The Drow's Mistress

Chapter 9 The Servant and The Mistress

Nidia Lothar could have anything she wanted.

If one could travel back in time to this very same day eighteen years ago, they would find the fearsome red dragon Keltic dozing off in his lair. When placed alongside the long lifespan of a dragon, a nap might seem like a blink of an eye. Yet, it was that blink that cost him his most precious treasure. A small pack of oviraptors sneaked into his lair and stole an unhatched dragon’s egg from right under his snot. Keltic realized what was missing from his hoard as soon as he stirred awake from his nap. The outraged dragon charged out of his lair and went after the slimy, thieving raptors. The oviraptors knew that they could not outrun a dragon. In a rare flash of intelligence, they flung their loot off the cliff and scurried away to safety as Keltic roared furiously and dived after the egg.

The hard shell of the dragon’s egg cracked as it smashed into the rocks. A clear fluid began to seep from the cracks. Keltic lifted his head and roared. His cry of anguish sent the ground quaking.

Miraculously, the dragonling survived. She was a tiny thing that could neither see nor hear. Her wrinkly skin, bare and scaleless, offered her no protection at all. She could not eat raw meat and had to be fed cooked minced meat.

Keltic knew that it would take the child thousands of years to mature and grow into a true dragon. She would have to survive the open challenges and sly scheming of dragon slayers and their like in order to overcome the defects that she had been born with. This was Keltic’s fault. His guilt and love for young dragonlings bred his deep, intense love for the child. Her elder siblings joined their father in his love. The dragons quelled their instinctive greed as they offered their wailing younger sister shiny gemstones to cheer her up and stop her crying. Keltic plucked one of his scales off to fashion a necklace for her because she only felt safe sleeping in his arms with her fingers curled around the scales on his chest.

Their love was tall walls that kept the dragonling safe from harm and free from troubles. She grew up trusting and simple. She had heard of deception, cruelty and betrayal but had never known them personally. In the eyes of everyone else, she might be a powerful warrior with inhuman strength but all his family’s draconic eyes could see was a tiny, vulnerable, fragile dragonling.

Nidia Lothar could have anything she wanted.

That was the thought the half-dragon woke up to every morning. Be it gold, mithril or a servant, she could have anything as long as she wanted it. As she sat up, Nidia rubbed the vestiges of sleep from her eyes and turned toward a corner of the campsite. The campfire had gone out during the night, leaving nothing but burned wood and cinder in its place. A few steps away from the dead fire was the drow. He sat in the protective shade of the tree, a blanket draped over his naked form. He looked immensely better than he had looked the day before. He seemed completely healed and had cleaned himself. The strands of silver locks curling around his shoulder shimmered wetly, as if recently washed.

“Get over here, drow!” Nidia yelled at the drow, then added when she caught a flicker of hesitation in his crimson eyes. “Don’t you remember? We signed a pact yesterday. You’re my servant now.”

Ysilnod rose to his feet slowly.

“I passed out before I could catch your name, Mistress,” he said softly.

The names of both parties to a successful blood pact were seared into their very soul. If the spell had worked, Ysilnod would have known to whom he was bound. Nidia clearly did not know that. She took Ysilnod’s words for it and reminded him of her name helpfully.

“It’s in draconic. I go by Nidia Lothar. You can’t call me that though. You have to address me as your mistress. What’s your name?”

The drow dipped his head in deference. “Lady Nidia, my name is Ysilnod.”

Nidia was ecstatic. She thought her spell had worked. She had her very own servant now. Her bright eyes widened with anticipation as she gazed at Ysilnod. The drow knew exactly what she wanted. He took a step forward and slowly, he kneeled. His gaze slid downward as he kept a cautious eye on where Nidia’s hands were. His last mistress enjoyed hitting him when he was on his knees.

“Lift your head up,” Nidia demanded. “I can’t see your face.”

Ysilnod went suddenly still. He forced himself to remain still as he raised his chin slowly and looked at his new mistress in the eye. Ruby red irises peeked out between thin slits that could open no longer due to the glaring sun. On his knees, the drow was of the perfect height. Nidia reached out and stroked the drow’s ear. His hair felt like silk as it spilled across her hand and slithered across her fingers. It shimmered like mithril.

The elves were the gods’ most perfect creation. They were beautiful, intelligent, strong and graceful. They embodied all that was beautiful in this world. The dark elves who had fallen and pledged their allegiance to the Mother Weaver were no exception. In fact, the unique aura of danger that shrouded the drow added a strange evil charm to them. The drow before Nidia reminded her of a panther—a sleek feline that hunted in the night.

Dragons loved beautiful things. Nidia was extremely pleased with the drow’s physical appearance. However, she could not help but feel that something was missing. The thought finally struck her a long moment later. The half-dragon smacked her fist into her palm. Every fine painting needed an equally fine frame to house it. They had to head to Evenfall now and get some clothes and accessories for her servant.

Ysilnod was a quiet, cautious shadow silently piecing together the scraps of information he had gleaned as he followed Nidia to Evenfall.

‘Draconic. Pact. My miraculous recovery.’

The answer he arrived at left him reeling with disbelief. Dragon’s blood flowed in this young redhead’s veins. Countless stories had been told about the miraculous properties of dragon’s blood. The most popular one claimed that the blood of a dragon could heal the dying. Yet nobody had ever met anyone who had been brought back from the brink of death with dragon’s blood. The healing properties of dragon’s blood were a story shared among travelers passing through taverns and their cities. The power and savagery of the dragons though, had been witnessed by many. One need only look at the bones of countless adventurers who had been foolish enough to cross a dragon.

Ysilnod sneaked a glance at his “mistress”. Her guard was down and she was laughably exposed. A small drow team of three could take her down easily. The thought flashed across his head before fading into the recesses of his mind.

He would not help the drow if they attacked. They had subjected him to inhumane pain and torture. He hated his own people more than any other race that lived and breathed in this world.

The drow decided to go along with his ruse and continue to pretend that the pact had worked. She might be his way to securing survival on the surface. However, if the bright disposition she currently displayed turned out to be a disguise, if she turned out to be like the devil that Minolene was, Ysilnod would not hesitate to stick a dagger in her back and run away.

Meanwhile, utterly oblivious to the plans that her loyal servant was quietly laying out, Nidia continued striding down the path while humming a cheerful tune.