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?"
Rusty regarded her soberly. "Sure I remember that. And it was ten years ago. Restla's been dead for five."
"No! Was it? Has she? I didn't kill her, did I?"
Rusty shook his head.
"That plan don't sound half-bad, actually," Hroar said.
"Thank you!"
"Don't thank him yet," Rusty said. "So how do you propose we go about this?"
It's certainly was no thing of higher alchemy, this plan of hers, but that was the beauty of it. No need to overcomplicate things. They approached Silent Moons Camp, the gloomy ancient Nordic ruin on a hill, from the southeast in a way that put the easternmost side of its semi-circular wall between them and the camp. They abandoned their horses behind some crags a rock's throw away and progressed on foot. The plan was as followed: Runa would continue to approach the camp this way while the boys went to the front to garner the attention of the folks, who'd undoubtedly be keeping out a keen eye for intruders. They would then proceed to antagonize the bandits, and once sufficient aggressive attention was bought, would bolt and hopefully draw a good portion of the fools after them. Meanwhile, Runa would sneak around the wall and into the camp all stealth-like, slink inside and stealthily kill anyone who came in her way, find what they were supposed to find, and then sneak back with . . . eh, well, stealth.
Simple but deadly, far as she was concerned, and she for one was perfectly happy with it. "If you cannot explain your plot to a five-year-old then you're overcomplicating things," she always said. Of course, Rusty saw it fit to counter that with, "And if that five-year-old would then tell you that your plan is idiotic, then perhaps you're doing the exact opposite." But that was Rusty for ya, the eternal naysayer.
But now, at least, the man, as well as Hroar beside him, succumbed to her wisdom and were both committed to do what they could to see the plan realized. At her sign, they took off at a trot and circled out so as to come to a sufficiently tantalizing distance from the camp entrance. Runa herself silently sprinted to the wall, pressed against it and edged along its curving side to get over to the corner where she had a good view of her men and of the camp's entrance. The two men soon scrambled into the bandits' view. And just as soon she heard the first gruff cries from behind the wall. She couldn't hear the words but was more or less able to guess them. "You picked a bad time to get lost, friend." "That's close enough!" And what had you. Bandits were anything but unpredictable.
Runa watched with satisfaction as the boys first provoked the ruffians—Rusty's lewd gesture forcing her to suppress a chuckle—and then, after summarily dodging a couple of arrows, sprang into a run, drawing, as planned, several bandits after them. They took different routes and Runa, trying keep hidden, didn't get as close a look as she'd have liked, but she thought she counted five altogether. She grinned. There couldn't have been many more guarding the outside. Probably at least another one, more likely two.
She'd take care of them without trouble.
Impatiently counting to ten to let the fools gain some distance, she then gingerly pounced into motion, tiptoeing to peer around the other corner where she could see the inside of the camp. Poking out a careful head, her eyes went wide. No one, far as she could see. They were even dumber than she'd thought—sent their entire outer garrison to chase after some random loons!
Well, all the better for her purposes.
Still on her tiptoes, she snuck on. She cast about furtively to see any possible bandit she might have missed, finding none. The stone ruins veered up with the craggy hills they were built on, a few paces ahead a steep flight of stairs skirted by a wall on each side; to her left, a doorway at the bottom of the wall, but with a lowered gate blocking it; ahead and still to the left, the fortress' entrance, just where the stairway started. That's where she headed. With a watchful eye on the steps, she bounced onto the stone platform in front of the entrance and, after pressing an ear against it and hearing nothing, carefully opened the unlocked door.
No one there either. The place was of the classic ancient Nordic architecture, a large cavernous space with vaulted arches giving shape to its different sections. Runa looked and listened by the entry for a minute, and then slowly pressed the door closed behind her. She stood for another second, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light of the room, concentrating all her senses in an attempt to feel any potential presence. She felt nothing of the sort. Right ahead, a couple strides from her, a campfire surrounded by empty bedrolls dominated the chamber's middlemost section. To the right from the hearth, there was a doorway leading deeper into the place. She knew that that was where the others would be, if indeed there was anyone. She was certain there was.
Just as she once more got into motion to go look for them, something on the left caught her eye. There was a table and chairs in the farthermost section there, your usual clutter of bandit junk on the table, plates, some meager chow, gold coins, a dagger with its blade planted into the tabletop. None of that stuff interested her. What her eye had picked up, on the other hand, was the bottle of ale sitting in the table's middle.
Now, she couldn't tell whether this was an objective fact or if this was merely a special gift that only she was endowed with, but she could always tell a full bottle from an empty one, even in bad lighting, simply based on— Well, honest to gods, she could not tell what it was based on, but somehow the empty bottle and the full bottle were of a wholly separate aspect in her eyes, even if she were only able to see the outline.
Be that as it may, the stub of candle by the bottle confirmed the fact of its fullness even to the less gifted: the way the line of the beer visible in the light stood blessedly close to the stopper still tightly in place.
Well, she didn't know what fool left undrunk beer lying about, but she was not the kind of woman to let such an oversight go—
Wait just a second. Runa hesitated. Sure, this unexpected detail had already brought her to a stop, and sure, she had already pivoted around to fetch this blessed nectar of the gods—she was, after all, now that she thought of it, damnably thirsty—but now she had second thoughts. She was on an important mission, and could not afford to let her attention slip. This was the sort of stuff that caused lives. The gravest of losses were, more often than anyone cared to talk about, suffered for the stupidest of reasons.
For once you're making sense. Now, for the first time in your life stove your base desires and focus on what you came here to—HEY!
Before the fact that she'd in fact proceeded to go collect the bottle and was now pulling the stopper out with her teeth had even sunk into his consciousness, she was—well, doing just that.
I swear woman—
"Ah, shut up will ya." Runa spat out the stopper and pressed the mouth of the bottle to her lips and let the liquid flow down her parched throat. Still cold.
No it's not—it's as warm as horse piss!
But Runa had not perfected the art of not letting others tell her what to do by listening to every little whining of her own mind, either. If that made sense.
All that mattered now was how wonderful the ale tasted in her mouth, and the comforting warmth that spread out into her belly. It was a thing of beauty! I swear, a sentimental fool that it might make me, but sometimes, at moments like this, I could just cry—
"What the Oblivion!"
Runa's closed eyes came open, and then darted to her left whence the sudden stunned utterance had come. The bandit standing at the section of the room there stared at her with utter disbelief, which rather soon took on a suggestion of acute ire.
He then fumbled for the sword on his belt. "Never should have—"
Acting quick, with the bottle still in her mouth, Runa realized she could not get either of her blades out fast enough, so she surveyed the things on the table in front of her, immediately locking onto the dagger. She yanked it free with her left hand and tossed. The knife sailed true across the air, the blade sinking into the bandit still fussing with his weapon. He crashed backwards and collapsed onto the floor to finish dying.
At the guttural curse behind her back, Runa spun. Another bandit, her longsword already in hand, prepared to lunge at the intruder. Where'd they suddenly decide to appear from? Once again acting without hesitation, Runa finally took the bottle out of her mouth and threw it at the other bandit. Her reaction time wasn't bad either, but the bottle's fat base still made impact with the edge of the top of her unhelmeted head, then shattering onto the floor. The bandit cursed, as Runa swallowed the last mouthful.
The bottle had bought her the necessary time to unsheathe her two swords, and once she had them out, she and the bandit rushed at each other. The woman came at Runa with a high diagonal chop, which she caught between her own crossed blades. Taking the blow, she let her knees bend, placing her right foot behind her for support. Then she took that same foot and aimed a kick at the woman's left knee. The bandit was able to move her leg so that Runa's foot only grazed it, then she disengaged and, as Runa tried moving on to get behind her, used her own right foot to kick her in the stomach.
Runa's clenched abdomen damped the blow, yet she felt a portion of her wind being knocked out, and the power behind the kick was enough to send her toppling backwards, hitting the wall behind her, which drove out yet more wind. She went down on her rump but in the next second was already springing up. In fact her life depended on her doing so, as the bandit sought to finish their skirmish with a low swing, which would have taken her head off had she not closely ducked from underneath it. As she did so she jabbed almost blindly at the bandit's legs with one blade. Lucky enough, there was contact, and the tip of the sword hit the woman's left thigh covered by the skirt of her hide armor. The woman growled in pain, to Runa's satisfaction. She did not linger in that feeling, however, but dove ahead, seeking once more to get behind her foe.
But the bandit proved once more to be a quick one, and as Runa ducked past her, kicked back with her unwounded leg, hitting Runa in the back of the head and sending her tumbling forwards. Runa just managed to control her fall enough to not tumble all the way into the hearth, and instead landed on her knees right at the edge, the outermost flame licking at her face, spitting smoke in her eyes. She quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve as she spun around to receive the bandit's next offence.
Which was already coming. The woman grinned at Runa, seeming sure of her imminent victory over the intruder on her knees in front of her. Clearly she was not familiar with Runa Fair-Shield . . .
Conceited pride, yeah this seems just the time for that.
The woman came with a scream and an overhead blow, and Runa sprung from the floor with a cry of her own. Before they could make contact, however, Runa came to a sudden stop, then tipped back to fall on her back onto the floor. Surprise usurped the woman's grin from her face. Her heavy blade sailed over the suddenly supine Runa, while the momentum kept her moving forward. Runa pushed up her legs, shoving them into the bandit's gut, and then lifted the woman in the air. As she then threw the woman over herself, she jabbed with one blade, and it sank into the flesh just below the bandit's ribs. And then the bandit landed on her back in the hearth.
Runa kicked her legs up and came to her feet, turned to watch the screaming woman crash wildly in the flames yet not seeming to be able to extract herself from them. She jabbed with one blade again, finding the woman's throat and cutting the screaming off once and for all. She winced at the smell, and with the use of both blades, levered the bandit out of the fire before the smell got even worse. Then, after gathering her breath for a couple heartbeats, she stepped over the fire to cast an eye toward the doorway there. With all the racket, if someone was still here, they would have surely been alerted to her presence by now.
Yet no one came.
"Alright then," Runa muttered. She rolled her shoulders and crept on.
The doorway led to a sloping passage, which soon turned to the right. Down there she could see flickering torchlight, where the passage held only empty sconces. Only the minor scrunch of sand underneath her boots as she descended into the cavernous room, cold and smelling of dirt and mold, empty save for some mushroom growth on the floor and a row of barrels at the back. The doorway at the left side of the room led to a further corridor, and Runa had taken less than half a dozen steps before she came to a stop. The passageway took an almost immediate right turn, and right behind the corner someone's back clogged the way. A bandit, a live one at that. The fool was rocking softly on the balls of his feet, trying to whistle and failing. Oblivious both to the deaths of his comrades and his own immediate one.
From words to deeds, old lass. On her tiptoes, Runa snuck right behind the man. He never caught of whiff of her until she'd slid the sharp edge of her right-hand blade across his throat, and then he was too busy wheezing on the ground, dying, to take notice of whose hand he had the honor of being slain by. I'm sure it'll still earn you some credit in Slovengard, or wherever the heck you lot go when you die.
The passageway terminated in a locked door, the lock easily picked. She then shoved the door open with one foot and prepared to take out whatever bandits were left. But the room was empty. Sparsely furnished, and yet a disorganized mess, no evidence of frequent usage. A ladder culminating in a trapdoor dominated the room's middle, leading, she knew, up to the camp's shuttered tower. Runa's eye then went to the large chest sitting by the ladder. She cocked her head. There was a sealed envelope resting atop the lid. Well, well, what do we have here?
As she went over and was about to grab the envelope; however, she was stopped by the muffled noises from outside. She looked up. That was definitely Rusty's bellowing, interspersed with sounds like explosions. Now, what trouble had the boys landed themselves this time? Couldn't she trust them with the simplest of tasks?
Sighing, she rolled her shoulders, and started climbing the ladder. Runa Fair-Shield to the rescue. As usual. She carefully poked her head out.
"—and she wasn't even very good at it!" came Rusty's cry, followed by another explosion.
Runa clambered out into the hollow tower, shaking her head. Always with the mother cracks! She yanked a pull chain by the wall to raise the gate, then went to peak out of the gateway to see what all the commotion was about.
Rusty and Hroar hid behind a piece of detritus of a tower or something of the like. Every now and then Rusty poked his head out and called out another puerile insult, resulting in another hurl of explosive fire against the stone coming from the direction of the stairway. Rusty was grinning. The damn man was clearly enjoying himself. Yet it didn't seem as though this charade was getting them anywhere, an assessment Hroar behind the other man clearly shared with her, judging by his shaking head.
Obviously somebody needed to take out that mage accosting them. Somebody whose name happened to begin with an R and end in an ield.
Runa looked up. A portion of the planks of the tower's upper level was missing at one end. She could use the cracks in the wall to climb up. Springing into motion, she nimbly clambered up and onward onto the wall. Ahead, close to the stairway, stood the bandit mage who had his eye fixed hard over where her men were hiding. Keeping low, Runa sprinted across the wall and onto the fort's roof, until she was almost directly over the bandit. She jumped down so silently she could've ambushed a cat, landing on the stairs behind the mage, then, staying outside of his peripheral vision, snuck up. She caught the eye of Rusty, just poking his head out for another, doubtless scintillatingly brilliant jeer, and gave him a quick nod.
The bandit fool was just about to send out another flaming missile, when Runa hissed, "Hey, hot stuff!"
The startled man just had time for a jolting spin towards her before she stabbed both blades into his unarmored trunk, one in the lower belly another just below the ribcage. Putting her legs into it, she lifted the man in the air above herself, momentarily locking with his shock-stricken gaze, then tossed him down.
Flamed skewers, anyone?
Runa left the bandit to deal with the matter of his soon-departing soul, and turned to her companions with blades raised in the air, blood running down their length. "Course's clear, fellas!"
She grinned as the two brave warriors came out from their hiding. She gave them a theatrical bow, then flipped the blades around and in one fluid motion stuck them back into their scabbards. She really ought to have cleaned them first, but that would have totally botched the dramatic effect.
"Took care of the mean wizard for ya!"
The boys were clearly ashamed of their cowardliness, yet still took it upon themselves to pretend as if they found her swaggering somehow unmerited. She decided she would let it slide this time, let the poor sods scavenge what remains of dignity they could. She even magnanimously decided not to mock them for their—
"One unarmored dunce with entry-level magic and you guys run and hide like a pair of chickens!"
Ah, well. Never mind that, then.
"Oh, sure," Rusty said. "Forget the half-dozen boneheads we chopped up back there. I mean, that's nothing, right?"
Runa walked over and clapped his shoulder. "Oh, no. I'm sure those stooges gave you hell. Meanwhile, I've got us what we came here for."
"What is it?" asked Hroar. "And where?"
"Right this way, boys," she said. "Right this way."
She towed the men behind herself through the tower's now open doorway and down the trapdoor. Once down, she picked up the sealed envelope and waved it in front of their faces. "This," she said, "is it."
"How do you know?" asked Rusty. "You haven't opened it."
"Yeah, well I didn't have time, did I? Had to come and rescue you."
"What do you think it is?" asked Hroar.
Runa shrugged. "Don't know," she said, then tore it open. "Let's find out, shall we."
She read.
And if the confident smirk on her lips had no necessary connection with her psychological state, the following shifting of her countenance was certainly a direct descendant of her suddenly flipping insides: this time her eyes really did nearly bulge out of her head, conterminously with her jaw plummeting toward the floor. And she was reasonably sure that wasn't too crass an overstatement.
"What?" Rusty asked, looking troubled.
"What?" echoed Hroar, appearing no less ill at ease.
Runa stared at the letter. No immediate comment, she had to admit, came to mind.
"What is it?" pressed Rusty, impatient.
Runa looked up from the paper. "Eh."
"Eh, what? For gods' sake, Runa, you're making me nervous!"
She found her tongue. Then read the letter out loud. Her voice didn't even crack once. Or twice at least.
Runa Fair-Shield
Yes: we know.
Do not be alarmed. This makes no difference. The game is the game, no matter the players. Do you not agree?
I knew that you would.
Now, if your employers wish to see their beloved drifter again, take this chest to them. Once they open it, they will know what to do. A fair warning here: DO NOT OPEN IT YOURSELF. Do so, and the Khajiit will not be seeing a single hair of their clansman. Bet on that.
Best of luck to you!
Yours,
The Nightingale
The face she'd shown them couldn't have possibly shown more shock then the boys' now did.
"Shit," Hroar said after a long moment's silence.
"Yeah."
"Mother of shit!" cried Rusty.
"My words exactly."
"The Nightingale," Hroar said.
"Same fellow."
"Could be a hoax?"
"Who could pull such a hoax?"
"Good point."
"So I guess they weren't expecting the Khajiit after all," Rusty said.
"No, doesn't seem like it."
He groaned, burying his head in his hands. "Oh, gods."
Runa chewed on her lower lip, trying to think. "Look—"
"Crap!" Rusty barked, head springing up. His eyes were frantic. "Then he must know about us as well!"
Hroar looked troubled about being included.
"Won't lie to you," Runa said. "There's a good chance of that."
"Fuck!" Rusty stalked off to the side, gave an empty barrel a sturdy kick, sending it rolling across the floor. "I knew I should've declined when I had a chance!"
"Well, it's too late now," Runa said. "You fellas have thrown in your lots."
Rusty looked to think about it. "I wouldn't be entirely sure about that."
"What are you talking about?" asked Hroar.
"We haven't exactly done anything yet. We could still bail out. Maybe lay low for a while. Go to High Rock for a couple years until it all died down. They'd forget about us."
"I'm not going to no High Rock!"
"No one asked you to!" Rusty snapped. "I'm mainly speaking of myself here."
Runa's anger flared. "Well make up your damn mind, then!" she hissed. "Either shit or get outta the kitchen!"
"Seems you've arranged me a spot in the stew pot!"
Runa pffed. "Not even a giant would eat your boney, rotten ass!"
Rusty's eyes narrowed hostilely. "You sure are doing your best to make my decision easy."
"Get out of here, then!" Runa waved her arm. "You were never but a—"
"Guys! Guys!" Hroar interjected, stepping in between the two. "This is no use!"
"I'll tell you what's no use," Runa said, motioning at Rusty's crotch. "That little—"
"Stop!"
Addressing Runa, Rusty said, "Like me, it just knows to bail out in front of certain peril! Gods, I swear this is the last time I let you—"
"SHUT UP!" Hroar . . . well, roared.
Then he collected himself as two pairs of wide eyes suddenly stared at him. "Look, Runa's right. Backing out now might not make any difference, as, for all we know, the Nightingale has eyes and ears in all corners of Tamriel by now. Including High Rock. He wants us dead, we're dead. Furthermore, we knew what we were getting into when we agreed to her plan."
Runa gave Rusty a grin she herself knew for smug.
"And Rusty's right," Hroar went on, smothering that grin. "It goes without saying that we had better look critically at what we're trying to do here. To assassinate a man as powerful as that is one thing; to have him know that you're trying to do so . . . well."
"What are you trying to say?" Runa demanded.
"Well, what does it sound like he's—"
Hroar silenced Rusty with an upheld hand. "What I'm trying to say," he pronounced, "is that just maybe we need to alter the plan?"
Rusty snorted. "What plan?"
He's got a point, does Rusty. Runa narrowed her eyes. "Alright. You've got something there, I'll hand it to you."
Rusty threw his hands up with a roll of his eyes, then stalked off to the side, muttering something.
"So what do we do?" asked Hroar.
"I don't know," Runa admitted. "But I'll think of something. Meanwhile . . ." She directed her gaze at the casket.
Rusty returned, seeming somewhat calmer yet still very much incensed. He eyed the wooden container with distaste. "Still gonna run this errand for him? It could be a trap, you know."
"Don't you think," Runa said, "if he wanted to set us a trap he would've done it already."
"He's playing with us," Hroar said.
"You think?" Rusty said, and Hroar replied with a glare.
"But to what end?" Runa asked, unsure whether or not she'd meant it to come out loud.
"One can only imagine," Rusty said, and shivered. "And I, for one, care not do that. Heard too many stories of him."
Runa snorted. "Old wives' tales!"
He eyed her soberly. "If that comforts you."
"I'll be comforted," she said, spitting, "once I stand above his cadaver."
"First we have to figure out," Hroar said, "how in the name of Stendarr we'll get there."
"I wouldn't be worried," Runa said shrewdly. "I've got some tricks up my sleeve still."
Instead of rolling his eyes or snorting or the like, Hroar simply stared at her for a moment, then nodded. Honestly, she would have rather welcomed the former. She didn't have the slightest of clue what she was doing, or how she was going to solve this. If anything, she'd counted on the Nightingale remaining ignorant of her enterprise. In hindsight, that had been an incredibly childish notion—even, she had to admit, for one of hers.
You are a fool! Everyone's got your number: you'll wind up being the death of all who follow you! And of yourself . . . She grinned. "Spices things up, a little challenge."
Now Rusty gave her that look too, as though he were earnestly trying to figure her out. She braced the insufferable gawping with heroic fortitude.
Finally, the strawberry blond man gave a shrug, returning his critical eye to the chest. "So," he said, "you think the Khajiit's corpse is in there?"
They traded looks, but no one ventured a guess.
"Well," Hroar sighed. "Guess there's only one thing to do." He moved to stand beside the chest, and Rusty, once he gave a glance at Runa and saw that she wasn't moving, rolled his eyes and went to the other end.
They lifted the chest up, both almost stumbling as the thing showed little resistance. Surprisingly light. Looks were traded again, but no word was spoken of this either.
It was just as well. Runa for one had heard enough talk. She'd need time to think. While they hauled this whatever it was back to the Khajiit, she would work her brain to a pulp and think of a plan. And, she swore, this time she'd have one at hand by the time they got to Whiterun.