The Drow's Mistress

Chapter 7 The Failed Blood Pact

She needed a servant—one whose loyalty was secured through a magical pact.

Nidia had witnessed her father forcing magical beasts who had suffered defeat at his claws to forge a pact with him. Should the pact be successful, the servant would be bound by magic to do exactly as their master commanded. That included spilling their deepest, darkest secrets, serving as their master’s guard or lackey, or performing daily mundane chores.

Nidia believed she was in urgent, desperate need of a servant. As a warrior of noble draconic lineage, she deserved a lot better than the terrible meals that she had cobbling together for herself. She was also sick of spending her nights out in the open, with her mud-caked boots on. The drow were warriors who had to undergo harsh, regimented training and accomplished masters who possessed various proficiencies. The male drow, in particular, were groomed from childhood to serve their house. They must know how to put together a decent meal.

Nidia was also aware of the mithril mines that were buried deep underground. The drow’s keen, dark-accustomed vision could see in the pitch-black darkness of the Underdeep. They were the only race on Faeruin that might stand a fighting chance against a dwarven prospector. Nidia could feel her lips twitching with excitement as she listed the many ways a drow servant might come in useful in her head. As the saying went, there was no time like the present. The half-dragon crouched down and smacked the drow lightly on his cheek.

“Wake up. Do you want to live?”

-

The drow appeared to be in a state of semi-consciousness. All Nidia got from him was pained whimpers and unintelligible mumbling. The half-dragon decided to take that as a yes. She whipped out a dagger and a cup. Next, she cut her finger and sighed softly as a drop of her precious dragon’s blood fell into the cup. Her father had drilled into her the invaluable worth of dragon’s blood countless times. An ordinary man who bathed himself in dragon’s blood would be propelled into herohood. Epics would be composed about his impenetrable skin and invincibility. An ordinary blade coated with dragon’s blood would become a weapon worthy of the gods. That was the value of dragon’s blood and the reason why countless adventurers attempted to slay a dragon, only to pay a deadly price for their folly.

“You must treat your blood as the most precious treasure in your hoard. Guard it well.” The voice of Nidia’s father echoed in the half-dragon’s head. Nidia agreed with her father. However, she also knew that a profitable transaction could not be possible without a prior investment. That tiny drop of blood was her down payment. To forge a magical pact, you needed a medium and blood was the best medium one could ask for. Nidia grabbed the assassin’s arm and slashed his wrist without hesitation. Then, she watched as his portion of the down payment flowed into the cup.

“Drow! I, Nidhogg Lothar, seek your servitude. Let our pact be sealed in blood. As blood binds us both, so too loyalty binds you to me. My word shall be your command and I, your only mistress!” Nidia stammered the draconic words to the spell as she struggled to remember what her father had said. Magic rippled into the distance like waves in a lake. A strange silence had fallen. Nidia paused and gazed down at the cup. There was a faint golden sheen to the blood. Only dragon’s blood possessed such a sheen. The blood had mixed perfectly. Nidia dabbed her fingertip in the blood and painted a rune on the drow’s forehead. Then, she yanked his chin down and emptied the content of the cup down his throat.

Once she was done, she stood up and waited in eager anticipation for something spectacular to happen. Nothing did. The drow remained unconscious. It did not appear that he would be clambering to his feet and throwing himself at hers any time soon.

“Did I screw anything up?” The half-dragon started biting her nails anxiously. She found herself at a complete loss. Maybe the drow’s severe injuries prevented the pact from kicking in immediately. Nidia decided to inject more resources into her new investment. She rummaged through her bag, found a healing potion that was nearing its expiry and dumped its content over the drow.

“You’ve got one day,” the half-dragon muttered to herself. “If the pact doesn’t kick in tomorrow, I’m sending you back into the water.”

Nidia dragged the drow under the shade, dumped a blanket on him, then set up camp next to the lake. Soon, she got a fire burning and some meat stewing in her pot.

If Nidia’s father had been around when she was casting the spell, he would have flown into a terrible rage. Steam would rush out of his nostrils as they flared up in anger. As he opened his mouth and started shouting, a dragon’s scorching breath would hit Nidia like a titan’s punch and send her flying into the distance. Every dragon was born with the ability to speak draconic. Nidia’s elder siblings were masters of the ancient language, which was suffused with great magic. Yet strangely, Nidia did not know the language at all. Reasons had been offered. It might be because she was a premature birth. Perhaps the true reason lay elsewhere. The fact that Nidia was too lazy to pick up the language made things worse. She detested memorizing complicated spells and was absolutely disastrous at spellcasting.

The only thing draconic she had gotten right during the spell was her name.