Kartesk's seneschal, Duulan, was a short and stout man with a boyish face and a long black beard. He'd had a friendly smile that Nessalir found strangely infectious, and his directions were clear and simple:

  "Head out of town on the road to Jarstead. Eventually you'll reach a crossroads: one road leads North to Jarstead, and the other South to Fastings. Ignore both and keep going forward between the two. When you reach a lake, head North along its coast and soon enough you'll find the barrow."

  Nessalir had been worried that she'd be expected to remember some long and complex route, and so she was thankful to find that the directions were so straightforward. She rode Huunang West out of Redair for the better part of a day before she finally reached the crossroads, and it was another hour or two of riding through the wilderness before she arrived at the lake.

  Snowfall was a constant companion on her journey. The flurries stuck to her hair and clothes and Huunang's black mane like little white dots that quickly melted away. The trees and undergrowth were sparse in this region, which made for easy riding, but mud was a common hazard for her horse's feet.

  Luckily, Huunang was a stubborn and cautious beast, and they had no issues traversing the bleak terrain.

  The lake itself was partially frozen, covered by the thinnest layer of ice. The ice broke in various points, and water often sat freely atop the frost. This too was lucky, for had the weather been colder and the snowfall heavier, the lake may have frozen over completely, and then a thick blanket of snow would have covered it up and hidden it from sight.

  Upon reaching its shore, Nessalir dismounted Huunang and opened her pack. She ripped into some dried jerky and ate while her horse glared at her.

  "Don't think I've forgotten you," she said. From her pack, Nessalir produced a red apple, which she held out to Huunang's mouth. The big horse huffed at her, then ate greedily.

  "Won't be long now," said Nessalir, looking out over the lake and the icy grass that surrounded it. There was a gray mist across the water, but her eyes were sharp, and she was certain she could see shapes moving about there. "Be prepared, Huunang. Draugr stalk these lands. I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure of fighting one. No, wait—there was that man in Coldhallow, the one who didn't like his widow remarrying. But he was a farmer, not a warrior, so it was hardly a fight."

  As she watched the distant shapes across the water, Nessalir recalled what she knew about draugr. The Remurans down South called them revenants, but they were the same creatures: dead men who envied the still-living, and who arose as vicious killers. Scholars argued over whether they were the same entities they had been in life, or whether they were some new being who merely shared the deceased's memories.

  Whatever the case, it didn't matter to Nessalir. Draugr were dead, and bitter about that fact, and just needed someone to remind them what being dead meant. Fire and decapitation were reliable methods of killing the monsters.

  "Ready?" she asked Huunang. The horse looked at her as though she'd just asked him the world's most idiotic question. "Fine," said Nessalir. "But don't complain when we're ambushed by undead nightmares."

  She saddled him once more, and guided the horse North along the coast. As they traveled, the mist seemed to thin and recede. A large shape appeared before them—a hill, with a stone archway set into its side. They'd reached the barrow.

  But where were the shapes she had seen?

  Nessalir dismounted, and she drew her weapons. In her right hand was her sword, and in her gloved left was her hand-ax. She looked about, certain that something was watching her, that danger did not merely lurk around the corner, but was already here.

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  Slowly, she approached the barrow, weapons at the ready, casting her gaze back and forth and scanning the terrain for any sign of an enemy. Aside from the flurries still lazily falling to the earth, Nessalir saw no movement. Everything was still and everything was quiet.

  The warning came from Huunang. The horse suddenly reared up and whinnied, and Nessalir spun around just in time to see three bodies burst out of the icy water of the lake. They were men—or they had been once. Now they were shriveled things with gray skin that had partially receded off their bones. Skull-like faces with empty eye sockets grinned at her, each wearing a helm of iron and a thick leather chest-piece lined with bronze. They rushed up to the shore, splashing water with their knees, rusty swords gripped in their bony hands.

  Huunang moved out of the way as Nessalir ran to meet the draugr. The first to reach her swung his sword at her side, and she caught it with her ax, hooked his blade under the head, and twisted the weapon out of his grip.

  The draugr's expression did not change, if such a face could change at all. It reared back a fist to strike her, but Nessalir was too quick. She thrust her sword straight into its neck, just below its chin.

  It wasn't enough. The draugr punched her, right in the mouth. Nessalir's lip stung, and she spat out blood. With a roar, she wrenched her sword out of the side of the draugr's neck, and the corpse stumbled back. Now its head hung by a thin strand of flash, and Nessalir hacked at it with her ax until the draugr's skull hit the ground, and the rest of its body followed suit.

  A blade swished past her, nicking her in the arm. Nessalir hissed and faced the other two draugr, each of whom was keen to take advantage of her temporary distraction. As the one who'd just attacked her backed up, the other ducked down and tried to strike her in the gut.

  She drove her knee up, catching the flat of the draugr's blade and redirecting it as she spun. The draugr kept a grip on its sword and stumbled to the side, and Nessalir drove her ax down into the back of its neck as hard as she could. Or at least she tried—her aim was just slightly off, and she got its back, between the shoulder blades instead.

  Her ax head buried itself too deep into the draugr's flesh to pull free easily, and so she was forced to let go of the weapon and bring up her sword to parry the other draugr's blow. Its dead, emotionless grin seemed to fill her vision as it rained blow after blow down upon her, and it was all Nessalir could do to block each swing of its sword. She was driven back, and she saw in the corner of her eye its fellow regain its balance and come for her.

  Salvation came in the form of Huunang. The horse sniffed loudly and charged forward, bringing its hooves up and stomping down on the back of the draugr menacing her. Nessalir leaped backward out of the way as Huunang stomped and trampled the undead creature.

  "Thanks," she called out as she whirled to meet the other one. Her ax was still in this draugr's back, but that wouldn't do her a lot of good now. She caught its sword with her own, slid it to the side, and brought her own blade up to the draugr's throat. It wasn't quite enough to decapitate it, but it was enough to slow the draugr down. She kicked out at its chest and pulled her sword free, and as it tried to get its bearings, she swung hard.

  This time her blade struck true, and she cut right through the draugr's brittle neck.

  It fell, and she took a moment to retrieve her ax from its back. She looked up at Huunang, who'd grown tired of stomping on their enemy, and now stood calmly looking at her. The draugr's skull had been crushed beneath its hooves.

  "Again, thank you," she said. "I'll get you a sweet next time we're in town."

  The big horse looked at her and shook out his mane, then he turned with a huff and walked to the edge of the lake, where he took a long and cold drink.

  Nessalir nodded at the beast's back, then turned to face the entrance of the barrow. The hill was artificial, created by human hands centuries dead. A stone archway marked the entrance, and the stone that had once sealed the tomb had been rolled away. Crouching down to examine it, Nessalir could see the remains of a tree branch that someone had used as leverage to open the way.

  Gazing through the entrance, she saw into the darkness, and the long tunnel that ran deep underground. She stood and retrieved a torch from the pack on the side of Huunang's saddle.

  "Stay here," she told the horse, and he huffed at her.

  She lit the torch, held it in her gloved hand, and, sword drawn, descended into the barrow of King Durnethed the Vile.