Echoes of the Lost Voice

The Vigilants

Grimacing, Quintus wrapped his arms around himself. As the last bit of adrenaline along with the final traces of vinous buzz evaporated from his blood, he came close to shivering. Hjaalmarch was cold, and the farther inland they progressed, the colder it got. Bitter wind swooped down the ragged slopes of snowcapped mountains in place of the earlier acrid breath of the swampland, somewhat like trading a spot on the gallows for a headrest on the chopping block. The road wound through a world of frozen pallor, omnipresent snow encasing everything from the mountains and outcrops to the bristling spruce trees skirting the path. The soft haze wafting above the tree line shone milky white against the nearly cloudless sky of crisp blue.

No doubt it was a beautiful day by someone's standards, but by Quintus', they might just as well have been on a slog through one of the less popular regions of the Void.

"Sir," said Sergeant Meric urgently, once he noticed his superior's plight. He dug into his saddlebags to produce a pair of wool blankets, handing one to Quintus and draping the other over his own shoulders. Quintus accepted the thing sullenly, glancing at that smirking bastard Kayd.

"Forgotten all about that ol' multifarious Skyrim weather, eh?"

Quintus ignored the lout, wrapping the quilt about himself. He was admittedly surprised by the fact that the man's vocabulary contained polysyllabic words, but then he'd heard that certain monkeys could be taught the rudiments of the lute. He'd never before lent credibility to such things, but this now seemed like something in the way of proof.

He shifted on the hard bench, trying to find a position in which the chafed hide on his buttock wouldn't smart quite so much. Smacking his mouth, he gave Meric's saddlebags a sideways glance. "I don't suppose you have anything to drink in there?"

Merrick blinked. "Sorry sir."

Quintus looked away, making sure not to let his eye touch on Kayd's grinning.

Getting nothing out of the Chief Inspector, Kayd turned his leer to the younger sergeant. "So, Meric, was it? Getting scared yet?"

Meric scowled. "Scared?"

"Aye, suppose these are dangerous times to be 'round Skyrim. Just ask Giggles there next to you." When Meric's only reply was a confused frown, Kayd added, "Not just the outlawry and the like, mind you. The High Queen herself." He jerked his head toward Quintus. "See, Quintus here seems to believe we have a new Wolf Queen in the makings."

Meric turned round eyes at the Chief Inspector.

"No, I don't!" Quintus snapped. This was followed by an immediate internal wince at how the conceitedly simpering bastard had managed to goad him into such an infantile knee-jerk reaction.

"Stedarr's tits!" Kayd laughed. "You're so easy it's a crime! Though, to be . . . eh, fair, it sure doesn't seem like you put much stock in the lady, either."

"The High Queen and I get along just fine," Quintus replied curtly. Refusing to partake in this tomfoolery any longer, he fixed a firm gaze at the passing scenery of snow-choked pinewoods.

The Wolf Queen! Quintus thought with a scoff. As if the fact he didn't really trust the woman—had a nagging suspicion she was up to something profoundly shifty—didn't mean he went right on to compare her to the single most infamous female in Imperial history, an irrefutably insane witch who had commanded, it was said, both Daedra and undead warriors in her quest for power!

Now, Sybille Stentor: that woman might have been another matter, but Quintus suspected that even she fell far behind Potema when it came to sheer wickedness. Probably . . .