Circle of Skulls

FOURTEEN

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

Anticipating the human's cowardice, Jinn sprinted through the garden gate with a sudden burst of speed, his eye trained on the false rorden's left arm as it rose, signal horn in hand. Though Dregg's blade was well poised to strike, Jinn ignored the practiced guard and twisted dangerously within its reach, forcing the human to face him. Teeth clenched, he accepted the gash in his side, shoving Dregg's right shoulder and hammering his blade at the signal horn.

Barely touching the rorden's lip, the horn split in two, cracked and useless as it fell from Dregg's hand and skittered across the street. The human stumbled backward, spitting and cursing, red faced and roaring as he struck back, his blade far quicker and more skillful than Jinn had expected. The deva slipped into a graceful defense, keeping Dregg on the move as he ducked and wove with the flashing sword of the human, infuriating his opponent even more.

With a broad flourish of his cloak, he hid his blade for the blink of an eye, spinning toward the trailing edge of the black cloth, thrusting into Dregg's attack and pushing the human back on his heels. He struck high and low, alternating swiftly between the two as he continued to prowl in and out of the rorden's reach, the pain of the cut in his side warm and familiar, keeping his senses sharp. After several ringing exchanges, he saw a quiet desperation blooming in Dregg's eyes, sweat pouring down the human's forehead as his arm slowed by degrees, his blade seeming heavier by the breath.

Several times Dregg's defense was laid wide open, and Jinn had time to stare longingly at the small gap in the rorden's leather armor, just below his arm and a cut away from his heart. Batting the human's blade away again, he would take a sliding step as the man tried to recover and slide the flat of his sword across Dregg's back, just above his belt. He pictured the wounds, imagined the gasps of pain, and dissected his opponent dozens of times in a myriad of ways but managed to hold back the rage that threatened to press the edge a little harder with each slash and thrust.

Despite all, he wanted Lucian Dregg alive.

At length, Dregg backed away, panting through clenched teeth as Jinn allowed him space and lowered his sword, tapping its point once on the ground. The human spat at the insult, muttering an unintelligible curse but keeping his distance.

"Run," Jinn said, forcing the word out through a bloodlust that urged him to cut the rorden's throat rather than let the human escape.

Dregg hesitated, only a misplaced pride keeping him from bolting at the first chance he was given, but Jinn suspected he had seen enough of the human to know he wouldn't give up the chance at survival. Alone and outfought, Dregg was far beyond his comfort zone, and Jinn wondered why the human had stayed to fight at all, curious as to what Tallus had promised him for covering up and assisting the skulls' killing spree throughout the ward. The questions burned brightly in his thoughts, and with effort he made sure his patience outshone even his desire for immediate answers.

With a frustrated, almost animal growl, Dregg turned and ran, heading west along the garden wall. Mara appeared at the gate, her crimson gaze fixed on the rorden's back as snow melted on her dark robes. She bared her fangs as the human turned at the end of the wall.

"You know where to go?" Jinn asked her, clutching the wound in his side as he sheathed his sword, blood trickling between his fingers. Mara nodded, lowering the short, knotted horns that curled from beneath her stringy black hair. "Keep close to him. I'll be along shortly."

With an arcane whisper, Mara loped forward, disappearing in a wave of shadow even as soft footsteps drew Jinn's attention back to the garden gate and the tired eyes of Quessahn. He was taken aback by the look on her face, struck by the familiar intimacy in her cold stare.

"Go," she said. "I'll be fine."

It seemed as though she had repeated the words a hundred times before, each time more draining than the last, her eyes exposing the lie on her tongue. He stared at her for several breaths, a glimmer of truth reaching out to him from some forgotten life like a deeply buried splinter, rising to the skin's surface and screaming to be pulled free. Each moment he had spent with her since she had found him replayed itself in his mind within a single beat of his heart-and each one he saw in a new light that shook him to his core.

In half a breath he left her, running as fast as his wound would allow, tracing the path of Lucian Dregg. Moments before, he had felt once again in control, turning his confusion since entering Sea Ward into a focused purpose, making the hunter the hunted, but with four words, Quessahn had shaken that certainty.

In nearly four thousand long years of forgotten names and buried memories, every lover he might have had was left-either mourning or rejoicing over stone tombs or shallow graves-in his past, a fragment of his soul lost to recollection and time… except for one.

He ran faster at the thought of it.

Dregg fell back against a cold, damp wall, panting and cursing as snowmelt dripped down the back of his neck, soaking through his tunic. He shivered and hung his head low, eyes darting at every shadow, hands trembling as he pulled his cloak tighter. In the silence between breaths, he listened for the incessant tap-tapping of Tallus's staff to come chasing him through the shadows. Upon each rooftop and against every patch of dark gray sky, he imagined flaming green eyes, watching him from a plume of smoke or standing in the darkness of curtained windows. He paled at the thought of running afoul of the nine skulls, having seen their handiwork firsthand.

His heart thumped a fearful cadence as he waited for the phantoms to become real and deliver his punishment. But the windows remained darkened, the streets empty, and most doors well barred for the evening.

"No more killing tonight," he whispered. "Not that a locked door could stop the circle."

Managing his fears, he stood straight and pulled his collar high to cover his face as he wandered the shadows, taking stock and determining which direction to turn his boots. Cautious, he stayed out of the burning lamplight, a decision more comforting than practical as the circle of skulls needed no light to see him. Though Tallus would discard him as a failure, Dregg doubted the Nine would be so forgiving. He had seen them once, in their circle, and overheard their dealings with the archmage. What they had begun, what they had planned, sent a shiver down his spine, a spark of urgency that quickened his step to escape Waterdeep at all costs.

Rounding a corner down a narrow avenue that would carry him out of Sea Ward and see him out of the city by sunrise, he paused, squinting as his vision blurred. Shadows quivered and shook then jumped from one side of the street to the next. He backed away, his eyes widening as a whispering murmur crawled toward him, creeping across his skin with harsh syllables that chilled him to the bone. They dug into his ears painfully, screeching through his thoughts and numbing his senses. He glimpsed a robed figure within the leaping shreds of darkness and fell to the cobbles in surprise, quickly scrambling to his feet as he clumsily drew his sword.

The murmuring stopped and the shadows stilled.

"Tallus…?" he called out quietly, thoughts racing to excuse his failure, to save his own skin, but no answer came. Tentatively he stepped forward with a glimmer of hope, calling again, "Rilyana?"

A dull ache throbbed in his temples as the cobbles ahead rippled like water and began to swirl. He shook his head, blinking fiercely. A sound like ripping parchment filled the spaces between the buildings, and a fanged pit of utter darkness opened in the center of the unnatural tempest. It snapped and growled, blocking his path and edging closer.

He fell back, sweat beading on his forehead as he turned away, running headlong into the alley beyond. The air thickened as he ran, clinging to his skin like ice. Walls shivered as he passed, pulsing like flesh and growing ragged mouths that whispered his name through jagged, malformed teeth. Streets and alleys once familiar became the winding paths of a nightmare, leading him to strange and hellish places. The sky grew closer, pressing down upon the rooftops, clouds rolling almost within reach as the city threatened to crush him. He struck the reaching tendrils of living walls, drawing lines of foul blood that pooled into rivers at his feet.

The pain in his head, in his mind, intensified, and he fell to his knees, pounding his fists into the cobbles, each blow lessening the ache somewhat. The path ahead of him was swallowed by a wall of wriggling, red things and the alley at his back was gone, just a dark patch of gibbering nothing. From somewhere distant, he felt madness gently lay an unbalancing hand upon his shoulder, and in the brief contact, at the moment when he thought his mind would fracture, he spoke.

"Enough," he rasped, and everything stopped.

Snowflakes caught on his skin and melted as a mild breeze whistled down a stretch of alley. The sky had returned to its place, a flat, gray expanse of clouds above the cold cobbles and smoking chimneys. Up ahead a dark figure stood as though waiting for him. Dregg tried to catch his breath, cursing the circle of skulls even as he wondered how he might betray them and escape.

"This is Tallus's doing. He will betray you," he muttered as the figure approached, a silhouette that did not flicker with shadows or burn him with flaming eyes of emerald. A shining length of enchanted sword flashed in a weakening lamplight. Black hair whipped across cloaked shoulders, and chilling, golden eyes regarded him with hatred and pity.

"What do you know of the nine skulls?" the deva asked.

Taken aback, a burst of nervous laughter escaped Dregg, and he rocked backward, studying the strange alley as he leaned on the point of his sword.

"I surrender, deva. You win," he said, chuckling sheepishly as he reached for a pouch on his belt. "Now how much was Marson paying you?"

"What does Archmage Tallus have planned?" Jinn growled in response.

"I will double your pay," Dregg said, ignoring the question as he worked the bindings on his coin pouch. "And all you have to do is-"

"Where is Sathariel?" the deva asked, voice rising.

"Gold!" Dregg shouted in disbelief, stumbling to his feet and shaking the pouch in one hand, his sword in the other. "A small fortune here and more when we're out of Sea Ward! Understand? Your kind can't afford to turn down hard coin-"

The cold came again as shadows gathered at the periphery of his sight. He struck at them, swinging wildly and stumbling as though drunk, but his blade found nothing to cut.

"Enough sorcery, deva!" he shouted, finding his balance and throwing his coin pouch to the ground. "Save your breath and face me like a man."

Jinn did not move, standing as still as stone. Dregg chuckled wryly as something touched his boot, slithering over its top and wrapping around his ankle. He glanced down at the veined length of a yellow-gray tentacle, crawling out of a thin crack in the street. He pursed his lips in annoyance as he looked to the deva.

"More tricks, is it, then-?" he began but felt a strong tug at his leg.

Dregg slipped to one knee, staring in disbelief as the crack in the street widened and the tentacle wrapped further around his lower leg. More squirmed from beneath the cobbles, grabbing his other leg and reaching for his arms. His attempts to stand were futile, and he panicked, pulling at the rubbery growths even as others took his wrists, disarmed him, and pulled him forcefully toward the slit of darkness.

"No!" he rasped, hearing his sword clatter against a distant stone floor as he fought to remain above ground. A thick length of flesh encircled his head, filling his mouth with the foul taste of mold and decay, stifling his efforts to scream.

"Yes," Jinn replied, kneeling nearby.

The wind strengthened in the long alley as the rorden's legs were pulled into the dark, the frozen air carrying a sudden rush of sound, like a whimpering tide full of rushing, breathy voices. He felt his boots being peeled off, and he curled his toes as if he might stop them, kicking against nothing in a void full of tentacles and thin hands. The whispers grew louder, crashing around him in incoherent waves. He gripped the edge of the street, knuckles white with the strain of holding on as one feminine voice among thousands made itself clear, as if right beside him.

In the mountain's shadow, a king of bones shall hear their confessions.

Dregg puzzled over the words, feeling faint as his strength waned, desperate for meaning as the lamplight grew dim and his chest tightened. He felt divided from himself, a calm observer in a storm of mystery and aching. A sharp, distant pain traveled up his arm as one hand slipped and was jerked into the dark. The other quickly followed, and he strained to hear more of the whispering secrets as he lost the light and was borne down into the black.

Cold flesh shivered as weakened walls shook. Dust fell in gray, cloudy sheets, resting on a congealed surface of tiny, red lakes, their shores dried and blackened. The season kept flies away, though in time, rats appeared, edging furtively from disturbed homes to sniff at the bounty left for them. They scurried forth, snatching pieces away from the whole and returning to their secret places. The walls came alive with scratching and squeaks, some shrill as others stole their juicy prizes in greedy paws and yellowed teeth.

A figure overlooked the proceedings, perched upon an empty pedestal. His wings fluttered with interest as his cold eyes feasted upon the intricacies of the scene, devouring the aesthetics of a curled hand, somehow at odds with a length of glistening bone. Islands of red and blue, dried by exposure, lay scattered in the light of nearby candles. The ragged edges of once-fine cloth were soaked and sticky, wrapped around limbs that no longer required warmth or modesty.

Shadowy feathers in Sathariel's wings shook, briefly distinguishing themselves before dissolving again into the whole. He considered the nuances of the broken wizard's body, ever curious to witness the many stages of mortal death and wondering at the strange finality of the act.

"This all belonged to them once," a voice spoke from the top of the stairs, but the angel did not move, as still as stone, fascinated by the hungry chewing of a brave rodent.

"Yes," he replied. "I came here once over two hundred years ago, looking for the circle of skulls. And here I am again."

Dust and pebbles skittered down the stairs, followed by the tap-tapping of a gnarled, hardwood staff. Sathariel continued his study of the corpse, needing no eyes to smell the arrogant presence of the archmage. He felt as though he were joined by something less than a human and more like a smug smile that had grown a body and legs.

"They crafted genius here," Tallus said, leaning on his staff.

"And you sift through the scraps from their table," Sathariel added and turned his blank visage to the wizard, gratified to see him flinch. Sathariel did not bemoan Tallus his sense of greed or ambition, but the wizard had yet to learn any respect for the angel or Asmodeus, without whose consent he would gain precious little in the days to come. "And this poor soul, did he go willingly to his final rest, serving you until the bitter end?"

"Gorrick was… surprised, to say the least," Tallus answered, barely glancing at the unrecognizable body of his former apprentice. "Before he died he claimed he would see me in the Nine Hells, and he choked while attempting to laugh, but he was the last of my bloodline, a misplaced nephew I had some trouble in tracking down. I do not think I shall miss him much."

"Careful, Archmage. The circle of nine once boasted of slaying their entire bloodlines three hundred years ago and ended up little more than fleshless, floating heads in an alley of no consequence… Also, your enemies have captured Lucian Dregg; I wonder what he shall tell them of you?"

"More annoyances now than enemies; they are much too late," the archmage replied. "Tomorrow evening the spell will be complete, and I shall be far beyond their righteous reach."

"But the skulls' last secret?" Sathariel responded, his wings shivering in anticipation. "You have it?"

"No, though when I begin the ritual's ending, they will be forced to tell me," the wizard said with a sly smile that made Sathariel's claws itch. "If they do not, they will have failed again."

"You should not gamble on ifs, wizard," the angel said, the walls shaking with each word. "The consequences for failure…"

"Would be dire for us both," Tallus said, meeting Sathariel's cold eyes for a breath longer than the angel had expected, a feat few mortals were capable of. "I have all that I need to complete the skulls' ritual. I have fulfilled my duty to Asmodeus. Can you claim as much?"

Sathariel shook with rage, his wings eclipsing the last of the room's light. The wizard's audacity was almost fragrant, like so many challenges Sathariel had accepted in the throne rooms of dark gods without question, but despite all, he remained patient. He felt threads upon threads tightening into a weave he had worked to orchestrate over centuries, and he would not let the arrogance of one human deny him the fires he so desired to set in Waterdeep.

"Let us not assume too much," he answered at length, drawing close to the averted gaze of the wizard. "The prophecy of the First Flensing was written centuries ago, divinely inspired by our master. You should have more faith."

"Faith in what, pray tell?" Tallus asked.

"That you are superfluous to our requirements, less than a footnote in Asmodeus's great plans," Sathariel replied, enjoying the twitch in the archmage's eye. "You were merely convenient and far less than ideal. We applaud your duplicity and eagerness to be of service, but do not estimate your worth as too much higher than the drying remains of young Gorrick. Be grateful you have lived this long."

Tallus turned and limped back up the stairs. Sathariel found the scent of the human's fury delightful and ascended in his wake, amused also at the scent of blood on Tallus's hands. There was blood and something else, something sweet-perfume. The angel chuckled, the susurrus of his laughter hissing through the remains of the archmage's tower.

"Find something amusing?" the wizard asked from the doorway.

"Indeed. It is a riddle, one that I look forward to being answered," he replied, rising into the tower, the whoosh of his wings stirring up the dust into tiny whirlwinds.

"Where are you going?"

"Worry not, human," Sathariel said, his voice booming through the tower as he rose toward the shattered roof. "We have not placed all of our faith upon you, and I have others to visit this night."

He broke through the remains of rotted rafters, winging into the night and leaving the aging wizard to stare after him, confused and mystified.

Good, he thought.

He banked south over Sea Ward, gazing upon the whole of Waterdeep, his appointed place to watch over and cultivate for his master. As the mortals below shivered in their beds and awoke to the horrendous murders of morning, they would scramble for meaning and search for the guilty. Sathariel almost pitied their ignorance, their fascination with the insignificant details of a crime that served only to trap their attention.

"All is well," he whispered, and he began a slow descent, to one last meeting before dawn.