Chapter 11: Curse and Pact

“I’ve already said, big sister, I’m just borrowing your room for a little rest,” the Female Elf spoke, seemingly unaware that her expression couldn’t convey Constantine’s true thoughts as a planes traveler. With a subtle twist of his bound fingers behind his back, an inconspicuous pattern on his calfskin belt rotated, then flipped open, revealing a paper-thin blade, only an inch long, hidden underneath.

Several small mechanisms were cleverly integrated into Constantine’s otherwise ordinary-looking belt. Though just prototypes he often tinkered with, the Duke’s blacksmith, ever meticulous as Dwarves are, had ensured they worked splendidly. A light flick of his pinky finger and the mithril blade silently glided against the ropes. After a few passes, the rope was barely holding together. Constantine tested it with a tiny finger twitch, confirming it would snap with minimal force, then retracted the blade. Carefully, he reached behind him and grasped the ancient bronze incense burner on the table.

This series of actions was perfectly concealed by his body. Constantine maintained his calm expression, and the distance he’d gradually created was enough to mask the truth.

The moment the Blood Elf’s attention wavered, he bent his knees and lunged forward with explosive speed!

His hands twisted, and the rope snapped! Pieces flew towards the Elf, along with the heavy bronze incense burner! Amidst this flurry, his hand shot towards the sleeve crossbow resting on the small table.

But in the very next second, a sharp, choked gasp tore from Constantine’s throat – a crimson line blossomed from his wrist to his elbow, spraying blood!

Cold red eyes, filled with mockery, appeared in his vision… the Blood Elf, who had been seated on the bed mere instants ago, was now beside him! The scimitar and sleeve crossbow were still at least a foot from his grasp!

“I already said these little tricks are meaningless…” The Blood Elf’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Really?” Agony shot through Constantine’s nerves, but he ignored it. With a violent flick of his wrist, a cloud of gray, acrid smoke – the ashes from the incense burner – flew from his hand and whooshed straight into her face! He had anticipated her speed, and his plan after failure was ready.

Dust billowed. The unfortunate Elf maiden instantly felt searing pain in her eyes!

Even blinded, her reflexes were phenomenal. She darted back, moving with impossible speed and grace, not even brushing against the clutter behind her!

But at the same moment, a low, guttural mutter resonated in the air.

The incantation for the first-level spell Magic Missile was short. Constantine thrust his right hand forward, and from his fingertips, a faintly glowing orb of compressed air, buzzing with unstable energy, hissed towards her!

Surprised but unharmed, the Blood Elf reacted impossibly fast. She sidestepped with a blurring motion half a heartbeat before impact, instinctively raising a pillow she’d somehow snatched. The glowing orb thumped into the pillow, shredding cloth and releasing a blizzard of goose down in a minor explosion, but it hit nothing else.

“Crap! How did she dodge that?!”

The boy froze, then remembered notes from bestiaries – legends spoke of Elves’ high capabilities, one being their sensitive, pointed ears granting superb hearing. Like the Drow he’d encountered twice on the Western Frontier; despite their fatal weakness to bright light, almost any Drow could fight blindfolded, relying on sound… much like “sensing through sound” he’d read about in martial arts novels.

The Elf was now frantically trying to wipe the ash from her face. Constantine, however, gave her no chance to recover her sight. The instant his Magic Missile missed, he grabbed the sleeve crossbow and nearby scimitar! –Pain lanced through his bleeding arm, forcing a grimace.

Amidst the swirling feathers, a glint of projectiles flew briefly from the crossbow. But the lithe figure had transformed into a black arrow – her wiping actions were a feint! At full speed, she covered the dozen feet between them in a flash! Her daggers lashed out in twin arcs of gray steel – one aimed at his neck, the other at his gut! – striking in rapid succession!

The daggers met resistance against something solid… but instantly, the Blood Elf sensed danger. There was no yielding flesh, only an unyielding hardness and a harsh clang of metal-on-metal. The boy had blocked her daggers! Blindness could track movement, footsteps, breaths, but a stationary object offered no warning.

“Pathetic tricks!” she spat with contempt, never pausing. In breaths, her twin daggers lanced towards three different targets! Constantine’s pained grunt reached her ears. It helped her judge the size of his ‘shield’ – likely an awkwardly held, narrow piece of furniture.

As relief and anticipation for her next attack surged through her, a thunderous CRACK suddenly exploded right beside her ear!

Her mouth flew open. Her prized hearing felt obliterated! Daggers of pain stabbed her eardrums. Instantly, silence deafened her, replaced only by a horrendous, ringing drone that filled the room, and her skull!

Yet, this agony paled compared to what followed next.

As the Elf stumbled back, her foot erupted in pain! Then, terrifying numbness flooded half her body. Off-balance already, she nearly fell straight backward!

She desperately pivoted on her other foot to regain equilibrium. But simultaneously, a brutal impact slammed into her beautiful chin! The stunning and dangerous creature wobbled for a second, then thumped down hard onto her knees.

“What…?” Her long legs strained, trying to push her upright. But to her horror, neither her thighs nor ankles would obey. Some mysterious force ravaged her sense of balance. Maximum effort only let her kneel there, upright. Panicked, she screamed, dropping her right dagger, and fumbled for a small pouch at her side, pulling out a roll of something.

Before she could grasp the small metal clasp, powerful hands seized her elbows! A grunt of pain escaped her; the rolled parchment and her other dagger fell uselessly to the floor.

“Idiot. Loud noise paralyzes the semicircular canals. Plus, hitting the chin rattles the brain… even if you’re aware, you can’t stand…” Constantine’s words were distorted buzzes to her deafened ears. “…Also, stepping where the pinky toe connects causes half the body to go numb… Any assassins these days learning the basics? Maybe read more comics…”

She didn’t catch the rest. A hand closed around her slender neck. A thumb pressed ruthlessly into a pulse point. Her Elven physique couldn’t withstand the wave of dizziness from oxygen deprivation… A faint moan escaped her as the dangerous creature finally slumped, unconscious.

“Hah… That was… rough…”

Constantine gasped, forcing himself upright. His overworked muscles screamed with stinging protests. Yet, he moved. First, kicking both daggers well away. Then, carefully binding the stunning captive – finding bindings was easy; the high-quality bedsheets became ropes, soaked with water from a flask beside him. He efficiently twisted the fabric strands into strong cords and securely trussed the unconscious Elf lady.

His victory felt far less effortless than his final words had sounded. The Blood Elf’s ghost-like speed still chilled him. Knowing she wouldn’t wake soon offered little comfort; he took every precaution.

Dropping the bent scimitar, he sucked in air, sweat stinging his wounds. The once exquisite weapon now bore a visible dent – the source of that deafening clang when it met the adamantine scimitar.

“Young master, is something wrong?” The chaotic noise had finally roused a night-patrolling servant. He received a light, calm reply: “No worries. Knocked over a mirror by accident… Go about your duties.”

“But…” The incredible bang surely disturbed the whole mansion. If the Duke’s Mansion hadn’t been so sparsely occupied just now, utter pandemonium would have ensued.

“I said it’s fine.”

“Yes, Master Constantine.”

The servants were rigorously trained not to push. Sensing displeasure in his master’s tone, the servant made a courteous bow and retreated… The Duke had traveled light to Hayton with few retainers, who also doubled as night watch. Avoiding trouble was indeed preferable.

So, of course, the servant had no clue their young master was grappling with a difficult, yet strangely alluring task… Fighting off waves of throbbing numbness in his arm, Constantine carefully unhooked the links holding her provocative leather jerkin in place and pushed it aside. After considerable searching of her person… his hands finally located the object of his search in a snug doeskin pouch tucked against her body.

“Well now… you surprise me… twice over. Although not too formidable, this wench was a fair thief. How exactly did you defeat her in such cramped quarters?” The Lich’s voice, as ever, was a rasping monotone, impossible to tell if it felt joy escaping the wolf’s den only to land back in the tiger’s lair.

“Just luck…” Constantine had no time for pleasantries. His mind was already racing.

Restoring the chaotic room to order wasn’t easy, but he had some plausible lies ready. The wound on his arm was another matter. A faint white glow emanated from a small scroll near the Blood Elf’s hand. He casually unrolled it. A deep, almost subvocal chanting of Divine Script hummed. The bleeding in his arm slowed, then stopped, the cut visibly healing before his eyes.

But the real puzzle, the biggest trophy, remained.

“Got any ideas… to wipe her memory?”

Disposing of this captivating prize troubled him. Such a breathtaking beauty – to kill her outright or simply set her free? Both seemed regrettable wastes.

Handing her back to Feesman was one option, but… the sparkling gemstones inside the doeskin pouch changed Constantine’s mind. Setting her free was impossible; if he kept the stuff from those small pouches, massive trouble would surely follow. As for killing her… that conflicted with his modern sensibilities – even though he’d killed today already, that was pure self-defense. Killing a helpless woman was a line he couldn’t easily cross.

“Killing is definitely quick and clean… but your luck really is… something.” The Lich’s reply held distinct amazement, perhaps sidestepping the question, yet offering a more suitable solution. “Blood Elves gifted with such agility, yet lacking the suicidal pride typical of their kin, are rare. Even during the great wars of old, Mages struggled to secure a Blood Elf servant…”

“You mean… you can make her obedient? Just so we’re clear, I’m not into Necromancy!” Constantine paused, grasped the implied meaning, and a spark of hope ignited. True, having a Blood Elf thief as a servant was inherently risky, but if the Lich’s Pact was potent enough to shackle even the Lich himself… binding one little Blood Elf shouldn’t be an issue.

“Transforming living flesh into undead requires materials and mastery far beyond your current grasp… Though,” the Lich clarified, “with the right materials and your assistance, a simple Pact poses no problem…” The Lich answered patiently. “Those sapphires and smoky quartz on your scabbard will serve nicely. Also, use your blood to draw a symbol on her forehead… plus a few other things…”

“This Pact won’t grant you dominion over her thoughts,” continued the raspy voice after explaining the setup, “but it allows you to impose terms. Should she defy them, the soul-boring worm will take effect… An unbearable agony few can resist.” The Lich concluded.

“Any terms?” Constantine paused, then a wicked smirk spread across his face. “In that case…”

He intoned the words clearly, his voice touched with pride:

“When my master thirsts, I offer my blood.

When my master hungers, I offer my flesh.

My master’s sins, I will redeem.

My master’s mistakes, I will make right.

My master’s burdens, I will carry.

My master’s afflictions, I will endure.

All that I am, I dedicate to my master.

My entire being, I offer to serve.

As his guardian by his side, I share his joy and his sorrows.

As his sentinel and companion, my body upholds his fatigue in every way.

Hands to seize weapons for him, feet to stride forward for him.

Eyes to seek out his enemies for him.

With everything I possess, I shall fulfill my master’s passion.

With my entire heart and soul, I shall serve my master.

For my master’s sake, I cast aside my name.

For my master, I discard my pride.

For my master, I abandon my principles.

I shall love my master.

I shall revere my master.

I will feel nothing besides my master, desire nothing besides my master, hope for nothing besides my master. My thoughts shall hold only my master.

Without my master’s permission, I shall not sleep. Without his command, I shall not breathe.

To my master’s words, I yield absolute obedience.

I swear before all, to be his most loyal slave!”

The incantation echoed powerfully in the still room.

He finished, his tone edged with satisfaction. “So… How about these terms?”

“Seems I… was indeed fortunate…” After a long, heavy silence, a faint, almost regretful sigh seeped from the Soul Amulet. It took the Lich a considerable time to answer Constantine’s challenge.

…

“An intruder breached the mansion, sir. Minimal actual danger developed… Should we intervene?” Over a dozen rooms away, Walter’s raspy voice reported, flat and unchanging as if mentioning a trivial chore.

“Just a common, dim-witted thief. A touch of ability, perhaps…” Seated behind a desk, seemingly absorbed in a vellum parchment, the current patriarch of House Connalyvis didn’t look up. He lifted a crystal goblet, taking a quiet sip of its deep red contents. The flickering candlelight hid his scar in shadow, lending his features an unusual calm for the occasion. “He seems to have his own… designs. Doesn’t desire our involvement… Leave him be. A mere insect… Slight variables hold little influence now. As for the rest… handle it as you see fit…”

“As you command, my lord…” The ancient voice dissolved back into the candlelight-forsaken corners.