To Kill a Nightingale

A Bad Plan That Cannot Be Altered

"So what's the plan, again?"

"You know damn well," Runa said wearily, "that I didn't say anything about no plan."

"Yeah, I know," replied Rusty. "That's why I was asking."

Runa wiped sweat off her face, slanted another hostile scowl at the sky. Was it really too much to ask to get some overcast for a spell? The bare plains of the Whiterun hold offered no shade against the blaring sun, and the yellowed tufts of grass dappling the uneven, craggy terrain stood as still as death itself to rub in the sorry lack of an alleviating breeze.

Gods, how she hated the summer! If only it wasn't for the admittedly nice lack of the winter's biting cold wind; and for the long days of nearly endless light; and for the balmy, bright nights of ale and carousing; and for the way young lads reduced their garb to show off their tanned, toned flesh; and for the selfsame balmy nights spent carousing with the selfsame toned lads—ah, well, she definitely disliked getting toasted in her armor and sweating like a pig, that was for sure!

"And . . . ?" Rusty persisted with an expectant drawl.

"And what?"

"Well, you know. Perhaps we could, I don't know, come up with one?"

"I concur," chimed in Hroar. He walked his horse to the right of Rusty, who walked his to the right of Runa walking hers. But even from behind two horses and one jackass the accusatory tenor of his voice was unmistakable.

Runa glared at the man's head above Rusty's. "You concur," she muttered.

"Well?" Rusty demanded.

"Well," Runa said, "as a matter of fact." She wiped her brow. "You'll be pleased to know—" She wiped at her brow again. This was so beneath her dignity! With her bounty she'd hire a squire-boy who'd be charged with the additional duty of walking beside her on days like this and mopping her brow. That, and, well, the obvious. Kinda like that thought, in fact—

"Stay with me, Runa. Pleased to know what?"

She scowled at her friend, then grinned. "That I have in fact dreamed up a solid plan already."

Rusty looked short of convinced. "You mean you just thought of something panicked and half-assed?"

Almost. Just give me a sec— A-ha! That's it. She gave him a condescending click of the tongue, shaking her head. "Oh, you doubting Thorald. Where's the unshakable confidence you used to have in me?"

"Where? I believed it was shaken to pieces about the moment I first met you. What are you talking about? I've always had a healthy sense of mistrust for your plans! Owe my life to it, I believe."

"So you say," Runa said, with unshakable confidence in herself. "Barks and bites and all that. But I know better."

Rusty rolled his eyes.

"What's the plan, Runa?" asked Hroar.

"Is that skepticism I hear in your voice?"

"Curiosity about what madness you've planned for us is what you hear."

"No madness, my friend. Just good old-fashioned cunningness and conniving."

Rusty buried his face in one hand. "Oh gods, Runa," he groaned. "I'm loving the sound of this already."

"I can tell. Hey lads, don't fret! This is a solid one. Remember the evasion tactic we've employed before, like that time we stole the Aetherial Shield from Wretched Restla's gang—was it five years ago?"