The Drow's Mistress

Chapter 2 The Assassination

The dark elves, also known as drow, were the evil kin of the white elves. These foul creatures had been forced to rebuild their civilization below the surface after being driven underground. Every drow had to undergo harsh training to become a lethal assassin. They were known for holding deep drudges and for their bloodthirst.

Nidia had shattered the drow’s shoulder and maimed his arm. The kick she had given him had left him with severe internal bleeding. Blood dribbled from his pale lips. Each breath he took brought on fresh waves of agonizing pain that sent his vision swimming. The only thing keeping him from wailing in pain was the training he had had since he was but an elfling. The drow clamped his lips shut. His blood-red eyes were ablaze with fury and hate as he glared at his foe murderously.

He had failed his mission. Death was upon him. He did not understand. The slightest cut from his enchanted swords should have sent his target into paralysis, yet she had been immune to their poison. She had somehow wrestled free from the poisonous entrapping through sheer blood lust.

Meanwhile, Nidia was dealing with her own set of troubles. She had no idea what to do next. No other race held a grudge as well as the drow. One who incurred their wrath would be hunted to the end of days or until they died, whichever came sooner. Nidia could not, for the life of her, recall when and how she had caused the drow any grief that would warrant this ambush.

Last month, a quest had sent the half-dragon to Mynzoberranzan, an underground dark elf city that lay several thousand meters below the surface and was home to nearly twenty thousand drow and even more slaves. The drow worshiped Loylth, the goddess of darkness. In the matriarchal drow society, female drow ruled all male drow with an ironclad fist through violence and fear. Dominion over Mynzoberranzan was divided among its eight largest houses. Each house was led by a matron who held absolute power over the life and death of every member in their house.

A month ago, Nidia had accepted a quest to deliver some toxic reagents to House Shobathlo, a drow house that ranked eleventh in Mynzoberranzan. She had received her commission of two thousand gold without any trouble. In spite of their terrible reputation, the drow were good paymasters. One could earn a good fee as long as they exercised caution when dealing with the drow.

That had been Nidia’s first and only exchange with the infamous dark elves. She was new to the business of adventuring. Had she unintentionally caused offense to the matron of House Shobathlo? Perhaps she had unwittingly brushed one of Loylth’s arachnoid statues? Nidia racked her brains, to no avail. Her efforts earned her nothing but a throbbing headache.

The drow on the ground was frozen in pain. One could hardly see where his coal-black skin ended and where the night and its layers of darkness and shadows began. Yet, you would have to be blind to ignore his delicate elven features and slender limbs. The sharp tips of the drow’s elven ears peeked out between the silky strands of his silver hair. Nidia could see the faint birthmarks on them. They looked like tiny earrings.

The drow was incredibly young.

Nidia crouched down, reached out and grabbed the drow’s ear. Then, she tugged hard. “Why are you after me? I don’t recall doing anything to annoy the drow.”

“You sold poison to House Shobathlo,” the drow rasped as pink spittle sputtered from his lips. The effort appeared to have cost him greatly. The next second, his eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

Nidia shoved the drow’s cloak aside, yanked his leather armor off and searched the assassin. She could feel the contours of firm, wiry muscles hidden under the drow’s black clothes. The half-dragon had thought these dwellers in eternal darkness to be cold-blooded creatures, much like the lizardfolk. She was wrong. The body beneath her hands was warm. So was the blood that flowed under the drow’s dark silky skin and seeped from his open wounds.

Without paying much attention to where her hands were going, Nidia continued her haphazard search until her fingers caught something around the drow’s neck. The cord came loose when she tugged hard on it. A small pouch hung from the plain cord. When she upended it, a badge in the shape of a spider fell out and landed on her palm. Nidia held the badge up. It shimmered with a soft silver glow under the warm light of the campfire.

Nidia’s eyes lit up. The dragon in her stirred. “I can’t believe it. This is mithril!”

She squinted at the characters engraved on the badge.

‘Faeiir. That’s the tenth most powerful drow house in Mynzoberranzan.’

Realization struck Nidia like a bolt of lightning.

The drow were not peaceful people. Theirs was a world filled with infighting and cruelty. Noble houses descended into bloody massacres every decade or so as the greater houses tried to subsume the minor houses while the minor houses tried to sabotage the greater houses. The drow lived by a singular law that no other races observed—you could take the place of anyone as long as you could unseat them without leaving any traces of your culpability behind. House Faeiir and House Shobathlo were a single rank apart. Even though no war had broken out between the two houses, it did not mean that neither party had begun their machinations. By delivering those toxic reagents into the hands of House Shobathlo, Nidia might have destroyed the precarious balance between the two houses and sparked further hostilities between them.

“I was just the messenger,” Nidia bemoaned before shoving the badge into her pouch. That was hers now. Her eyes landed on the unconscious assassin. She was not the only victim here. Male drow were little better than slaves in drow society. Stripped of all political and religious rights, male drow were raised as slaves and warriors to be used and disposed of. Nidia had a feeling that her assassin was simply cannon fodder.

The half-dragon rose to her feet. She nudged the drow’s legs lightly. He was out like a light. The rush of bloodlust from her earlier frenzy had gradually receded. In its wake was a strange numbness coming from the small wound on her back. She picked one of the assassin’s swords up, held it toward the campfire and examined it closely. The blade gleamed a dark purple under the light. It was clearly coated with poison.

“This really isn’t your day, is it?” With a light pinch, the half-dragon snapped the blade in two. Judging from the sword’s ordinary make, the assassin was nobody special.

As a berserker, Nidia could ignore all pain during battle, and as a half-dragon, she was particularly resistant to poison. That was why she had not fallen to the assassin’s poisoned blades. However, allowing poison to remain in her bloodstream for a prolonged period of time would only bring more harm than good. Nidia rummaged her bags for a bottle of greater antidote, uncapped it and downed the potion. Then, she pulled her top off and began treating her injury.

“That potion was expensive, and so was the blouse. All that gold down the drain,” Nidia muttered to herself. Her quiet grumbling was punctuated by the occasional hiss as she sprinkled healing powder on her wound. The campfire cast a warm glow over her soft, creamy skin and accentuated the slight curves of her slim waist and breasts.

The drow lay motionlessly next to the campfire. His eyes fluttered slightly, revealing his red irises.