No sooner did Nessalir set foot inside the old dwarven ruin than the crystals set within its walls began to glow with bright golden light. She uttered a curse to the stars. It was not uncommon for the ancient duerafari to place such enchantments within their halls, to light the way of any living souls who tread them. But that this enchantment had yet to fade was poor luck indeed.

  She had extinguished her torch with the hope of moving stealthily, keeping to the shadows and creeping silently in order to take any draugr within by surprise. With these lights, however, Nessalir knew that such a tactic would be impossible. How could she remain hidden when the very walls themselves lit up from her presence?

  With her first plan thus foiled, Nessalir opted instead for a more direct approach. Raising her sword, she bellowed out to the ancient hall: "Hear me, Durnethed the Vile! I am called Nessalir the Red, drakkowar of the lost kingdom of Lorveg! I have felled trolls and giants alike with my blade, battled the legions of the Remuran Empire, and shared drink with the Queen of Elves! I come now to free the prince, Balof of Redair, in the name of his father! Face me, Durnethed, and let us settle this as only warriors can!"

  Her voice reverberated throughout the shadowy halls. Nessalir listened as the echo died down, and waited. After a moment, she lowered her sword, resigned. Either Durnethed could not hear her, or he did not care. Steeling herself, she began to walk deeper into the ruin.

  A rasping laugh stopped her short. Nessalir froze and listened. She could not divine the source of the laughter, but she could tell that whoever was making it was amused.

  "Forgive me, honored guest," a voice spoke. It came from somewhere deep within the dwarven hall. "Lorveg and the Remuran Empire are not known to me. Nor is the name 'Nessalir the Red.' But I know of the drakkowar, and I know of this prince you seek. If you truly wish to claim him from me, then come to the inner sanctum. There we shall do battle, warrior of Lorveg. I await you eagerly, for I have never spilled the blood of a dragon before!"

  The Vile King laughed once more, and the hall fell back into silence.

  Nessalir glared at the darkness, as though she expected it to respond. Her shoulder throbbed with pain, and she wished that there was time for her to rest and heal from her recent battles. But she doubted that Durnethed's plans for Balof would wait for her.

  "You have me at a disadvantage, King Durnethed," she called out. "I am a stranger and know not the way to the inner sanctum."

  Again that rasping laugh echoed throughout the halls. "You presume much, drakkowar. I too am a stranger here, though indeed I have had time to acclimate myself to the work of the dwarves. But very well, I shall send a guide."

  The warrior of lost Lorveg stared out into the gloom, squinting her eyes and trying to make out the shape of this guide the Vile King had promised. Long minutes passed, and in that time she saw nothing. Finally, when her patience had begun to reach an end, Nessalir beheld faintly the form of an approaching figure.

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  Emerging from the darkness was yet another draugr. The walking corpse stumbled forth, and looked upon her with pitch-black and empty sockets where his eyes should have been.

  "My King requests your presence," the foul creature spoke in a voice just above a whisper.

  "Very well," said Nessalir, and stepped forward.

  The draugr drew back, its face focusing on the crown that hung from her belt. Nessalir frowned at her undead guide. "What is the matter?"

  "You carry my lord's heart," said the draugr. "One such as you should not carry such a thing!"

  Nessalir considered this, and she considered the draugr's strange choice of words. "This crown was embedded in the chest of Prince Ralof, whom I slew. I have taken it as my spoil. Is this not agreeable to you? Would the servants of Durnethed deny a warrior her spoils?"

  "You are no true warrior, woman!" spat the draugr. "You are but a pretender, and my king shall sever your head from your shoulders! Come now, let us go to your death!"

  With that, the walking corpse turned and strode into the darkness. Nessalir hastened to follow. Where she left, the crystals dimmed and their lights died out, and where she walked the crystals glowed bright. Her guide seemed equally comfortable in both light and darkness, though Nessalir supposed this was because he did not rely on eyes to see.

  Through the halls of the dwarven ruin they walked. Soon the draugr led her to a grand chamber, where a bridge of iron and stonework expanded across a mighty chasm. Nessalir could hear the roar of rushing water somewhere far below.

  "Careful," warned her draugr guide. "There are no crystals on the bridge."

  They left the light of the crystals, and Nessalir followed close behind the draugr through the dark chamber. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the light she had left fade away, leaving her and the draugr alone in blackness.

  Without warning, the draugr struck. His fist barreled into her wounded shoulder, and Nessalir shouted in pain, stumbling back and narrowly catching herself. To lose her balance on this bridge, suspended however many feet over rushing rapids, would be a death sentence.

  "Such arrogance, to think some mongrel whore deserves an audience with my king!" the draugr snarled. "I shall break your body, shatter your bones, and bleed your life dry from your corpse! If you are lucky, then my king shall raise you as one of his own—if he can find your body among the countless floating in the river below!"

  Nessalir heard his boots upon the stone as he rushed her, and she struck out blindly with her sword. The blade met resistance, and in the instant she felt it, Nessalir drove it forward with all her considerable might. She heard the sound of something falling on stone, and the resistance vanished from her blade.

  She waited, counting the seconds in that darkness and silence. When she was certain that the draugr was no longer a threat, Nessalir began to walk forward, tapping the floor before her with her sword, using it to guide her way across the bridge.

  Her sword tapped against something soft, and gently she prodded the mass with her foot. It did not move, and she stepped over it and continued on her way.

  When at last she reached the other side, the crystals inlaid within the walls of the dwarven city began to glow once more in her presence. Nessalir looked back from whence she'd come, and there on the edge of the light she saw the draugr, decapitated and lying dead on the bridge.

  "It seems it was your head which was severed from your shoulders, my friend," she said.

  Turning her attention forward once more, Nessalir journeyed deeper into the ruins, to seek out the inner sanctum, face the Vile King, and at last to put an end to this madness.