To Kill a Nightingale

Distractions

"I don't think that it's wholly unreasonable," said Rusty in his ingratiating way, "to expect a simple answer to a simple question."

Runa grunted.

"Yes, of course. How silly of me. But of course it's unreasonable."

"I hate to take his side," Hroar said, "and I mean it. But Rusty's right. You've scarcely said a word all morning."

Runa grunted.

Hroar threw up his hands, dropping his horse back to Rusty's pace.

Runa had woken in a downright foul mood. They had declined the invitation to join the band of bandit-hunters and decided there was no need to head back to the city, either, so they'd made camp in the wilderness. She had slept terribly. Now, as she rode a good few horses ahead of the boys, she wanted to get down to kick at every stupid boulder and clump of snow in her path. Not that it was their fault, but then again, who could say that it wasn't. Far as she was concerned, the whole universe had decided to align itself to pull one over on her, so every part of it was suspect in her book. At least the sun had the good sense of not showing its face.

What had she really hoped for Vigrod to give her? The Nightingale's daily schedule and a detailed list of his weak points? No, in truth the elusive man had given her plenty—if it turned out that there really was a passage to the Nightingale's personal hideout, why, that would give her an extraordinary advance over him. A shot at him on a silver platter. So what was she so miffed about?

It's simply because now you're beginning to realize the hopelessness of your situation. You've managed to strut and pose your way this far, but now that it's getting to be time to do something, you have to admit that failure is as imminent as it is inevitable.

"Too many words, fool," she muttered. "And besides, you don't know anything about me."

Know about you? Fool, I am you!

Runa grunted.

"Where are we going?" Rusty insisted behind her, sounding increasingly less patient.

"Back to the Rift," she said over her shoulder.

"Back to the Rift," he repeated. "Yeah, that's real helpful. Could've never figured that out."

See that? Even your most trusted men have lost their faith in you. And who could blame them—

It was obvious that she needed something else to occupy her mind with. Thoughts of naked flesh usually did it, though those hadn't exactly been on top of her mind today. Still, it was worth the try. Let's see, now. Maybe a—

A sudden flash: an image of a man, knifed to death in his bed. A woman crouched on the floor with a toddler boy underneath her, both stabbed through and through. Smell of death. A little girl through whose eyes she viewed the horrid spectacle. A family.

Her family.

Runa shook her head. Not her family. Her family consisted of the most famous and revered heroine in Skyrim for a mother, and a dead sister, Lucia, a strange quiet little girl who had died unexplainedly.

No, scrap that. All in the past. Her current family was right here with her. These two miserable bastards. Loyally backing her up, as they always did . . .

She drew rein.

The boys caught up with her, stopped their horses on each side.

Hroar frowned. "You alright?"

"Yeah," said Rusty. "Suddenly realize you have no idea where—?"

Runa reached out to swat his arm.