Circle of Skulls

ELEVEN

NIGHTAL 22, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

Jinn crouched in the shadows of a small park just outside the squat, modest tower of Archmage Tallus. Situated in the center of a large block of businesses and servant homes, the tower sat in darkness, an iron fence around its perimeter, a rusted gate left open and creaking in the winter breeze. Black windows at its base revealed naught but the reflections of weak streetlamps and the bare branches of thin trees. Decorative crenellations at its top were worn and cracked with age and exposure. Water stains crept down the sides like the tracks of tears down an old man's face collected at the bottom by dried-out vines of ivy clinging to the stone.

Had Quessahn's directions been any less accurate,

Jinn would have thought the tower abandoned for years.

"No guards, no lights," he whispered. "Perhaps he's not in."

Maranyuss stepped closer to the park's edge, leaning on the bark of a winter-shorn tree as she lifted her nose to the air and closed her eyes.

"I smell blood," she said. "He's in there… and we are not alone."

She turned as a figure approached them, cloak and hood pulled tight against the cold. Jinn relaxed as the hood fell away, revealing the troubled stare of Quessahn. She met his gaze only briefly as she neared, averting her eyes to look upon the archmage's unkempt tower.

"Tallus is not in there," she said. "Technically Tallus does not exist."

"What did you and Briarbones discover?" Jinn asked, more eager to confront the wizard than argue with Quessahn over whether or not he should.

"Before he came to the House of Wonder, Tallus was known as Ashmidai," she said. "An aspiring, ambitious, and secretive wizard for the Vigilant Order of Asmodeus. This alone would not have barred him from becoming a master at the House of Wonder, but he kept it hidden anyway."

"Well," Jinn replied, "that's one puzzle piece that fits."

Shadows shifted near the encircling buildings, hunched figures drawing nearer. They were not close enough for Jinn to accurately identify them as ahimazzi, but instinct told him what his eyes could not. They were only a few, but their numbers could quickly swell. Mara hissed quietly at the sight of them. Her senses being far greater than Jinn's, she could smell their hollowed presence, their empty husks bearing no value to one dealing in souls.

"Let's get inside," she said, exiting the sparse tree line of the park. "I grow tired of pretending stealth will hide us from the wizard."

"Wait!" Quessahn said, glancing at Jinn in disbelief as she chased after the hag. "You can't just walk in through the front-"

"The door is open," Mara said sharply, staring down the eladrin and pointing at the tower, its wide double doors a dark hole beyond the iron gate. "If we're not going in now, we might as well abandon this little hunt altogether."

"Agreed," Jinn replied, already on his feet and following Mara through the gate. He paused briefly to glance at Quessahn, feeling as though some unknown confession were hanging between them, but he could not find the words to express the strange idea. She said nothing, appearing indecisive at the gate, her blue eyes glittering as they finally turned to him, something in their depths causing him a momentary pang of inexplicable sorrow. "We could use your help," he said at last. "Perhaps we'll find more about how to stop the killings."

"That's not what you're looking for," she said.

"I can think of few instances in the past tenday when I've ever found what I was looking for," he replied with a grin. "Perhaps this time we'll be lucky."

"I don't believe in luck," she said and passed through the gate to stand on the tower's doorstep a moment before entering the dark beyond.

"Me neither," he muttered, eyeing her suspiciously, certain that she knew far more than she'd been letting on.

The tower's interior stood in stark contrast to its humble exterior. A tall, circular chamber dominated the entrance, the ceiling lost in the shadows above. The floor was of a highly polished, dark marble and a wide set of fine, wood stairs spiraled up toward a second-level loft, the bases of several shelves just visible through the chamber's gloom. The whole of the room bore little decoration, all of it centered dramatically upon a massive statue set before the circle of windows.

Light filtering in through the windows seemed magnified, illuminating the tower and gleaming on the smooth contours of the statue's perfectly sculpted musculature. Carved from black stone, it stood three times as tall as Jinn surrounded by a circular pool of clear water. Jinn approached slowly, glaring into the blank eyes of the statue, its visage shaped into the likeness of a handsome young man, smiling with its head lowered, small horns curving gracefully from its brow. It held one hand, its left, palm up in a frozen gesture of dubious welcome.

"Asmodeus," he whispered.

"I'm guessing Tallus doesn't entertain much," Mara said as she explored the perimeter of the room, gently feeling her way along the walls. She added quietly as she neared the stairs, "The scent of blood is strongest here."

"We should search his books before he finds us," Quessahn said and took the first step, but Mara swiftly caught her arm.

"Not those," the hag said, crimson eyes smoldering through her illusory disguise as she scanned the stairway. "Anything in plain view is, at best, very plain. There is power here. Step back."

Quessahn backed away from the stairs as Jinn tore his gaze away from the statue of Asmodeus, half expecting the devil-god's likeness to awaken somehow. He left it feeling almost disappointed it had not moved to address or attack him. Unlike most, Jinn wanted the god's attention. Vague memories of having walked and battled alongside gods stirred strongly within him, but among all of his emotions he bore no fear of divinity. He had seen gods bleed, cry out in pain, and die on the field of battle, their dissipating essences wafting through the dissolving order of armies left in chaos. His pulse quickened at the thought of it, holding the memory of the act itself as an affront to the seeming power of Asmodeus.

Mara waved her hands slowly over the bottom steps of the stairway, her form wavering as she abandoned the illusions that disguised her true appearance. Bruise-colored skin spread across her arms and face as small, gnarled horns curved back from her brow. She spit harsh words through her lionlike fangs, wisps of gathering energy trailing from her black claws. Eventually her chanting ceased and the stairway rippled, several steps disappearing to reveal a second stairway leading down.

Led by flickering lights, they descended into the shadows beneath the tower, Mara hungrily taking the lead. Jinn drew his sword, nerves on edge, wondering if they might find Tallus and hoping they would encounter Sathariel. Sight of the statue above had excited his bloodlust, and he prayed that his hunt would soon be over.

A second circular chamber greeted them below, ringed on all sides by arcane torches that gave off no heat or smoke. Indeed, there were several old books lining shelves along the walls, some sat open upon pedestals, but it was the rune-covered circle in the center of the chamber that drew their full attention. Stinking of blood and fear, wide splatters of crimson radiated outward from the mangled corpse on the floor, its form only vaguely resembling something once human. Shredded bits of dark robes still clung to the severed and broken limbs, the body's torso barely clothed and still attached to a crushed lump that Jinn suspected had once been the wizard's head. Nearby a gnarled, wooden staff had been shattered into splintered stumps.

"I think Tallus has already had visitors," Quessahn said, keeping her boots at the edge of the mutilation but seeming unable to look away from the grim scene. Jinn stared as well, his eyes narrowed, seeing less the body than the questions it raised.

"But his books," Mara said. "By all the souls in suffering…"

Her deep voice was full of awe as she approached the first pedestal, heedless of the ruined flesh and blood beneath her, swearing quietly as she gently caressed the old tome's yellowed pages.

"What is it?" Jinn asked.

"Notes," Mara muttered, perusing the handwritten text. "Bits of an ancient spell, old magic, and here… the nine families… nine bloodlines…"

"Nine," Jinn whispered as Quessahn tore her eyes away from the body and strode through the blood to see what Maranyuss had found. They conferred in hushed whispers over the book, pointing at and debating the archmage's notes. Jinn didn't listen, his attention taken by a strange vibration in the floor. The walls shook, sending dust raining down from the ceiling. Cracks spread quietly out from the corners of the room, as if the tower itself were awakening and stirring into life. He backed toward the stairs, watching the ceiling closely as the cracks grew larger. "Let's be swift, ladies…"

"The Loethes!" Quessahn proclaimed, turning wide eyed as Mara took the book from the pedestal. "Their family is next!"

"The spell must not be completed, Jinn," Mara said, eyeing the walls as more dust drifted down in clouds. "Or we may never catch up to Sathariel."

A sound like stone grinding against stone groaned menacingly from upstairs, cracking and grating like the birth pangs of a mountain. A section of the ceiling buckled violently, covering the wizard's mangled body in dust and plaster. Chunks of masonry crashed from above as they dashed to the stairway, narrowly dodging being crushed. Mara and Quessahn fell into the wall behind the deva, panting and cursing, their robes and boots stained by the wizard's blood.

"The spell, Jinn…," Mara said breathlessly, shaking her head as the ceiling buckled again. The enchanted torches were knocked from their sconces and buried, leaving the chamber in darkness.

Despite all, Jinn was most startled by the sense of urgency in Mara's voice, the earnestness in her ember red eyes. The night hag, in the end, was a selfish creature, devoted solely to her own interests and survival. The barest edge of fear in Mara was enough to put his boots in motion far faster than the threat of a tower falling on his head.

"Let's escape with our own lives first," he said as he bounded up the stairs two at a time. "Then we'll see to those of the Loethe family."

Stairs split beneath their heels as they ran for the surface floor, blinded and choking on dust, thunderous crashes booming from above.

Darvehsa strode slowly and deliberately through the ballroom, her gaze critical as she inspected every inch of every surface. Several times she clucked her tongue in disapproval, finding a smudge here, a patch of forgotten dust there. Even a casual glance at the long, velvet curtains revealed that they hadn't been beaten in days, covered in specks of lint and the occasional strand of hair. She picked at them meticulously, collecting the unwanted bits in a deep pocket of her apron, careful not to drop them on the finely woven carpet Lady Lhaerra had received from an old suitor in Calimport. As often was the case, Lhaerra had kept the carpet but done away with the man.

After inspecting the chamber to her satisfaction, Darvehsa sighed in satisfaction, folding her hands over her apron and looking proudly over the ballroom that had been filled but a few scant bells ago. She was grateful the Winterfirst party had been cut short, needing no more of the guests' messes to clean up, wincing at every spilled crumb or stray drop of hastily consumed wine. She shuddered at the thought of it and, with a silken handkerchief, took the double door handles and quietly closed them behind her.

Or course her arrival in the entrance hall meant no less of a daunting task, though her skills at maintaining the Loethe household were prodigious. The gleaming marble floor was rarely gleaming enough. The polished frames of old paintings often needed more polishing and occasional repair, the canvases themselves requiring almost yearly restoration to maintain the vivid colors of the family's patriarchs. Clucking her tongue again, she shook her head and imagined the eagerness of the younger staff to escape their duties and partake of their own celebrations. She didn't fault them entirely; however, she would have none of their excuses on the morrow.

Double-checking the locked doors, she took down a list of mental notes as she walked through the room, her heels tapping on the marble loudly in the shadowy gloom of late evening.

She paused as the resounding click of the bolts faded from the chamber, listening as a faint noise like panting reached the edges of her keen sense of hearing. Turning slowly, she spied a door at the far end of the chamber standing slightly ajar, enough to let escape the dim, flickering glow of a torch or candle. She approached it carefully as a pained gasp stretched into an almost longing moan from the shadows beyond the door.

Hesitantly she pushed the door open wider, gazing down a spiral stairway that wound around a highly detailed column of stone. Hollowed faces in the column, carved into a myriad of ghoulish visages, held small pots of glowing embers and candles that dripped thick from the frowning corners of stone mouths. Wax coated the tips of her fingers as she quietly descended the first few steps, straining to hear more, her breath held in little gulps of air lest they obscure the approach of something hideous from below.

Murmuring voices rose and fell in a harsh language that flowed rough on the air, grating in her ears even though their melody seemed to call her farther down. Deep and sonorous, the chanting was joined by heaving breaths; contented sighs; and short, desperate wheezes.

On a wide, stone wall, the glow of unseen torches brightened, casting dark silhouettes that danced and wavered on a field of flickering orange. A crowd of figures in shadow intermingled on the wall, their forms merging with one another in lustful and furious configurations. Hands were offered to gently stroke a curving cheek or raised to smash violently down on something wet and indiscernible. Whispered pleas could be heard among the throng and a scent of heavy perfume, incense, sweat, and blood filled Darvehsa's nose as she turned to swiftly ascend the spiral stairs, stepping lightly toward the entrance hall above.

The door had opened wider behind her, a shaft of pale light illuminating the door handle. Turning back, she clucked her tongue as she reached the top step. Annoyed by her discovery, she pulled a clean square of cloth from her apron and wetted it on her tongue.

Pressing down tight, she scrubbed a finger-long streak of crimson from above the brass door handle, cursing as the dried, rusty edges of the stain challenged her fastidious determination. At length she leaned back, studying the door before exiting the stairway and pulling the door closed.

Its edges matched the wall perfectly, the handle disguised as a candle sconce. Wiping her hands off on her apron, she tested the door's edge once more to be sure it was sealed before calmly glancing once more upon the entrance hall. Satisfied and deciding to use the dusty chamber as an example to her staff in the morning, she set off for Loethe Manor's kitchens, prepared to harass the staff there into working faster if they wished to rest at all before sunrise.

Books and loose pages fluttered down from the upper floor of the tower as Jinn cautiously ascended the hidden staircase. Freestanding shelves had fallen from above, smashing to splinters on the dark marble floor as he, Mara, and Quessahn rose from the archmage's secret library and into a sudden silence. Bits of debris still rained down, bouncing and skipping among shattered boards and broken artifacts. Dim shafts of light illuminated the dusty mist through the tall windows across the west and south walls.

A flash of alarm stopped Jinn in his tracks, noting a peculiar lack of shadow on the northern wall as loose rocks splashed into the circular reflecting pool to the south-the pool where the massive statue of Asmodeus had once stood.

"Move!" he yelled, pulling Quessahn behind him as he dashed toward the windows, trusting Mara to take care of herself. Something crashed into the marble where they'd been, the impact splitting the floor, spidery cracks racing alongside them. Cut off from the front doors, Jinn searched for a swift escape and made for the windows. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a chunk of fallen stone and hurled it at the glass.

As the stone bounced harmlessly away, Jinn cursed, having caused no more than a smudge of dust on the warded glass. He spun around, heart racing, eyes searching the clouded room for movement. Stone ground against stone in the dark and something large appeared in the gloom, flying toward them through the cloud of dust.

"Down!" he cried, ducking low as a section of shelving flew over their heads and crashed against the windows. Splinters and chunks of wood clattered all around them as he and Quessahn cautiously raised their heads and stood. Mara appeared at his side, her red eyes fixed on something in the dark.

"The statue, I presume?" Jinn asked.

"Yes and no," Mara answered. "An eidolon. The statue of a god, blessed by a god. Sometimes they think they are gods."

Heavy footsteps prowled slowly near the back of the chamber, a violet glow piercing the dust as a metallic smell wafted through the room.

"And we're stuck in here with it," Quessahn added with a cough. "Guess Tallus didn't want to be buried alone."

The violet glow intensified, becoming more distinct as the footsteps drew closer. The ebony statue's smooth surface had changed, a dense pattern of arcane and divine symbols shining across its massive frame. Purple light and mist issued from its eyes and smiling mouth, curling around the graceful horns sprouting from its brow. Jinn narrowed his eyes at the statue, caught by the pulsing sigils on the eidolon's brow as it approached. He was struck by the familiarity of the construct, though he was unable to place where or when he'd encountered such a monstrosity before.

"Spread out," he whispered to the others.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the eidolon charged, its long, lumbering stride covering the distance between them swiftly. Mara slipped into the shadows, cloaking herself in darkness, as Quessahn drew her ritual dagger, chanting softly and backing away. Jinn held his ground, holding the construct's focus long enough for the others to prepare their magic, their rhythmic voices lost as the floor and walls shook. A massive fist, trailing wisps of purple mist, came crashing down as Jinn rolled backward, flying shards of marble stinging his skin.

Rising in a crouch, he swung his blade, the steel ringing off the eidolon's rocky arm harmlessly, though he noted a tiny crack of bleeding light where he'd struck. The second fist came soon behind the first, and he leaped forward, hacking at the statue's face. Sparks flew from the edge of his sword, leaving a miniscule fracture in its wake. The construct loosed a deafening roar as an acrid liquid seeped from the tiny wound, burning Jinn's wrist as he attempted to escape the eidolon's reach. A mere step away from clear ground, the thing's swiping claws caught his shoulder and sent him tumbling into rubble.

Pain seared through his arm, his recent wounds burning as the acidic blood of the eidolon mingled with his own. He rolled onto his back as the construct knelt over him, an artificial sneer on its face as it pinned his legs. His sword lost in the debris, he stared into the thing's hellish eyes, helpless. A spark in the fiery twin pits caught Jinn's attention, dragging him back to the first battles of his physical existence, back to the days when eidolons were yet young to the world. As the construct's other arm rose to crush him, he knew some minute part of Asmodeus was aware of his monstrous servant, and Jinn morbidly wanted, more than anything, to capture the attention of the god.

Shrieking voices heralded several bolts of scintillating light that arced through the eidolon's body, causing it to twist and writhe enough for Jinn to escape its grip.

He crawled through the rubble, snatching up his lost sword and ducking low as Mara strode toward him, her hands spread in a fan of blue flames that charged the air with arcane energy. As swiftly as she appeared, Mara dissolved into the shadows as the eidolon thrashed toward her, its fist smashing the floor where she'd stood. Seizing the moment, Jinn's arm shot out, stabbing the ancient sword into a burning rune on the construct's side. As the steel grated against stone, the statue lurched violently to its side, pulling Jinn to his feet as he fought to hang on, his sword caught in the burning sigil.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the brief blur of a dark shape rushing toward him just before the world went black. Stars danced before his eyes, and a peculiar weightlessness held him for what seemed like an eternity. Yellowed parchment fluttered around him amid clouds of swirling dust as he fought to regain his sight, shaking his head slowly and finding himself in a sitting position against the far wall. The floor shook beneath him, and flashing lights filled the tower as Mara and Quessahn hurled spell after spell at the eidolon, none of their magic injuring the thing to any lasting effect.

A glimmer of shining steel protruded from the construct's ribs, just beneath its right arm. Jinn focused on the metal splinter and forced himself to stand. He winced as the right side of his body pulsed painfully as if it were made of a single bruise. He pushed the sensation to the back of his mind. He took up a length of fallen chain, a chunk of broken rafter dangling from its end as he charged at the eidolon's back. Mara slipped away into shadow as he passed, cold fragments of darkness clinging to his cheeks as he hurled the chain at the statue's head.

He missed and rolled beneath the swiping fist of stone that quickly followed. Muttering a curse as splinters dug into his side, he caught a brief glimpse of Quessahn in front of the eidolon, tendrils of darkness spewing from her palms. The spell briefly dimmed the molten energy of the construct, causing it to shriek, a sound like hail striking a tin roof, but the magic could not hold. The fist that had sought to smash Jinn reversed its course and struck the eladrin solidly. Jinn gasped as Quessahn's body flew through the air and crashed against the wall like a corn-husk doll.

The sickening thump of her body on the floor ripped through his gut, the sight of her senseless and bleeding awakening something within him. An image of her flashed through his mind, her smiling face looking up at him, a sea of waving green behind her. Her lips moved in the image, but he could not hear her words over his racing pulse, thrumming through his ears as he stood. Pangs of guilt and loss joined his bloodlust, though both gave way to a rage that burned from the depths of his pounding heart. Swinging the chain once around his fist, he dashed forward as the eidolon turned to present its curving horns. He hurled the chain again, wrapping it neatly around the statue's neck.

It whipped its upper body backward, roaring a sound almost like laughter as Jinn was pulled into the air, swinging at the chain's end. Black claws reached for him, but he swung his legs forward, pulling tightly on the chain as the room spun around him. The burning eyes followed him, hellish energy and caustic blood seeping from them as he turned through the air, whipping tight as the chain caught on the statue's left shoulder. The bright edge of his stolen blade glowed in the eidolon's side, the sword stuck, a thrust away from the statue's immortal energy.

The essence of a god, he thought. A shard of divinity.

Arms burning with the strain, he pulled the chain taut again and raised his legs, whispering a prayer as the hilt of his lodged sword came into sight. With a single thrust, he kicked the blade deep, sparks flying as the steel stabbed home into the fiery heart of the eidolon, shattering the god-forged splinter that had given the statue life. Power surged from the wound, washing violently through Jinn's body as the construct shuddered, purple mist steaming through the cracks and symbols across its stony skin.

The chain slipped from Jinn's fist, and he fell away, sliding across the marble floor as the burst of divine power wracked his flesh with pain. The eidolon's body quaked, falling apart in lifeless chunks through the chamber bathed in hellish light. Jinn gasped, a brief moment of pure clarity overcoming him. All the threads of his many lives were joined, fusing together like a winding road of long years, at their end the blazing light of the Astral Sea. The path of his soul from flesh to flesh, bound in blood for millennia, burned through his thoughts, every memory as fresh as when it was first crafted, the darkness of every death just as haunting.

He saw meaning and destiny in the whole of the pattern, his eyes torn away from the minute details of the individual lives he'd lived, and an unsettling calm overcame him. Somewhere in the long and winding maze of his soul, his fate had been written, and he was loath to look upon its conclusion…

In a heartbeat the vision was gone, leaving him trembling and struggling to breathe, his skull aching as the memories faded, and he felt empty and drained. He coughed and groaned, eyes burning as they adjusted to the dim light of the chamber.

Straining to right himself, he squinted through the dust and found Quessahn's hand nearby, her eyes closed and veiled in blood.