Nessalir the Red

The giant's lips curled back into an arrogant sneer. "Little whelps," he spoke, his voice like an avalanche. "Will you surrender your belongings and live? Or will you fight and die?"

Nessalir's heart pounded in her chest, and her blood roared within her. Perhaps, if she had been calmer, she might have heard Geved fearfully offering the bandits whatever they wished, but Nessalir's world had shrunk to only herself and the giant who stood before her. Hatred burned bright in her soul, and she let out a roar of rage and grief as she charged the towering bandit leader, sword held high.

So focused was she on her quarry that Nessalir failed to notice the human bandit coming to meet her until it was nearly too late. He swung a sword of his own at her throat, and Nessalir just barely managed to jerk her head back and lift her ax to meet his blade. Steel clashed against steel, and the awkwardness of her parry sent uncomfortable vibrations running down her arm.

Snarling, she answered his sword-swing with one of her own, only to find another bandit had come from the side and blocked her counterattack with his own blade. Her golden eyes swung about, and Nessalir quickly realized that a total of five armed men were closing in on her. The giant stood back, grinning as though she were putting on a show for his amusement.

She directed her attention to the giant, and announced: "Hear me, Child of Winter! On the honor of my fallen brethren, on the memory of Lorveg, I swear that I, Nessalir the Red, will not rest until you have been slain!"

The giant's grin faltered. He regarded Nessalir now with an expression of shock. Yet the moment passed swiftly, and he threw his head back and laughed. "Had all in Lorveg possessed your spirit, little one, then perhaps the Great Father would not have crushed it so!"

Upon hearing his words, Nessalir's thoughts were washed away in the torrent of fury which overcame her. Bellowing out her hatred, she attacked the Frost Giant's lackeys. Arcs of steel flew through the air, and the echo of clashing blades reverberated throughout the cold forest.

A bandit sought to cut her down from behind, but he failed to anticipate Nessalir's tail, which whipped out to strike his knees and send him falling to the ground. She raised her ax to catch the blow of another bandit's weapon, and she drove her sword into yet another's heart.

His eyes widened in shock, as though he could not believe that his death had resulted from this battle, and he fell spilling blood upon the snow and ice and dirt. Nessalir spun on another bandit, snarling in rage, and raised her sword for yet another killing blow. Her attack was interrupted, however, by an arrow which flew from the trees and struck her shoulder.

Nessalir cried out in pain. The head embedded itself in her flesh, and pain lanced down her arm. She fumbled, nearly dropping her sword, and her strike failed to find its mark. The bandits laughed to see her so, and suddenly Nessalir found herself on the defensive, struggling through the agony to guard herself from the countless blows which rained down on her.

She was forced to call upon all her considerable skill to stay alive. Not only had she multiple opponents in melee from which to defend herself, but the trees too demanded a fraction of her attention. Nessalir caught the movement of the archer hidden in the forest as he repositioned himself, and she managed to duck to the side when the next arrow came whizzing through the air.

Inwardly, she cursed herself for allowing that first arrow to strike her. The pain grew with motion she made, and yet still she needed to power through it and keep fighting. It was, she knew, the greatest injustice of the battlefield: no matter how skilled and bloodied a warrior might be, all it took was a single lucky strike to fell him.

With his lackeys thus occupying Nessalir's attention, the giant leisurely sauntered over to the cart, cut it from the terrified mule, and then lifted Geved and Sven's livelihood with a single arm. Nessalir saw all of this, yet she could do nothing to prevent it. The giant caught her eye and his face contorted into a mocking smile which set her blood boiling. Without a word, he walked across the road, stopping only at the edge of the treeline.

"Good work, boys!" he announced. "Time to head back!"

With that, he headed into the forest.

Laughing, the bandits withdrew one by one, always keeping to Nessalir's right, where her sword arm struggled to fight on under the arrow's agony. When the last remaining bandit finally withdrew into the trees, Nessalir cried out in frustration and made to give chase, only for Iarius to grab her left arm from behind.

"It's over," he told her.

"I will not let them escape!"

"You're injured!" Iarius snapped. His eyes darted to the arrow still sticking out of her shoulder. "Come. I know a little of the healing arts. We need to tend to that before it becomes infected--if it isn't already."

Nessalir opened her mouth to rebuke him, yet stopped. The expression on his face brought forth another painful memory of Lorveg--and of someone dear whom she had lost. She closed her mouth and nodded.

"Very well," she said. "But I will find them afterward. I have sworn to slay the giant, and I shall not break my oath."