Kartesk drummed his fingers against his armrest as he examined the woman before him. Nessalir the Red carried herself like a woman of great strength, though it was difficult to see her muscles beneath the yers of clothing she wore. Her hair was bright red and tied back in a braid, and her eyes were gold and reptilian. He could see a few dull red scales along her neck, and one of her hands was covered by a thick bck glove. The trousers she wore had been altered to make room for her tail, long and thin and covered in more of those dull red scales. It swayed zily back and forth behind her as she stood.

  Her eyes met his without fear, and she smiled, revealing teeth that were sharp like daggers. Kartesk surprised himself at how he avoided flinching at the sight.

  "So you are the famed drakkowar," he said.

  Nessalir bowed. "It is an honor, my king."

  Kartesk raised a hand to stay more fttery. "The honor is mine, Nessalir the Red, to have such an accomplished warrior in my hall. I understand you showed your skills in battle on the way here." From what he understood, there was a good chance he'd be paying the blood price for the man she'd killed at Halvar's Crossing. He would need to speak with Duun about his men making promises on their king's behalf.

  "It was hardly a battle, my king," said Nessalir. "I've been told you have a draugr problem."

  And there it was. Kartesk clenched a fist, then unclenched it. He swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

  "Indeed, we do," he said. "Are you familiar with King Durnethed the Vile?"

  "He was a conquerer who lived three centuries ago," said Nessalir, somewhat to Kartesk's surprise. "He was called the Vile for the vicious tortures he would inflict upon warriors he captured and upon the families of warriors who failed him. He ruled much of the Northern Lands before he choked to death on a chicken bone."

  "That is… yes," said Kartesk. "You are well-educated for a mercenary."

  "I was not always a mercenary, my king." Something fshed in Nessalir's eyes as she spoke; something dangerous and sad, something that Kartesk did not recognize, but which chilled him to the bone.

  "The Vile King was buried alongside many of his greatest warriors in a barrow a day's ride from here, near the town of Jarstead," King Karsten expined. "A few weeks ago, my youngest son, Balof, got it into his head to dive into the barrow. He has not been seen since, however…"

  "The dead have emerged from the tomb," Nessalir finished for him. "He disturbed their rest, and now Durnethed and his warriors have awoken as draugr."

  Karsten nodded. "That would seem to be the way of things. My eldest son, Ralof, journeyed into the barrow to face the draugr and potentially rescue his brother, but he too has not been seen since."

  Nessalir maintained eye contact. "What would you have me do?"

  "Enter the Vile King's barrow," Karsten told her. "Kill the draugr, and bring my son back to me."

  "Son?"

  "My sons," Karsten corrected himself. "Bring them back, and bring me the head of Durnethed, and I will reward you with gold." He hesitated. "I will also pay any blood prices you may owe in my nd—with the understanding that you will not accumute any more."

  Again, the drakkowar bowed. "It shall be done."

  "Good. Speak to my seneschal, Duun. He will give you directions to the barrow." Karsten waved his hand dismissively, and Nessalir took her leave.

  He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and brushed sweat from his brow. How could any of this have happened? What madness had possessed Balof and led him to that accursed barrow?

  "Who was that, just now?"

  He opened his eyes to behold a woman with thick bck hair, who wore a green dress that stretched out with her swollen pregnant belly. It matched her eyes, which looked down at the king with curiosity.

  "Nessalir the Red," Karsten told his wife. "The half-dragon warrior woman. She has agreed to kill the draugr and rescue my sons."

  Heldara rubbed her belly and looked to the front doors of the hall, which the drakkowar had just left through. "May the stars light her way," she said. Then she turned back to her husband and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Come to bed, Karsten. You have done all you can. Let us sleep and forget these difficult matters."

  The king had no objections, though his sons remained at the forefront of his mind. As his wife led him away, he uttered a silent prayer to the stars to return his eldest home safely.