Nessalir the Red

From the village of Watervine, the mercenary took the road northeast. She rode upon a mighty stallion by the name of Huunang, and she rode with her crimson hair tied in a braid behind her. She was Nessalir the Red, survivor of Lost Lorveg, and within her flowed the blood of dragons, which was marked on her body in the form of golden reptilian eyes, a left hand covered in red scales, and a red tail which sprouted from her lower back.

The mercenary was dressed in thick furs, for though winter had begun fading to spring, its chills remained upon the world. Behind her, dressed in thicker furs and shivering on the back of the mare Bella, rode Iarius ex Maritoris, a scholar educated in the vaunted halls of the Remuran Empire's Acadaemium. He clutched his furs close to his body, and squinted out over the bright snow around him from beneath black curls.

They were an unlikely pair, Nessalir knew. She was a warrior who had never left the Northern Lands, and he had grown up a slave in Remura to the south. While she had stood on many battlefields and felled countless foes, Iarius was a man of books and ink rather than the sword. Yet he had chosen to accompany her on her travels, to keep a record of her adventures, and Nessalir for her part had sworn to protect. She was not one to break an oath, and though they had together faced a number of villains and monsters, Iarius had thus far escaped these encounters unscathed.

"You said it was getting warmer," he complained, teeth chattering.

Nessalir looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. She did not bother trying to hide her smirk as she did so. "It is getting warmer. Look, see how the ice on the trees begins to melt?"

"It is still cold!"

"Yes, but it is not as cold as it was last week."

Iarius glared at her, though it was difficult to be intimidated by him. Nessalir shrugged and returned her attention to the road ahead.

The roads had now defrosted enough that one could make the journey to Grjeil, a coastal city which stood at the heart of the kingdom of Heljik. Nessalir had last visited the city five summers ago, and she recalled it as a bustling and busy place, where there was always work for anyone with a good sword arm and an excess of courage.

As the pair rounded the bend, her eyes fell upon a set of obstacles ahead. A cart stood still on the road, with two men standing beside it discussing how to proceed. The mule which had presumably pulled the cart until recently stood inspecting the cause of their delay: a great tree trunk which had fallen across the road.

"Greetings!" Nessalir called to announce her presence, for she had no desire to startle men who were likely already agitated. "What seems to be the issue?"

"Can you not see?' demanded the older man, who had streaks of grey in his beard and a fine green winter cloak. "A damnable tree has fallen and blocked the way! Would that I had men capable of moving the thing. This delivery is expected in Grjeil by the Bright Moon!"

Nessalir dismounted from Huunang and approached the merchants. "Perhaps I can be of some aid, then," she said, "for I too have business in Grjeil. My name is Nessalir, and behind me is my companion, Iarius."

"Iarius? A Remuran name," said the younger merchant, who wore blue. He did not speak with malice, but instead his face showed hunger as he sized up the scholar, doubtless looking for signs of Remuran wealth.

The older merchant rapped his knuckles against the top of his compatriot's head. "There is a time and a place!" he scolded him. "Forgive us, madam Nessalir. I am Geved, and this is my apprentice, Sven. Am I correct to assume you are Nessalir the Red, the drakkowar woman who rescued the prince of Redair not long ago?"

"I see that word has traveled," said Nessalir. She stepped past him to inspect the tree. "I think I shall need some aid to remove this from the road, but the four of us together should…" She trailed off as her eyes fell upon its roots and, more importantly, the forest beyond. Nessalir frowned, for there was no disturbed or broken earth there from which the tree could have been uprooted. As she approached the edge of the road, she saw also that the bark of the forest trees had been scraped with the passage of something.

The tree on the road was taller and broader than any of the trees which surrounded them. It was clear to her that it had not fallen over the road at all, but rather had been dragged and left there.

"We should head back," she said. "This is a trap."

Sven frowned, but Geved's eyes widened as he realized that she was correct. Nessalir made to return to Huunang, but she had only taken two steps before men clad in black furs and wielding axes leapt from the forest.

Snarling, she drew her sword and whirled on her would-be ambushers. Easily she parried a blow from one of the axmen, and from her left side she drew her own handax. Weapon in each hand, she moved to cut down the bandits.

Yet from the forest came a booming sound, and from behind the brigands emerged a figure as tall as three men standing on each other's shoulders. It resembled a man itself, but with grey skin the texture of stone, and a white beard full of icicles. On his face blazed a pair of blue eyes that burned like fire, and he carried a sword as long as Nessalir was tall.

Fear and anger stabbed her heart. Nessalir froze at the sight of the bandits' leader, and memories of a home now lost to her flooded her mind. She felt tears welling up in her eyes as long-buried grief made itself known within her soul.

For Nessalir now stood against the creature she hated the most in the world--a frost giant!