my left, filled by a steady stream that flowed from the upper district. I jumped in.
“…TOOR SHUL!!!”
The basin was shallow. I landed and plunged beneath, pressing my stomach against the stone floor. Flames refracted atop a churn of rolling water. As I watched the wyrm fly off, I was struck by the likeness between its fiery shout and the magic of the draugr in Bleak Falls. Both were conjured with three words spoken in succession. Even the dragon at Helgen had done this. I drew in a deep gillful and surfaced from the water. It sloshed over my armor as cries and shouts of the city’s people burst into earshot.
I climbed out and tossed my knapsack aside. Heavy and sopping wet, the bag would only slow me down. All that I needed remained on my person.
Whiterun’s plaza was in chaos. Beneath the branches of a burning Gildergreen, people were herded into buildings by guardsmen covering their escape with bows. Some of the soldiers stayed together, using their shields as a defense against the dragon’s breath. Others took shelter in open doorways, stepping out to volley their arrows. The dragon flew unhindered by all opposition. It kept a safe distance as it circled about, making swift strokes across the city with fire and lashing at buildings with its tail.
Not once did the wyrm stop to land. It maintained its speed and momentum, using long straight glides to ease the strain on its wings. The advantage of this was obvious – the beast was harder to hit while moving – but surely it needed to land at some point. Even the black dragon at Helgen had on several occasions.
“Make every arrow count! We’ll bring that bastard down!”
A Dunmer’s voice called out from nearby. It was Irileth. She and a group of men were fighting to repel the dragon’s next advance. Failing to slow it down, they dashed into cover behind nearby buildings, dodging a blast of fire.
I ran to them. The housecarl focused a bolt of lightning in her hand and shot it at the dragon. The attack left scorch marks upon its hide like ink spots. The black dragon at Helgen had been unfazed by similar magic. But this dragon was not so resilient.
It was weaker.
Irileth caught sight of me as I came beside her, kneeling against a small wood lodge.
“You’ve finally joined us,” she remarked.
“Had I a choice in the matter?” I retorted, eyes bent skyward. A bay of hale in a nearby pen was ablaze, along with burning carcasses of cattle. The heat was making my scales dry.
“Damn this overgrown lizard,” Irileth swore, speaking above the sounds of battle. “It’s going to have the entire city in flames before we can so much as bruise it!”
“There must be something we can do,” I said as I loaded ammunition into my crossbow. “Even if it can’t be–”
One of the guards interrupted me.
“Hey! Something’s happening! The dragon is leaving!”
Everyone looked to the eastern sky. Instead of coming around for another attack, the dragon flew miles away into the distance, descending below view of the city’s walls. It showed no sign of great injury.
“Oh, Thtal,” I growled. “It’s resting from its flight!”
“Are you certain?” Irileth questioned.
“I see no reason it won’t return.”
“What now? Do we go after it?” a voice asked nearby.
“There’d be no point,” I replied angrily. “It can take to the air again before anyone gets close!” We would be too slow, even on horseback.
“The bastard’s trying to outlast us, wearing down our forces,” Irileth muttered, turning to direct her men. “Use the time we have! Spread out and search for stragglers! Tend to the wounded if you have to.”
As the guards began to scatter, Irileth turned to me.
“I’m staying with my men. Get to Jorrvaskr and find out if the Companions have a plan! We need this dragon dead!”
“Wait, find who?” I stammered.
“Get to the mead hall on the other side of the district,” she exclaimed, pointing behind me. “It’s not far, but hurry!”
Before I could speak further, the housecarl fled to join her charges. Who were these Companions she spoke of? Why would they have a plan?
Annoyed at my ignorance, I made for Jorrvaskr as swiftly as my legs could carry me, splashing through aqueducts that ran along the ground. The mead hall was in view. Its wooden rooftop resembled that of an overturned longboat. Decorative shields adorned its perimeter.
A sudden cry for help echoed above the city’s tumult. It came from the Plains District. Stopping in my tracks, I bent to hear the sound, cursing under my breath. The Companions could wait. I ran to the cry’s aid.
Whiterun’s streets were nearly barren. A brave few attempted to douse the fires that ravaged their homes. Guardsmen were regrouping. An eerie stillness had descended in the dragon’s absence, like the eye of a storm, filled by scattered shouts, splashes of water, and the crackle of burning buildings. I arrived in the marketplace and saw a guard struggling to lift a pile of broken wood. A storefront’s awning had collapsed, trapping two people beneath.
“Hey, you there!” the guard called out, waving me over. “Give me a hand with this!”
I rushed over to the scene. There were several downed support beams atop debris. Blood was running through cracks in the stone beneath. With the bulk of the pile too heavy to lift at once, the guard and I began hoisting off pieces one by one.
A roar came from the sky. I spun around. The dragon was in the air directly above. It locked its sights on us, a target too easy to pass.
“Get down!!” I shouted, pushing back the guard with one hand while casting a ward in the other. I braced myself, thinking the magic would not hold.
“YOL… TOOR SHUL!!!”
And yet it did.
The wyrm’s gout of fire was absorbed in full. Flames flickered and died upon the ground around us, leaving an ellipse unsinged the size of my ward. The dragon was weaker in both resilience and power! It was nothing compared to the one that destroyed Helgen. But that fact in itself did not make the monster less of a threat. I returned to the task at hand.
“We’re out of time!” I exclaimed, straining to lift up the pile of rubble. “If we don’t… move this now…!”
“You should step back,” an unfamiliar voice spoke behind me. It was deep and husky.
I jolted in surprise as the rubble lifted out of my hands. A brutish Nord was hefting the entire wood pile by himself. He wore an impressive suit of heavy steel armor, high pauldrons, with a two-handed sword and longbow on his back. The man’s face was grimed with war paint across his eyes, black to match a shaven beard and long messy hair.
The guardsman and I pulled the two entrapped to safety – a man and a woman, the later unconscious with a terrible head wound. We took refuge in a nearby general goods store. Trinkets and bobbles were set upon tables and shelves throughout the room, some knocked over or shattered. The large warrior followed behind, staying to watch the doorway.
“She’s not gonna last long,” he said, motioning toward the injured woman as I laid her on a carpet.
“She will be fine. Her head trauma is serious, but I think I can heal it,” I hissed, turning to the two other men. “When I’m finished, seek better shelter if you can! A cellar or basement will work best – anyplace underground!”
I began to work my healing spell, light washing over the woman’s bloodied wound. The Nord warrior regarded me warily. I glanced at him and gave a grateful smile.
“These people could have died,” I said, still focused intently on my casting. “Your timing here was most helpful.”
“Won’t matter if we don’t kill this dragon,” he replied flatly. The man had an odd calmness about him.
“I know,” I spoke quietly. “This is getting worse by the minute…”
More sounds of battle erupted outside. Hope was becoming a fleeting thing. We could whittle down the dragon enough to drive it away eventually, but I refused to think there was no alternative. The dragon’s flight was its greatest, if not sole advantage. In the air, we could do no more than scratch here, nip there. But aground it would not be nearly as swift. I believe it knew this, only ever stopping to touch down miles beyond reach.
We needed to force it to land on our terms.
“There. She is stable,” I sighed, finishing my clinical work. The other men helped carry the woman to the back of the store while the brutish Nord perked up, peering out of the doorway.
“Can’t stay any longer. My brother’s calling me,” he said. “I’ve got to go.”
I was surprised he could make out anything clearly from outside. Impressive hearing for a Nord.
“I’ll accompany you. Dragon fire is less threatening if you have a ward for protection,” I replied, leaning on the opposite side of the doorway. “Who is your brother? Where will we find him?”
“Vilkas. He’s up at Jorrvaskr.”
“Jorrvaskr?” I startled. “Wait, does that mean you’re…?”
“A Companion,” the man finished. “Yeah. New around here, aren’t you?”
“I was told you would have a plan to stop the dragon.”
The Nord shook his head.
“Not me. But if anyone does by now, it’s Vilkas.”
That was an acceptable answer.
“Then we go to him. Lead on.”
The two of us made a dash for the stairwell to the Wind District, stopping at its peak to hide beneath a brick archway. The wyrm appeared as a silhouette against the setting sun, straightening into a glide toward the city to strike yet again. A group of archers were marshalled out near the western side of the Wind District, set in formation. The commander of Whiterun’s guard stood by and signaled to the men.
“Ready position! Draw!” he commanded.
The bowmen were trying to stop the dragon from flying over, or at least wound it on entry. As the Nord warrior and I ran toward Jorrvaskr, I watched in fear for them.
“Aim!”
The dragon was not slowing down. It would be directly in front of the guards’ line of fire. What was it going to do…?
“Release!!”
A cluster of arrows soared through the air. They were right on target. But the dragon was one step ahead. It lifted itself higher with a powerful beat of its wings. The gust that followed blew back the missiles from their trajectory. In one swoop the archers had been bested. The wyrm let loose its fiery shout as it flew over the soldiers – this time condensed into single breath that exploded on impact. Only a handful jumped clear in time.
“Brit grah, bahlaan hokoron!” the dragon spoke in its foreign tongue, swerving away.
No sooner was its boast cut short, however, when a lone arrow struck the monster square in its neck. It recoiled from the sting, letting out a rancorous roar. I followed the dragon’s eyes. A woman, standing upon the steps that rose to Jorrvaskr, was drawing her bow for another volley. She wore a set of fur and leather armor fitted with sparse iron plating, and a head of long red hair. Her face too was streaked with war paint. I took her for a Companion. The woman’s aim and posture were well composed. She had the make of a mastered archer.
“Farkas. You’re late,” she said upon glimpsing the Nord warrior and I. “Don’t tell me you had trouble getting here.”
“Got busy, Aela. More people needed help,” Farkas replied.
The woman lowered her bow and arrow. Her mark had flown out of range to land again.
“You can help these whelps by fighting the dragon, not playing hero.”
The three of us went behind a stone wall that encircled the mead hall’s grounds.
“Farkas! Shor’s bones, there you are!” someone called out nearby. It was a man with short dark hair, adorning a set of armor plated with grey steel. The detail work upon its surface was impressive, designs bearing the likeness of wolves. At once I noticed a familial resemblance between him and Farkas, though this one was not as stout. He carried an identical set of armaments.
“Where did you run off to?” Vilkas asked.
“People were in need of aid,” I spoke up. “Your brother lent his strength at a crucial moment.”
The Nord in wolf armor eyed me quizzically. “An Argonian? What do you think you’re doing here?”
“My thoughts exactly… Who are you?” Aela asked, looking to me.
“This one is of no importance,” I asserted. “I was asked by the Jarl’s housecarl to find you all. Is there a plan in motion to bring this dragon down?”
Vilkas and Aela glanced at one another.
“The plan is to stay alive,” Vilkas said. “We have to hold our defense and send the beast back to wherever it came from.”
I gaped at the man.
“What? Is that all!?” I exclaimed. “Are we simply biding our time!?”
Vilkas hardened at my distraught.
“Unless you want to construct a catapult, there’s little we can use to fight the dragon while it’s flying. Arrows are the best offensive we have.”
“We’ve wounded the beast by now,” Aela added. “It knows its cowardly tactics can’t last. It’s just a matter of time. The dragon will flee to survive once it’s had more than it can handle. Then we hunt it to its resting place and slay it there.”
“That’s not enough!” I snapped. “What happens if the dragon strikes again while you’re out searching for it? Will this city have the strength to stand another attack?”
“Whiterun is not as weak as you think, and neither are we,” Vilkas retorted. “What would you have us do, outsider?”
“I do not know,” I muttered, hanging a troubled glare. “We have to force the dragon to land, perhaps cripple it…”
Vilkas scowled at me.
“We’re already trying to do that! What do you think this is!?” he barked, waving his arm out toward the city that had become a battlefield. “Every man and woman here is fighting to survive! If we cannot kill the beast, then we must have the tenacity to drive it off! It’s the only way!”
“No! It will only return again if it leaves! This has to end here!” I implored. “If we could just get in range with our swords somehow, as though to meet the dragon…”
I paused. My own words were a revelation.
“…in flight…”
An idea was hatched at that moment. A mad gamble, the likes of which any sane man would call foolhardy.
“Argonian?” Vilkas stared at me. I was motionless, thinking intensely.
The dragon’s roar resounded again. Time was of the essence. We could not allow it to escape. I turned to the burly Nord beside me.
“Farkas, was it? I need a blade with better reach! Can you lend me yours?”
The man appeared still wary of me. I had not thought through my request. It must have seemed audacious. Despite this, he spoke.
“Somethin’ wrong with the one you have?”
“Margin for error,” I replied. “Please! I think I have a way to bring down this dragon!”
“You promise to give it back?”
“On my word, I will.”
Farkas’ brother admired him disbelievingly as he presented his greatsword to me. The make of the blade closely resembled Xehtasken in craftsmanship.
“Thank you,” I said with a smile, making a start for the mead hall. “Hold that thought. Hand the sword up to me once I’m on the roof!”
“Farkas, you’re not really…?” Vilkas hurried over to me. “Just what are you doing, Argonian?”
“This chance cannot be wasted! I will only get one attempt to catch it by surprise,” I exclaimed as I climbed up a wood beam to the lip of the mead hall’s roof. “Do whatever you can to draw the dragon’s attention here!”
“For what? Do you mean to strike the dragon from the rooftop? That’s a fool’s ploy!”
“No,” I replied, grasping Farkas’ sword as he lifted it to me, “I will not strike it from the roof. I will strike it from above.”
Before Vilkas could object, Aela placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.
“Let him have his way. If he gets himself killed it won’t be our problem,” she spoke bluntly. “Besides, I think I’d like to see what he’s planning.”
Planks of wood were broken or missing upon the curved ceiling of Jorrvaskr. I used them as gripping points to scale the slope and positioned myself at the top as securely as I could. Orange sunlight glared in my eyes from far mountain peaks. The city of Whiterun was ablaze in fire and cloaked in smolder. The wyrm was flying in search of prey.
I clenched the hilt of Farkas’ sword.
This truly is a fool’s ploy…
“Down here, dragon!!” I hollered, beckoning the winged beast to me. “You’ve yet to kill this one! Do you not have the strength? What’s stopping you!?”
Swift to respond, the wyrm fired off a blast of flame from afar. My ward met in response. Blinding fire crashed against the mead hall, charring its lumber. I was unharmed. Hot embers danced about me.
Will it even dare to come near?
“Is this all you have!?” I goaded again, raising my voice to a roar. “Why do you hold back!? Face me!! See how you fare against a worthy foe!!”
The dragon coasted into a bank around to my back. It began to laugh. I almost thought my hearing was mistaken.
“Krif krin. Pruzah!” it declared with mirth in its menacing voice. “I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!”
As it rushed toward me on lifting winds, I snarled, heart racing. The dragon was answering my taunt as an act of pride. It flew dead straight, to knock me off of the rooftop. Neither of us was going to yield. The moment was at hand.
I reached for a vial on my belt, fourth to the left.
“YOL…”
Pushing out its stopper, I swallowed the final contents of the glass and threw it away, bringing both hands to grip Farkas’ sword
Steady… Give it no room to dodge…
“…TOOR SHUL!!!”
The dragon’s breath was like a signal fire. Pushing off with my legs, the potion’s effect took hold. I shot up into the air with a roar, blade pulled back as the dragon flew beneath me.
Now!!!
The greatsword swung, a flashing crescent in the sky. I could feel its edge knick bone, ripping clean across the membrane of the dragon’s wing.
Suddenly losing lift, the beast bellowed in surprise, colliding past the tall peak of a building as it fought to stay in the air. I slammed onto the steep slope of a canopy behind Jorrvaskr, landing in a violent tumble. My claws grated against the wood in a frantic strain to slow my descent. I dropped off, barely catching myself by one arm. Farkas’ sword clattered to the ground a mere foot beneath me.
There was a heavy pound in the distance, the sound of something enormous impacting on land. Cries of victory rose from the city.
Had I succeeded? Was it over?
I scuttled over to the boat-like slope of the mead hall and climbed back up to the rooftop. Peering beyond the walls of Whiterun out upon the plains, I saw a massive plow of dirt leading toward the western watchtower. At its end laid the dragon. It had tried to hover away on its injured wing as far as it could. Slowly the monster began to stand, moving on hind legs and the folds of its forelimbs. I swore. The three Companions arrived to find me as I climbed back down and retrieved Farkas’ sword.
“Here… take it,” I panted, holding out the weapon as I shambled over to its owner. “I keep my word.”
Farkas retook his possession.
“Glad it helped,” he said with what looked like a smile.
“By Ysgramor, how did you do that?” Vilkas exclaimed.
I leaned forward on my knees, trying to regain my wind.
“Complements of an old Dunmer I met many months back,” I huffed. “An alchemist. Never thought I’d use his concoction for something like this… It’s proved its worth twice over.”
“So it has,” Vilkas hooted. “This battle’s been won because of it!”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Aela said, peering down at me. “The potion gave him flight, but his sword arm swung that blade. There’s something more to this one than we can see. I’d call it the makings of greatness.”
I thought to object to the woman’s statement, but I supposed that no one had ever really accomplished a feat like mine before. It was… unique.
There was a clamor of shouting. Vilkas turned to listen.
“Sounds like the guards are going after the dragon,” he said.
“We’re going too, aren’t we?” Farkas asked.
“Damn right,” Vilkas replied, a fierce look on his face. “We’re going to make this dragon pay!”
“Wait! I only struck its wing!” I uttered in alarm, re-gathering my strength. “That monster is still a great threat!”
“We’ll be ready for it,” Aela said. “The dragon can’t escape. It’s living on borrowed time.”
I hissed. The fools! What were they thinking? That dragon was out in the open! They would have no cover from its fire! Worse yet, the beast could still have other magic at its disposal. It was cornered and likely desperate. There was no telling what it might do. Rushing all together would only give it the chance to take more lives.
There had been enough death this day. No more! I would not allow it!
That dragon is mine to kill!
I broke off into a sprint, racing down the road. Vilkas called out to me. I ignored him. Guardsmen all through Whiterun were celebrating and rushing to the aid of city folk. I caught a glimpse of Irileth rounding up her men to make for the main gates, preparing to chase after the dragon.
They were going to have to beat me to it.
Still under the effects of the potion, I slid to a halt by the city’s western wall and vaulted over, keeping against the coarse brick as I slid down its side to the plains below. It was a long drop. On the ground, I pulled another vial from my belt containing a thin green liquid – a simple mixture to restore stamina – and consumed its contents.
With fury that heightened with each step, I ran to the watchtower. I would slay the dragon before anyone else intervened. I knew I could. I felt it in my bones. No one else needed to risk their life. It was my battle to fight.
And I fight my battles alone.
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