Wallace felt his heart pounding as they emerged from the trees, hooded cloaks flapping in the breeze. The sharp smell of sulphur and decay wafted toward them on the wind, and Wallace tightened his grip on his sword hilt. His men stood to either side of him in a grim line, eyes wide as they watched the procession approach. It was the first time William had made a deal with the faction of the abominable, and it still didn't feel quite right, but a man had to do what was needed to put food on the table. The fact that he'd failed to come up with what they had decided on was even worse.
Behind the necromancers came their servants—creatures of all shapes and sizes, some with horns, wings and tails, others with spiked backs and claws for hands. These were demons; foul creations summoned by dark magic, servants of the 72 demon-kings, powerful entities capable of granting great power in exchange for dark promises.
Though rarely discussed openly, Wallace had heard through his occupation that even the necromancers could not control their undead minions with complete precision - they could only influence them. Thus, when more complex tasks needed completion, they turned to the demonic masters beyond the veil. Each demon king had its own terms for allowing one of its subjects to be summoned forth into a mortal plane, they say, and keeping the rift between worlds open and the demon in the mortal realm consumed a hefty sum of mana.
Many a demon carried cages on their large backs; and these cages were filled with what Wallace and his men were here for today.
Elves. They were thin creatures, half the weight of a human, slender and long where someone like Wallace was thick and crude. In the cages, they huddled together like pale flowers, with silver, blonde or white hair that fell to their waists. The children were even smaller and thinner, with large beautiful eyes of blue, green, grey, or gold, their hair done in intricate patterns and braids. It was hard to tell the difference between a male to a female elf, and their children were no exception.
Wallace barked orders as the men scrambled to ready the caravans. A tall and imposing figure galloped into view, glinting in the midday sun, wearing a marred suit of armour caked in mud, rust, and two enormous antlers that curved up from either side of his helm like horns. Wallace squinted at the strange sight, unable to tell if they were real or crafted and wondering where the knight had come by them.
The man dismounted his horse, but didn't remove his helmet.
Wallace approached cautiously, then cleared his throat and asked, “Sir Erafros?”
The rusted knight nodded in reply, his voice surprisingly light and pleasant despite his imposing stature. "And you are Wallace Boyd, yes?” the rusted knight stated more than asked. “President of the Red Raven merchant company from seven years back, husband to Katarina Prax, father to Cory and Roy, 5 and 9, and live on 51st street, Farhold common district, yes?”
The atmosphere was thick with anticipation as Wallace tried to utter a reply. His throat was parched, and it took him a few moments to force out the words, “Yes, I am.” Nothing else could have been said; the warning was clear and immediate, although he had not anticipated it coming so soon.
“Very well, let's get down to business.” said Erafros. “We have with us five-hundred elves. Three hundred and sixty-seven of these are women, the rest are the wee ones. Do you have the payment?”
“Ah yes, yes– of course, Erafros, I mean, Sir Erafros.” Wallace stuttered, his mouth working frantically like a fish out of water. He could feel the menace emanating from the figure in front of him, but he forced those thoughts to the back of his mind and gestured for his men to bring forth their offering. The chest was wooden, its once-vibrant colours now dulled by time. As the rusted knight opened it, Wallace caught sight of the ten azure crystals embedded within the box. Each glowed with a mysterious brilliance, growing brighter as the newcomer’s gaze settled upon it, and were firmly set inside custom-made grooves along the bottom.
“This is insufficient, and I am no knight.” Erafros growled, his sword arm slowly moving to hover over the rusty hilt – as if the wrong answer would spell the other man's doom. “Where are the rest?”
His piercing, green gaze bore down on the other man, who shivered despite being clad in well-made clothes. Wallace almost took a step back, but forced himself to remain calm. Goddammit, he also had a sword, and his men stood right behind him. Not the time to show such weakness, wally.
“Lord Erafros,” he said. “It is not my intent to cause offence. It's simply– well, you know, the king has put out strict regulations upon the creation of mana crystals outside his facilities. Privately hired wizards and scientists are practically non-existent. Even the aristocrats are hard-pressed to create their own, much less we, the common man. These were the only ones I could come by on such notice…” He licked his lips nervously before continuing. “I'm sure we can figure out a way to solve this…”
Erafros shook his head. “We had a deal. We have no need for anything other than mana crystals and dead men… or alive men we can kill.”
Wallace followed the rusted knight's gaze toward the line of his own men. His heart fluttered at the implication, and his feet felt unsteady. Inwardly, he swore at himself for being so stupid. He should have listened to his gut feeling instead of being greedy, and now he was here, at the mercy of someone who viewed human lives as but resources. So what if he and his family had to move out of their big house? So what if his children couldn't go to that private school for the middle-class? His hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles white from the pressure. Sweat beaded his forehead and trailed down his neck, into the collar of his tunic.
“No? I see.” Erafros said after a moment's pause. He tilted his helmeted head, seeming to think for a moment, “How about a favour, then?”
“A favour?” Wallace asked, brows raised.
“As I think you are well aware of, things will not end well for you if you, let's say, defy us.” The armoured man explained. “And since you have nothing to offer as of now, let's leave it at that. But when we call, be it tomorrow, next week or even years from now, you'll owe us a favour, yes?”
“What if I refuse?”
Erafros suddenly erupted into laughter – an earthy, resounding burst of sound that tore though the forest glade. After catching his breath, he looked down at Wallace and sighed. “Well, as I have said to you earlier – we are always in need of more bodies.”
The unloading happened shortly after that, and though there was no love between the men of farhold and the forest folk of Aldruan, his men were subdued as they transported the cages from demon-back to wagon-floor. Wallace's eyes slowly drifted over the pitiful figures huddled together in the corner of the room. Their fragile limbs were like twigs, so thin that they almost seemed to be made of glass, while their wide, frightened eyes seemed to plead with him for mercy.
He hoped they'd find peace somehow, wherever they might be going, though he knew this wouldn't ever be so. He felt a small pain of guilt in his heart that these delicate creatures would soon be nothing more than mangled toys for unbearably wealthy and influential men, across the human kingdoms, to throw away when their amusement had been satisfied – and that he'd be the one to make it so. Even so, he gestured for his men to get going. He would need to get home to his family for supper.