Water forced its way past Nessalir's lips, filled her lungs, and extinguished the embers that yet still smoldered there. Any relief it might have brought was quickly replaced, however, with a new burning—the burning of organs bereft of the fresh air they so desperately need to survive.

  Nessalir struggled and thrashed. Her body sank down in the water, and the man who had brought her tumbling into this nightmare hooked his left arm around her waist and struck her repeatedly with his right fist. She attempted to swing her weapons around onto him, but sword and ax alike had fallen from her grip when her body struck the water's surface.

  The world around her was one of bitter gloom. What light shone from above the water was distorted and strange, and she and the Remuran's bodies alike were blurred and faded with azure hues. In that gloom, she thought she could see his face contorted in rage, his mouth curled into a sneer as he hit her in the side again and again.

  Perhaps his blows would have been more forceful were they not in this watery domain. But here beneath the surface, there was too much resistance for his fists to mount much force, and Nessalir could hardly feel his strikes.

  Still, they were sinking, and her lungs were burning anew, and her head felt light in different ways than it had before. If she did not respond to his attack, Nessalir knew that she would likely drown. So she brought up her scaled hand and, putting as much strength as she could muster into the motion, swiped her black claws across the Remuran's face.

  The effect was immediate. Her attacker recoiled, and his grip around her was lost. Lines and mists of red, almost violet in the water's distorted hues, spread around his head. The Remuran grasped at his face, kicked away from Nessalir, and made for the surface.

  She did as well. Swimming as as quickly as she could, limbs stroking through the water even as she felt as though fire was surging through her blood, Nessalir climbed back up to the surface of the river. Her head broke through, and she gasped and coughed and sputtered, filled her lungs with that wondrous air, and began swimming her way to the river bank.

  Water dripped from her body as she threw her arm outward and grasped a large tree root. It had grown from the edge of the soil, snaked its way over a rock, and supped on the water below. Now it served as a handhold for Nessalir to pull herself from the river and climb out and up from the waters. She collapsed against the stone beside the root, red hair plastered against her head and face, and breathed deeply in desperate, swallowing breaths.

  In her chest, her heart raced. She closed her eyes, and willed herself to recover quickly. There was no telling where the Remuran had gone off to, or how quickly he might make another attempt on her life. Perhaps he was even now creeping up on her, eager to take advantage of her weakened state to cart her off back to the empire, where slaves were bought and sold and toiled away for the rest of their lives. Nessalir had heard stories of the terrible Imperial practice, similar to and yet so very different from the Northern tradition of warskuld, and she was not eager to learn firsthand of how Remura treated those indebted to it.

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  With great difficulty, Nessalir lifted herself from the ground. Her whole body ached in protest, her lungs and head and shoulder most of all, but she forced herself up regardless. She stood, and nearly fell again as a wave of dizziness crashed over her. Nessalir closed her eyes, took a deep breath, steadied herself, and then looked around.

  There, on the opposite bank, stood the Remuran. His hair and clothing, like hers, were soaked. His face was nearly unrecognizable, covered as it was in the gashes left by her claws. Red covered his visage, and it stained his shirt as well where the blood had mixed with water and dripped down his front.

  Nessalir stared at the Remuran, and the Remuran stared back. He looked at her with fury and hatred. For a long moment, neither spoke.

  "I swear, you dragonblooded wench," declared her foe, "I will take you. I will break you! Enjoy your freedom while you can, for soon enough I will bring about its end! This I swear, on my blood and on my life!"

  He shouted it across the roar of the falls, but Nessalir did not respond to his proclamation. She merely stood in silence, and watched the beast that emerged from the forest behind him.

  It was a unicorn, with its white coat stained red. Nessalir was certain it was the same Heart Beast that the Remuran's poachers had captured, which had been freed from captivity when she and the Green Man had set upon their party.

  The unicorn bowed its head, and it charged.

  For his part, the Remuran remained ignored of the vengeful beast behind him until the tip of its horn burst through his chest in a shower of blood. He screamed then, stared down at the red-soaked horn uncomprehending. The unicorn shook its head in a fury, and the Remuran slid off the horn and plummeted once more into the water below.

  Red bloomed from where he had fallen, and aside from the current created by the fall, the water went still.

  Nessalir looked up from the river to the unicorn. It met her eyes, then bowed its head—this time in a gesture she was certain was gratitude. Then the beast turned around and strode away, vanishing once more into the woodlands.

  Her strength left her, and Nessalir spread herself across the rock, laid out on her back. She closed her eyes, listened to the waterfall, and allowed consciousness to leave her.