Nessalir the Red

Iarius had produced a small piece of wood for Nessalir to bite down on as Geved dug the arrow from her shoulder with a knife.

"Hold still," the merchant chastised her. "I'd rather not cut into you more than necessary."

She clenched her jaw on the wood and growled, curled her fingers into a fist and flexed the muscles in her arm. Sven, who was standing back and observing the whole affair in silence, regarded her physique with wide, shocked eyes.

"Need you anything for the pain?" asked Iarius. "I have--"

But Nessalir shook her head. Through the wood in her mouth she attempted to snarl: "Do it!" The words were muffled and warped by the obstruction, but her meaning seemed clear regardless.

Geved met her eyes and nodded, then, with deft fingers, slid the knife's blade along the arrowhead, and pried it from her flesh.

The pain was excruciating. Nessalir screamed and bit down on the wood, feeling it begin to crack and splinter in her mouth from the sheer force of her jaw. When knife and arrow were both at last pulled from her shoulder, she scarcely enjoy the relief of it over the stinging pain.

"Now we must stem the bleeding," said Geved.

Wordlessly, Nessalir took the knife from his hand and spat the wood from her mouth. Turning her head to the side and holding the knife in front of her face, she called up her dragon's blood and felt the heat rapidly building in her lungs. The fire rose swiftly and burst from the lips, coating the blade and heating the metal to near-red. The drakkowar then pressed the flat of the blade against her wound.

Her flesh sizzled and the smell of burnt meat assailed her nostrils. Sven turned away, face pale, and Geved watched with a horrified sort of fascination. Iarius, for all that the scholar could seem soft, watched impassively, doubtless used to such displays from his time with the Remuran legions.

Nessalir pulled the knife from her wound, and gave her arm an experimental shake. Pain shot through it, and she grimaced. "I think I shall take whatever herbs you have for pain now," she told Iarius.

The scholar nodded and dug through his satchel. He soon produced a small pouch, from which he procured a pinch of some dried plant that had been crushed into a powder. "Open your mouth," he said.

She did so, and he sprinkled the powder onto her tongue. "Swallow," he told her. "It should begin numbing the pain within the next half-hour."

A frown came to Nessalir's face. "Have you nothing that would work faster?" she inquired. "The bandits already have quite the lead on us."

"You intend to go after them now?" demanded Iarius. "That's absurd! You need to rest and recover your wound!"

"The longer we delay, the less likely we are to find them again," Nessalir explained. "And I imagine our new friends would like their wares returned to them."

Iarius shook his head. "With a trap like this, I doubt their encampment is far. They would need to remain close, so they would know when travelers are held up. One doesn't go to the effort of setting such a large tree on the road for but a single raid that's not guaranteed to produce a decent haul."

"You forget that they are led by a giant," Nessalir replied. "The effort you describe is no effort at all to one such as he. No, we cannot be certain that they'll remain close. I must be on their trail before it grows cold!"

So saying, she stood from the dirt and began walking to the woods, eyes trained on the spot where the frost giant had vanished.

"Nessalir!" called, hurrying after her. "What is this? Tell me what's going on in your mind! This sort of recklessness is unlike you."

She did not reply. She stepped past the initial line of trees, and her eyes swept over the forest, coming to rest on a shrub's broken branch, and grass which had been trampled underfoot. At this time of year, what snow remained was light and covered little, and under the woodland canopy there was even less opportunity for such snow to fall. However, what snow did reach the ground took longer to thaw, protected from the sun as it was, and Nessalir could plainly see the scuff of a boot upon the icy surface of a small white clump.

A smile of satisfaction came to her face. She had found the trail easily. All that remained was to follow it.

"Listen to me, damn you!"

Iarius' hand fell upon her shoulder, and Nessalir hissed in pain, spinning to meet the smaller man. He withdrew his hand instantly, looking apologetic, but he quickly squared her shoulders and fixed her with a glare.

"Why are you acting this way? Rushing off into danger like this?"

"I always rush into danger," said Nessalir.

"Yes, but with caution! You treat your wounds properly, take care of yourself! You do not willingly throw yourself into battle with a wound that anyone can see is interfering with your sword arm! You are many things, Nessalir, but one thing you are not is a fool."

He took a deep breath and met her eyes. "It's the giant, is it not? He's affecting your judgment."

"My judgment is fine."

"That is obviously untrue. What happened in Lorveg, Nessalir? What is it that's making you act this way?"

Nessalir's first instinct was to turn away and continue on her journey without a word. But, she realized, Iarius deserved to know, if he would continue traveling with her. So defeated, the warrior still elected to turn away and continue her trek, but as she did so, she spoke:

"Come with me, Iarius, and listen well. As we walk these woods, I shall tell you my story; the tale of the last days of Lorveg, and of how Nessalir the Red came to be."