Nessalir the Red

Nessalir smelled the bandits' camp before she saw it. The stench of men living together, cooking meat and defecating in a nearby hole, was distinct and strong. It was upwind of her, and the breeze carried the odor to her nostrils, which flared and stung at the offense.

"Hold," said Nessalir, aware that her companion had a less developed sense of smell. "We are close."

Iarius, to his credit, did not ask how she could know that. He simply stopped moving and stayed silent.

The drakkowar listened, and the wind brought to her ears the sounds of men speaking and laughing. One voice, deeper than the others, stood out to her senses. Nessalir nodded in satisfaction. From her belt, she drew her sword with one hand, and her ax with her other.

"Stay here," she said in a low voice. "Hide among the undergrowth. I will return to you when I am done."

"You mean to storm these brigands alone?" asked the scholar. "With your shoulder in the state that it is?"

"I have fought through worse injuries," replied Nessalir. Iarius' inquiry had reminded her of the pain in her shoulder, and it throbbed at the edges of her awareness, demanding her full intention, which she did not mean to give.

"But…" Iarius began.

"Be you a warrior?" Nessalir hissed, turning on the man. "Do you live by your blade? How many are the men you have felled in battle? Stay back, Iarius! And stay safe!"

Iarius paled before the intensity of Nessalir's outburst. Thus chastised, he gave her a silent nod, then stepped back into the forest. He hesitated, and met her eyes.

"You stay safe as well," he said. Then the scholar stepped back behind a tree, to hide himself from prying eyes.

Nessalir felt her shoulder sag. She felt some shame at lashing out at Iarius the way she had, yet she knew that should some terrible fate befall him, her shame would be all the greater. She had, after all, vowed to protect the Remuran.

She pushed the shame away just as she pushed aside the pain which even now still pulsated in her shoulder. Nessalir returned her attention to the unseen encampment that she could hear and smell on the wind. She crept forward, alert for any sign of a bandit away from his fellows who might conceivably get the drop on her.

There! She heard him before she saw him, stumbling through the woods and grumbling to himself. The smell of wine clung heavy to him, and as Nessalir peered around the trunk of a tree, she saw the bandit with his back to her, pissing away the spirits he'd imbibed, trying and failing to whistle as he did.

No hesitation. Nessalir dashed forward. Not willing to risk a spasm of pain, she relied instead on her left arm and the ax she held, raising it high and bringing it down at a diagonal. The head made contact with her target at the point where his neck met his shoulder. Blood spurted from the wound, and the bandit could hardly choke out a gasp before he collapsed into a sputtering and dying heap.

His eyes found her, shock and terror filling them. Nessalir drove her sword into his heart, and thereafter his eyes were filled with naught.

Swiftly her eyes searched the surrounding forest, seeking out any sign that one of his fellows had heard the brief melee.

The forest answered her with silence and stillness. So assured that she yet remained undetected, Nessalir continued onward. Soon, she saw the glow of a bonfire peeking through the trees, and clearly could she hear the laughter of the bandits.

Her hands tightened around her weapons.

Quickening her pace, she prepared herself for the battle to come. Her blood burned within her, her draconic ancestry roaring in anticipation of the coming bloodshed.

Abruptly she came to a halt. Another bandit, either looking for his fellow or seeking to relieve himself as well, had stepped out from behind a tree. When he saw her, he froze, and his eyes widened in surprise.

Nessalir darted forward, intending to silence him before he could warn his compatriots. But the bandit was already spinning around to run back to his camp, shouting as he did.

He burst from the trees into the clearing, crying out "the woman from the road!" all the while. Nessalir was just a few paces behind him, and she hurled her ax from hand. The weapon spun through the air, and the head struck the fleeing bandit directly between his shoulder blades, the blade burying itself in his flesh with a wet thunk.

The bandit collapsed, and Nessalir emerged from the trees. She strode to the fallen man, planted her boot on the small of his back, and pulled the ax from his body. Only then did she look up to take in the sight of the bandit camp.

It was not impressive; merely a collection of tents surrounding a large bonfire, on which the men were roasting skewers of meat. The giant stood on the opposite side of the fire, regarding her with unconcealed shock. Around him stood his lowlife followers, mirroring their leader's expression.

The moment passed. The giant roared in anger. "I should have crushed you then and there!" he bellowed. "It had pleased me to let you live with your failure, but no more! You die now, drakkowar! I will roast you over these flames, gnaw the flesh from your bones! I will cut your heart up and share it with my company, so that all may partake in the strength of dragons! All the kingdoms of this world will know that the great Nessalir the Red was no match for the might of a giant!"

The bandits raised their weapons and charged. Blood pounded in Nessalir's ears. An arrow cut through the air, sailing directly for her heart, and she moved, letting the dragon within her guide her motions. Her sword came up and cut the arrow in twain midlight. Her tail lashed back and forth behind her. Her lungs burned.

Stepping forward, Nessalir exhaled a plume of flames. It was larger and hotter than the fires she typically wrought--her human anatomy was ill-equipped for dragon's breath, and so she kept her outbursts or flame quick, short, and rare. But so deep was she in the throes of her hatred, in her lust for vengeance, that Nessalir cared not for the pain that sang in her chest as her lungs were scorched.

She was a dragon, and the dragon would not be denied.

Men screamed as the fire washed over them. Their skin blackened and charred. Nessalir breathed out until she could breathe out no more, and she coughed and sputtered, dark smoke wafting from between her lips. Her eyes watered and stung, and she blinked away tears of exertion and agony, steeled herself for the true battle which lay ahead.

The bandits who remained alive fled, sobbing and crying as the fire devoured their flesh. A few rolled around on the dirt, trying in maddened desperation to extinguish the flames, their flesh and clothing fused and melted together. One man close to her choked and spasmed on the ground, his eyes melted from his sockets.

The giant had not moved. He had stood beyond the reach of her flames, and he watched the fate of his men with horror. Yet when he realized her gaze had fallen once more upon him, his face twisted into a scowl.

"So be it!" he snarled. Beside him, his great sword had been thrust into the ground. He tore it not from the earth, and frost spread over his body and furs. He rushed now at Nessalir, running directly through the bonfire, howling in rage as he went for the kill.