“Wh-what the heck are you?” the man screamed, as Drernoth revealed themself, “guards, help!” But no one would heed the call. Unperturbed by the increasingly more panicked growing man in front of them, the devil continued with his speech.

“You see, the saviour of devilkind holds their protecting hand over all that is just in the realms. Rejoice, for yours is to be the next one to be delivered from its sombre fate!”

Realizing that he wasn’t heard, the man decided to take matters into his own hand and reached for his sword, that was leaned against the side of his table. But before his fingers could grasp the handle, he was interrupted by Drernoth. “That would be a most unwise decision indeed. If you take any aggressive measures against myself, a messenger of their Devilness, then the retribution shall be swift and merciless.”

Knowing instinctively, that drawing the blade would indeed seal his demise, the man leaned back in his seat, gripping its armrest tightly instead. The creature in front of him seemed to be eager to go through with its little play, and wasn’t out to kill him just yet, were his thoughts. He was unable to read its face however, although the creature had distinctively human features, its indisputably inhuman nature was all too evident. It had long and slender pitch-black slits for eyes, infernal red feline-like pupils that were fixed on him being the only thing to mark them as sensory organs. The mouth, almost as wide as its jawline itself, was distorted into a menacing grin, or it might have been a playful one instead, the man was unsure. Yet, refusing to be so thoroughly intimidated, he talked back to it, “What do you want then? I’m not one to listen to sermons,“ deliberately sounding as defiant as possible. If he had to die today, he wouldn’t cower.

“Which is precisely why we are talking right now! You see, deliverance is, for us devils, all business after all,” Drernoth lectured with one oversized index finger raised. “We could have a long and prosperous cooperation with each other, and as a gesture of goodwill, I only require you to tell me all about that operation of yours, as well as this ‘Lord Rowe’.”

The man grew pale and swallowed his saliva. Mouth dry, he carefully responded. “If you have listened in on the conversation just now, you have already gotten the gist of it. Suffice to say, Lord Rowe is a man one does not want to cross, I do not want to cross.”

“Regardless of whether you are a retainer of this ostensibly noble and dangerous man, or just a hired hand, why don’t you hear my offer first?” Drernoth snapped their fingers, and as if by an invisible hand, the small lockbox on the table, right next to the stack of papers, moved itself to the centre centre, and opened, revealing a shiny stack of silver and golden coins depicting some figure’s crowned head.

They raised their other hand towards the man and - deliberately in slow motion - closed their fist. Drernoth opened it again immediately after, and revealed a plethora of identically looking golden coins, spilling onto the ground as they were too plentiful to fit even on their oversized palm. The clinking sound of coin hitting coin or ground had a sort of hypnotizing effect, the man's gaze fixed on the devil’s hand in trance, who spoke in a suddenly much more sweetly sounding voice. “A deal with the devil pays handsomely.”

--

The man left his tent soon after, and was promptly approached by one of his men. “Cole, Sir, the returnees are acting strangely! They suddenly started to wince and wreathe on the ground, Jonah too, just as he came for a meal from the pigeons. Caitlin has isolated them in the sickbay, but couldn’t tell what’s wrong with them either. She told me to come and get you!”

Cole thought back on what the devil had said to him. That with this, the bandits that attacked the princess had been dealt with, and that Rowe’s machinations would be laid bare. He thanked the man for the report and swiftly made for the tent holding the men that came back from the raid on the princess and her entourage. Without waiting or announcing himself, he drew back the surprisingly clean white flap and entered, finding a middle-aged woman with short brown hair hunched over Jonah, who, next to nearly a dozen men, restlessly wreathed on his pallet and let out stifling cries.

“Ah, Zach, you’re here, come and see this,” she exclaimed, not bothering with formalities. Cole absentmindedly complied and took position next to her, still thinking back to his conversation with the devil. Halfheartedly looking at the man that had been tired but otherwise perfectly fine only a short while ago, he replied. “What do we have, Caitlin?”

“I have already tried the standard healing and cure spells, with no effect. Take a closer look at this,” she pointed at the veins in Jonah’s neck that seemed to slowly throb and contract themselves. “I have seen similar movements all over the body on every one of them and made small incisions where they occured, fearing it might be some sort of parasite, but still, nothing. I already told the men to lock down the pots in case it's poison, and came from the food they had just eaten before this started, but I haven’t detected any and it’s only them that are affected.”

Suddenly, the situation took a turn for the worse. The patients simultaneously reared up and let out ear-piercing screams. They then began to rapidly grow thinner and dry up, their weak attempts to sit up or reach for something, in vain. In just a few moments, the men had been reduced to dried husks, leaving the tent in deathly silence.

Caitlin stood there, paralysed by shock and fear. Her pale face was moist with sweat, eyes darting erratically between the dead bodies. “Wh-wha,” she tried to speak, but was unable to form even one word. Cole was similarly perturbed, but was able so somewhat regain his composure. He tried to put a hand on Caitlin’s shoulder, wanting to reassure her with his presence, but as soon as he made contact, she let out a stifling scream, shook off his arm and retreated a few steps back from him and the pallets holding the bodies. Her look betrayed angst and hurt.

Only now noticing his goosebumps, Cole lied with a shaky voice. “It seems the new support, the princess has secured, is a force to be reckoned with, and doesn’t stop at even the most inhumane of magics.”

“The princess’ aid did this?” Caitlin stammered doubtfully, but Cole didn’t pay heed to her response. Instead, he informed her of their next steps. “We will bury the men, and then pack up. We’re headed for Narlême.”

He left the tent and the bewildered healer behind, and made to tell his quartermaster of the upcoming journey, the lit braiziers now the only source of light, with the sun now gone and the moons hidden behind a blanket of clouds that had formed in the meantime. He would tell his men of just the new plans though, Cole thought his now more complicated allegiances to be best left unsaid. He also noted that he would need to find a replacement for Jonah, the man had been his best tracker by far.

After getting his affairs in order, Cole retreated to his tent for the night. On the table, next to the lockbox still in its centre, was the pile of coins that bore testament to recently made deals with infernal entities. Cole cursed his carelessness by leaving a pile of gold out in the open and alone, even if the men would normally refrain from entering his tent uninvited. He went to the trunk by his bead, and fetched a few leather pouches, to stuff the coins into.

As he was busy stuffing away, Cole noticed that next to his stack of sheets of paper, was the second testament to his deal, and his second obligation, as he sourly noted in his mind. A row of books in an orderly stack, in dark black binding which leather-esque material and lack of any writing on the cover betrayed the almost tangible ominous aura emanating from them. It didn’t look much like whatever it was supposed to be, religious writing, business catalogue or tome of occult magic, to Cole. He wasn’t keen on playing roundsman, especially not with that kind of parcel, but he wouldn’t dare complain.

After he finished stowing away the money, Cole reached for the lamp on the table to extinguish its light, but paused halfway. Thinking he might just get it over with then and there, he reluctantly plopped down in his seat and reached for yet another sheet of paper. Lamenting that he was quite the scribe today, Cole commenced to write a letter, not to his lord, but to an arguably and technically even higher authority. He would have much to report.