On the eve of the Winter Solstice, wagons upon wagons were being drawn up the narrow cobbled lanes of the capital, drawn by black draft horses. The wagons themselves were constructed of a wood that naturally grew an inky black, the growth rings a deep blue in every plank. Bright, polished steel bars kept the valuable livestock from escaping as they were taken to the holding pens for the Ice Market. With a full moon shining down upon the rimed stones of the road and the heavy timber constructions of the houses, it was easy to see what would soon be available for sale.
Human beings.
Beautiful ones, too. Not the regular, sickly, hungry creatures that lived like fungus up against the castle walls of cold, unfeeling keeps of their lords. No, these humans were the wild, feral kind that lived and hunted in the mountains and forests. The Fair Folk preferred this kind of human, already half living in the magical kingdoms already. Legends told of how some of the Fae passed their noble blood to these people, begetting lines of kings, queens, and hunters of renown. The humans of those lines often sported silver eyes or pointed ears, and some were graced with the slender, tall proportions of their forebears.
The humans in the wagons were a mix, but ultimately of superior stock. Many pairs of silver eyes looked out from their confinement, slender, pale-skinned fingers gripping at the chilly bars as they crouched and watched in plotting, observant silence. The elves and fairies that lived in this city, those that were awake at such an hour, all came out to line the main thoroughfare to take their first look at the goods on sale. No human caught was too young for the sports the Fair Folk played. Contrary to popular belief, the abduction of human children was just a story to besmirch the Fair Folk disgracefully. Plus, only fit and able adults could hope to survive and flourish at the whims of their Fae masters and mistresses.
An excited murmur rippled through the crowds that gathered to watch the wagons, ten in all, proceed single file up the main road towards the elegant castle at the top of the hill. No one dared to reach out to touch the livestock. They were not permitted such a thing – not yet. All of the stock within the wagons were reserved for the Queen, who would make her selection before the Ice Market was opened on the dawning of the solstice.
Such things, of course, weren't known by the people in the wagons. Clothed for mountain life though they were, still many of them shivered in fear of their confinement and abduction. By now they had been on the road for hours, purposefully underfed. Starvation made them easier to handle, and what little energy they had left, if they were smart, wouldn't be devoted to causing a scene. Any that continued to rave and carry on were taken away during the trip and culled. It left only those that were quiet and tractable by the time the hunters reached the main city, the examples made to compel greater obedience from the rest.
The very last wagon pulled onto the thoroughfare, and the heavy gates were slowly drawn closed behind it. Many pairs of eyes watched as the fairy guardsmen worked their clever mechanical devices, soundlessly guiding stout timbers into the locks that made the imposing doors nearly impossible to open from the outside. One pair of amber eyes within the wagon looked out impassively, noting with tired, surreal interest at the beauty of the elves' metalcraft. During the entire ride in the wagons he'd not said a single word, being a stranger even to the others who'd been stuffed into the wheeled cage along with him. Some might have said that he'd been at the wrong place at the wrong time, though the other humans kept their distance from him. He'd simply stood there, laughing as the hunters had swept through the mountain pass, letting himself be collared and chained without a hint of protest.
The man himself, not more than 18 years old, was obviously a bearer of fae blood. His body was slender and tall, his height at least a head above the rest of the stock. Beneath his dark hair, the tips of his pointed ears could barely be seen, and his eyes, amber like a cat's, seemed to glint with delight in the mayhem of the attack. Even as the wagons passed through the capital city, and the Fair Folk lined the streets to take their first look at the merchandise passing by, the young man looked back out at them, smirking at some of the most attractive women, and even some of the handsome men.
From his spot at the head of the wagon, the young man watched as the caravan train pulled into the huge, covered warehouse made of stones and heavy, ancient timbers. Sawdust covered the floor, and many braziers burned bright and warm. The smell of hot food turned many hungry heads, and the unloading of the captives proceeded calmly. Those humans who were finished with the process were led to an attached dormitory, where they were allowed to bathe, change into fresh clothing, eat in peace, and sleep in warm, if not terribly soft, beds.
For many of the mountain people, all of these things were a luxury. Growing up in the chill and roughshod manner of the feral people, it was a heaven to be warm at night and within a solid dwelling. The young man, being towards the end of the line, noted that some humans had begun to sing within the dorms, so happy to be where they were.
He was so distracted that the dull butt of a spear prodded him in the back, and a gruff, lilting voice urged him to continue. The man looked up at the elf, noting his silver eyes and tapered ears as well as the scowl on his beautiful features, and the man merely smiled insouciantly, moving forward. A fairy, with long, red hair, sat on a stool behind a raised dais looked completely bored as she trimmed up the point on her quill pen with a fine, silver knife.
Her glittering green eyes looked down at the young man, and in the language that all Fae and mountain people shared, she asked, “What's your name, boy?”
The young man looked up at her and pursed his lips in thought. “What if I lied to you?” he asked thoughtfully.
The fairy sighed, rubbing at her temple. “I wouldn't care. I just need a name.”
He nodded and frowned, digging into his memory. After a moment his expression brightened and he smiled at the fairy, his slightly pointed fangs gleaming in the firelight. “Aye, I have one.” Minding the already surly armed elf behind him, the young man bowed courteously before straightening to say, “My name is Ufaro.” That didn't make anyone take much notice. It was when he said “...of the Sidhe” that the commotion began.
"A sidhe?!" came several startled cries, and within moments there was a panicked rush to leave the warehouse. Elves and fairies pushed past one another to get away, all pretense of preparing for the market forgotten as they trampled a few of their brethren into the sawdust. A warning bell rang and shouts lifted up outside in the night air, but Ufaro hardly cared about it, shrugging his shoulders and taking up the silver knife that the woman processing him had dropped.
"There now, just... just..." he murmured, cutting a small slit into the meat of his forearm. Dark blood welled up and dripped thickly to the floor, soaking into the sawdust by his boots, but soon the tip of the blade nudged against something within his flesh. "Ah... here we are. Aye, there it comes." Within moments a small polished stone, no larger than a pea, was eased out of his arm and fell to the ground. It steamed away into nothing, its magic spent once exposed to air. And without it, Ufaro's glamor faded away. No longer did he look vaguely human - now he was entirely sidhe, wild and magnificent. His skin was darkly tanned and his hair was wild, unruly, and black as pitch, his brows and eyelashes just the same. His nails changed to black, sharp things, and a long, prehensile tail grew from the base of his spine. It coiled and swayed like a serpent, the tip tufted in a brush of black hair that wagged with delight as Ufaro stretched, easing out the cramps in his muscles.
By then only a few of the elven guard remained in the warehouse with him, locked inside by their comrades. Not knowing what else to do, they took up swords and spears and made ready to fight him, gritting their teeth with determination.
"Aye now, lads..." Ufaro drawled, scowling. "There's no need for that."
Up on the wall beside him there was the sound of shattering glass and squealing metal. One of the lanterns was being crushed by magic, its flame snuffed and leaving part of the room dark. More of the lanterns on the walls began to crumple, and the frightened guards huddled closer, keeping within the light. Shadows soaked into the walls, and the darker the warehouse became, the clearer a certain sound was to the ear.
Laughter.
It chittered in by giggles and squeals, tens of voices, then hundreds, then thousands. A storm of malevolent delight that mimicked a swarming of hornets. The maelstrom of noise grew louder and louder with the dying of the light, until the very last lantern over the guards began to squeal, the glass cracking.
"You saved my Queen so much trouble, collecting all these fine specimens for her court. Such a lovely gift... I'll be sure to send her your regards!" Ufaro's own laughter added to the fury of noise just as the last lantern was crushed, and the suffocation of the room in obscuring murk and shadow was complete. The guards screamed in terror, and the sound of metal scraped and squealed against other weapons as hundreds of bare feet raced across the sawdust floor towards them, still giggling with eager anticipation.
The door to the slave dorms were pulled slowly from their metal hinges, the fastenings stretching like taffy and snapping to let Ufaro casually walk in. Guards stood at the ready with spears, but at a flick of the sidhe's hand the weapons all hurried forward of their own volition, some tugging their owners along by a few steps as the spear points embedded harmlessly in the door jamb. Dressed in armor of metal and leather, the elves cried out one after another as they were hurled about like dolls, smashing into anything and everything and destroying the lit lanterns along the corridor until the dormitories, too, were drowned in shadows.
By dawn the next day, the warehouse was completely silent. Not a scream or struggle had been heard for hours, and the guardsmen who had fled outside finally unlocked the main doors and ventured inside. There was no blood to be seen and no signs of the battle that had been heard. It was almost as if after the fact the sawdust had been raked back into place neatly. Yet with every step inward, blood soaked up into the fresh sawdust, painting every step crimson. A tarp covered a large pile in the center of the warehouse, and all were reluctant to look beneath it, waiting until braver souls explored the dorms and found them to be completely empty. With there being no sign of the guardsmen or the slaves that had been locked inside, they all returned to the tarp-covered pile, and a one gently pulled the large sheet of canvas away.
Beneath its cover, piled higher than any of them stood, were weapons and plates of armor, all seemingly clean. The guardsmen were puzzled until one lifted up a discarded pauldron and discovered that it dripped with spittle. In fact, all the pieces in the pile were covered in saliva, all pieces of leather fastening removed. When asked later about what they saw, one of the guardsman noted in a quiet voice, "It looked like a pile of shells after you eat crab. All stripped clean of meat. They ate them. They... ate them."