Tullius stared at Rikke in disbelief. “Another one?” he repeated, anger edging his voice.
The Legate stood in front of the general’s desk, her back ramrod straight, her eyes forward. She had been listening to the Imperial general rant about Stormcloak and his rebels for most of the morning, something that he did quite frequently. She had not looked forward to having to inform the man that another one of his officers had been found with his throat cut open and that once again no one had gotten a good enough look at the woman he had brought to his bed.
“Yes, sir,” she answered in a clipped tone.
“Just what kind of people support Ulfric? They’re rabid animals! Just listen to the reports! The neck is cut so badly, the head is nearly severed! The last one had his tongue removed, the list goes on and on! I thought you Nords were a civilized people!”
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before asking her superior, “Have any of the victims had any idea what we’re searching for?”
The general shook his head. “Thankfully, no. Not many people know about this wild goose chase of yours you have us on. If my superiors back in Cyrodiil knew that I was wasting men and resources on this, they’d pull me out of here so fast…. And heads would roll.”
“Trust me, Sir. We will find it. And we want to find it before Stormcloak does.”