The Drow's Mistress

Chapter 1 The Drow and the Dragonling warrioress

A sudden wave of heat swelled within her chest. It burned. Nidia Lothar shot upright.

The winds howled like a pack of wolves as it swept across the fields of the Twilight Range and sent the dying flames from the campfire flickering precariously. Glowing embers continued to emit faint heat even as they failed to provide the illumination they had been meant to give.

It was freezing. The pebbles on the ground dug insistently, and uncomfortably, into Nidia’s skin. She reached into the folds of her cloak and tugged her necklace out. Hanging on a plain cord was a red scale the size of a small clam. The pendant gleamed with the light of freshly forged metal and burned with the heat of a furnace.

There was danger afoot.

All vestiges of sleep vanished as Nidia shoved the necklace back under her cloak and quietly reached for her greatsword. She rose to her feet, silent as the night, and got into a fighting stance, her eyes a soft shimmer in the dark as she surveyed her surroundings.

Most would be surprised by Nidia’s choice of weapon. However, the young maiden, whose hair burned as brightly as dragon fire, housed a giant’s colossal strength in her petite body. Her greatsword, which was as long as she was tall, was the perfect weapon for her. The necklace of forewarning which hung on her neck, on the other hand, was a lifesaving tool that had kept her out of death’s reach in a world rife with danger.

The scale had belonged to her father. Keltic Lothar’s humanoid form was a strong, tall man whose temperament matched his fiery red locks. He was a red dragon who used to reside in Mount Doom and whose troves of silver, gold, and precious gems had drawn much unwanted attention. After gobbling up countless adventurers, something miraculous happened to him. In a fit of what most would call insanity, Keltic fell in love with a siren. He left his volcanic home for the harbor, where he terrorized the populace with his draconic rule and birthed nine children of mixed heritage.

The greatsword-wielding warrioress was Keltic’s youngest daughter. Nidia was not her name. Her real name was Nidhogg—the great dragon who shall bring despair to the world when Ragnarok arrives. Unfortunately, Nidia did not live up to her awesome name. While she got her fiery red locks and her temperament from her father, she inherited her mother’s physique. Her desperate prayers during her childhood to become a tall, sultry redhead fell on deaf ears. No gods heeded them. No matter how much milk she drank, she grew little and turned out as a dwarfish dragon with hardly any curves at all, Nidia’s physical failings were a dagger that twisted her gut and soul, ultimately leading to a particularly difficult youth. Everything finally came to a head a year ago, when a seventeen-year-old Nidia accidentally sank her father’s treasure-laden vessel. To escape her father’s wrath and a fate of being burned to a crisp by dragon fire, Nidia grabbed all the gold that she could carry and made for Faeruin.

Being a half-dragon came in handy. Nidia was more resistant to magic when compared with your average elf and as strong and hardy as the next dwarf. She healed quickly too. Unfortunately, her lackadaisical nature meant she never bothered learning any of the devastatingly powerful draconic spells. Dragons lived long lives, in the eyes of the ancient dragons, Nidia was but a mere hatchling who had all the time in the world to slowly master whatever gifts that her draconic heritage had blessed her with. In the meantime, she would do well to stay away from packs of orcs or goblins during her solitary adventures. When her father’s scale was hot, it meant that danger was afoot. Nidia had learned much during her year as an adventurer.

Neither the moon nor the stars lit the skies tonight. Instead, a thick fog had settled over the mountains and hidden everything from the half-dragon’s sight. Nidia bit her lips nervously. She swore to herself that this was the last time she accepted a quest alone. Next time, she was going to team up with someone.

This was not the first time Nidia had made such promises to herself. The dragon in her was a greedy mistress who abhorred sharing her hoard with another. Why share her spoils with another adventurer if she could complete the quest on her own and claim the full reward for herself?

Restlessness stirred under Nidia’s skin. Patience had never been one of her virtues. The young half-dragon struggled to rein in her temper and keep herself from swearing aloud. The long, frustrating stillness was finally shattered when her enemy attacked and a gust of wind hit her back. The half-dragon twisted sharply to the side as her enemy’s blade pierced her cloak and slid across the small of her back, leaving a stinging two-inch cut on her skin.

“Scoundrel! Show yourself!” Nidia hissed as she swung her heavy greatsword and slashed at her enemy. The blow hit but did not kill.

Her opponent was fast. Nidia blinked furiously and surveyed her surroundings warily, hoping that her superior vision in the dark could help her locate her enemy. If she could see who she was dealing with, she would be able to concoct some form of strategy to take her opponent down. Her efforts were futile, however. For all she knew, she could be fighting a ghost. All she could see were glimpses of a faint shadow darting through the fields.

Could it be an elf? No human or dwarf could move so quickly.

What would an elf want with her? Nidia was a simple adventurer who held no allegiances to any faction. The occasional petty scams that she got up to hardly warranted a bounty on her head. The white elves had better things to do with their time.

The enemy attacked again. This time, Nidia managed to get a better look. Her enemy wielded two thin black swords whose nonreflective blades blended seamlessly into the night. These were weapons favored by assassins and judging from the flurry of lethal attacks that were being unleashed on her, that was exactly with whom she was dealing. There was no place for mercy. Nidia tightened her grip around her greatsword’s hilt and threw everything she had into her counterattack. Her greatsword weighed more than she did. The average human would find it a feat to lift it off the ground and yet, in Nidia’s hands, it was but a featherlight twig. There was a loud rush of air as Nidia swung her greatsword at the assassin. A sudden swell of rage flooded her mind, driving all reason out. Her skin began to burn.

In spite of her lineage, Nidia was still a young woman at heart. During her travels, she would receive the occasional question about her profession. Her answer, which alternated between ranger and alchemist, would always be accompanied by a sweet smile. However, Nidia’s harmless demeanor belied her true nature. The young half-dragon was a berserker through and through. The blood of the red dragon, a race quick to anger and violence, ran deep in her veins. Those who had the misfortune to suffer her wrath were often left bewildered and in pain, nursing broken bones as they marveled at the deep well of strength and rage that lay hidden in her small body.

A berserker who was driven into a frenzy was a formidable opponent. Nidia’s greatsword was a dark blur in the night that knocked her enemy’s blades away before arcing across the air and sweeping toward her opponent’s side. A loud snap cracked like the lash of a whip as the flat of her blade slammed into the assassin’s shoulder and broke bone. Nidia’s face split into a sharp grin. She clasped her opponent’s blade with her bare hand and pulled it out of the assassin’s grasp like a titan plucking candy out of a child’s fingers. Then, she twisted her wrist around and thrust the blade forward.

The assassin’s arm shot up instinctively. Nidia felt her blade cleave through sinew and muscle before lodging itself in bone. She raised her foot and kicked hard, then felt a ripple of vicious pleasure as her boot slammed into something soft and elicited a pained grunt from her enemy.

‘That should do.’ All three attacks had landed. Few races could walk away from a berserker’s frenzy without sustaining severe injury. Nidia ceased her attacks completely and released a loud cry of triumph. She crouched down, grabbed a couple of dry twigs on the ground and tossed them into the campfire. The sound of crackling flames filled the silence. As the fire grew brighter, Nidia got a good look at the assassin she had just taken down and who was now convulsing in pain as he lay on the ground.

“A drow? I wasn’t expecting that.” Surprise flickered across Nidia’s eyes. She dragged the assassin toward the campfire. The spill of warm light revealed silver hair, dark skin and a pair of red eyes dazed with pain. The drow was young and male, his lean, muscular form hidden within the folds of his gray cloak.