Circle of Skulls

THREE

NIGHTAL 19, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

Steam swirled above the greenish sludge in the labyrinth of Waterdeep's sewers. Rats huddled along the bordering catwalks, gathering for warmth, fighting and cannibalizing the weak when hunger demanded a sacrifice. Moonlight glimmered ghostlike down through a hidden entrance in Torch Lane above, twinkling in Essirel's eyes as he drew his dirty cloak tighter against the cold. His breath came slow and even, almost mechanical, his heartbeat much the same.

Thought and even the memory of emotion was rare and fleeting, serving more to confuse him than to offer hope, though he struggled to hang on to those moments. He could not help but fail, so lost was the soul that had driven his ambitions and desires. Only the moon and the rats kept him company as he waited, filled with dread-the only real feeling he had been allowed to keep-for the beating of its wings, the call of his master's voice.

Others shifted closer, their once-fine robes almost unidentifiable, covered in the filth of miles of sewers. Dull eyes led them to share in Essirel's moonlight, to watch for the shadow across the moon, to listen for the thunder of the angel Sathariel. They crawled closer on hands and knees, pressing close at Essirel's shoulder, the stink they brought swallowed by the pervading scents of the sewer. He swayed as they crowded around him, blank faces upturned to the glow.

A terrible will was gathering them, bringing them to clean streets and wealthy homes with the promise of redemption. Essirel gasped at the thought but was left slack jawed a breath later, drool stringing slowly down his chin. There had been a moment, seemingly eons ago, when he'd seen the bright spark of himself, watched it glow, tethered to him by ephemeral strands of being before it had been ripped away. Every moment since, every breath had been the same, lost in the moonlight, moving to the will of some distant mind, shuffling through the streets to that place, far from the dark altars of the Vigilant Order.

Heavy ripples flowed through the sewage, and Essirel's eyes widened, his gut twisting in pain as a quiet rumble of thunder resonated through the tunnels. In that breath he felt his soul shudder in its prison, writhing in the guts of his lord's servant, the devouring angel sent to punish him and his brethren. The bodies around him stirred and began to rise, reaching up with filth-encrusted hands, ready to serve if only for the chance at forgiveness. The clarity held for a moment, and Essirel resisted the call, drawing breath to scream and clutching at his chest where he'd last seen the spark of his existence torn from him, but the scream never came.

His hands fell to the damp stone beneath him, and he pushed himself to his feet, reaching for the rusted rungs of an old ladder, and pulled. Soulless and directionless, he followed the rumbling voice of an angel, determined to serve, called to hide among the cold streets until the time of the Flensing when he might glimpse the terrible face of his god.

And the time was near.

Jinn paused before the gates of the House of Wonder, studying the symbols on the wrought iron and steeling himself for what lay within. The sketches of Alma's body seemed to burn a hole in his pocket, teasing him. Like found gold, he clutched them close on the walk from Westwall, certain he was close to his quarry and half expecting Sathariel to come for him any moment. He was tired of the constant questions and cryptic answers. He had no care for the blood spilled in Sea Ward and had quietly promised whatever Power might be listening that he would walk away from the strange killings happily if he might do so with Sathariel's angelic blood on his blade.

Sighing, he resigned himself to the slow hunt and raised his hand to the house's gate.

"Are you a wizard, saer?"

Jinn spun around, hand on his sword, only to find an officer of the Watch at his back, a lean man with a sharp, wolflike face, half-lidded eyes, and a thin smile set on his wide mouth. A pair of crossed, diagonal slashes on the officer's tabard declared his rank. At the officer's back, a patrol of seven men had paused, glancing toward the pair at the gates, but talking low among themselves. Jinn let his hand fall away from his sword.

"Not at all, Swordcaptain," Jinn answered. "Merely visiting, Officer…?"

"Dregg," the man replied. "It's a bit late for a visit, isn't it? Streets can be dangerous after dark. Lots of undesirables hanging about lately."

Jinn narrowed his eyes at Dregg's ignorant comments. There were some in Sea Ward who referred to any race other than human as undesirable, sneering at the so-called lesser races as unworthy upstarts, usurpers of human wealth and safety. At each meeting with an elf or dwarf in the streets, they scowled, considering the high walls of Waterdeep a failure for allowing such trash to contaminate their communities.

"You speak true, Swordcaptain," Jinn said with a threatening smile, gold eyes flashing. "One would do well to avoid such confrontations, wouldn't one?"

Dregg's smile faded, but he did not avert his gaze. He took a step forward, looking Jinn up and down with a cold sneer.

"Jinnaoth," Dregg said as if spitting the name. "You are Rorden Allek's pet, are you not?"

"Allek is an old friend," Jinn replied, sensing something other than mere racism in Dregg's demeanor-something personal, though he had never met the man before.

"The rorden thinks you may be of use somehow, though I cannot imagine why." Dregg stared down his nose at the deva. "Perhaps he is more desperate than I thought."

Jinn clenched his fists and half turned back to the gate, determined not to fall prey to the man's baiting. Should he strike an officer under Allek's command in full view of a Watch patrol, he would find his task in Sea Ward doubly difficult to accomplish. Collecting himself, he raised his hand again to the gate, assuming their conversation to be at an end.

"Careful," Dregg said. "They'll not just let any stray from off the street darken their doorstep."

"Indeed," Jinn replied and quickly traced a sigil over the gate latch, the iron glowing softly where he touched it before producing an audible click. As the gate swung inward, Jinn stepped inside, turning to close it behind him and adding, "I trust I'll not see you within, Swordcaptain Dregg."

He left the human glowering at his back as he calmly made his way through the wizards' well-tended courtyard, measuring his stride beneath the tall towers of the House of Wonder. Dregg joined his patrol at length and disappeared down the street. Jinn stared after him, composing himself before entering the house and wondering when he might encounter the swordcaptain again.

He had a feeling that no matter when it occurred, it would be far too soon.

The tall, ornate doors of the House of Wonder opened with a welcoming rush of warm air but left Jinn standing alone in the shadowed entrance hall. Though it was late, enchanted candles still flickered in sconces along the walls, scents of jasmine and sandalwood drifted on the air, and voices echoed softly nearby in whispered conversation. The distinct hiss of turning pages drew his eye to an archway at the far end of the hall, the main library, where he might begin his search for the origins of the sigils that had been carved on Alma's stomach, but he stood still, not venturing beyond the dark, patterned carpet within the front doors. The House of Wonder was not without its guardians.

In moments the air before him thickened, wavering as a misty shape coalesced an arm's length away. White eyes stared at him from a nearly featureless face, though he could see, through the specter's haze, the fading details of a once-proud wizard in long, flowing robes. An unnatural chill surrounded the ghostly figure as it regarded him blankly.

He repeated the sigil he had traced on the gates, drawing it in the air.

The specter nodded and faded away. As it did, the whole of the hallway shimmered, an illusion giving way to reality. The arching doorways changed places on the walls, and the length of the hallway doubled, revealing yet more doors and a tall, winding staircase at the end. Jinn smiled at the old magic, putting his meeting with Swordcaptain Dregg to the back of his mind, and made his way to the library's familiar arch, on the opposite wall from where it had appeared earlier and more brightly lit than before.

Several figures sat huddled over old tomes, their faces lit by the house's seemingly endless supply of enchanted candles. No one looked up at his arrival, too engrossed in their studies or quiet conversations to bother themselves with guests. He turned to the tall windows in the southern wall. Where one might have expected to find a view of the surrounding gardens, the high wall, and the city skyline beyond, the windows showed only rolling fields of waving grass beneath a brilliant, moonlit sky full of stars. A familiar figure in simple, dark blue robes stood before the easternmost window, twisting a long braid of dark red hair through her fingers as she gazed upon the false stars, her moon elf skin almost glowing in the illusory light.

Jinn took a deep breath, and though he approached her quietly, she turned almost as if she were expecting him. Her pale blue eyes regarded him without the least bit of surprise.

"I had not thought to see you so soon, Jinnaoth," she said, "though the stars have, of late, told me otherwise."

"Quessahn," Jinn said quietly. "I am sorry to disturb you, but-"

"No, you are not," she said sharply with a tight smile. "You are a single-minded bastard with little thought for anyone or anything that gets in your way."

Jinn noticed several nearby students look up, eyeing the pair before returning to their studies. He bit back a curse and wondered if he had made a mistake. It would not be the first time where Quessahn was involved.

"Then I pray you forgive my futile attempt at formality," he replied.

"No, it suits you, despite all." Quessahn turned and motioned him toward the hallway where they could speak without disturbing the others. "What brings you here?"

"Murder," he said, measuring his words and seeing no need to mention Sathariel or the Vigilant Order just yet. "A series of them."

"All in the last month or so," she added. "Yes, the Watch keeps many secrets at times, but this is one they've been hard pressed to maintain."

"How many others know?" Jinn asked, already imagining doubled Watch patrols, curfews, wealthy families abandoning their manors for other homes while adventurous sightseers sneaked through the streets hoping to glimpse the murderer, all the things that might make his job that much more difficult.

"Know? Only myself that I'm aware of," Quessahn answered, leading him farther down the hallway, where a smaller extension of the library lay empty. "But rumors spread, about missing people-kidnappings, ambitious sons and daughters unwilling to wait for inheritances, and the like."

"And how do you know they are anything more than just rumor?" he asked.

"I saw," she said plainly. "Three of the bodies, recently, but only at a distance. The Watch had already arrived with dark sheets and sawdust to clean the blood. It seemed as though they had things under control, so I never bothered to ask. I doubt they would have wanted my help anyway."

Relief trickled into his thoughts, though he had suspected the wizards had known about the murders all along, as he had almost hoped they knew of Sathariel. He paced to the window, plotting how he might catch a killer that could be anyone-and wondering if the effort would only be a waste of time. There was no assurance the angel or the order were involved at all.

"I expect that if you are here, there is more than just blood on the ground," Quessahn said, pulling him from his thoughts. The unspoken question sparkled in her eyes, but there was also accusation in their sky blue depths. She'd worn a similar expression before, shortly after they'd met a few years earlier, but Jinn was never sure where her suspicion had come from nor her strange familiarity with him. She spoke to him as if she'd known him all his life. He never asked why, and she never offered explanations.

He pulled the sketches from his coat and handed them to her wordlessly, unwilling to lie but not yet ready to divulge the full truth. She turned the pages slowly with a troubled expression, tracing the symbols.

"They are old," she said. "Older than me. Arcane to be sure, but something else taints the way they are rendered, markings where there should be none, almost like two languages overlapped."

"Also, what do you know of a circle of skulls?" he asked.

"What?" she said. "The skulls?"

"Quessahn."

Jinn turned, finding a bearded man in dark robes standing in the doorway, dark eyes glowering at the elf under bushy, black eyebrows. A young man stood at the wizard's back, sneering over his shoulder at the startled pair.

"Archmage Tallus," Quessahn replied as she turned, hiding the sketches behind her back.

Tallus strode into the room, calmly looking Jinn up and down as he tapped a gnarled wooden staff on the floor with each step. Turning to Quessahn, he stopped, glancing between her and the deva.

"It is not your place to entertain guests here at your whim, Quessahn," he said, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "I suggest if you wish to continue your studies, that you escort this fellow-"

"I am not the guest of Quessahn, Archmage," Jinn said, taking a half step between the two. "I have been given, some time ago, a standing invitation from Master Bastun Nesraan of Rashemen, currently in Shadowdale, I believe."

"Master Bastun," Tallus muttered. "Why am I not surprised, with his soft spot for adventurers and trouble-makers. He would open our doors to all manner of… guests, if he had his way, I imagine. However, Bastun is not here, it is late, and our students cannot be interrupted-"

"I'm afraid my invitation is not dependent upon the kind master's presence." Jinn stepped forward. "And I doubt your peers would look favorably upon your ousting the invited guest of a colleague, even in his absence."

Tallus adjusted his staff before him, its dull tap on the floor more firm than before. "Indeed," he replied, a slight growl hiding behind the word. "And what business brings you here to disturb dear Quessahn so late? What, might I ask, could not wait until morning?"

"My business must remain my own, Archmage," Jinn answered carefully, detecting a knowing smirk behind the wizard's beard. "And it has no hour upon which it is dependent, though when it calls, I answer with haste."

Tallus stood quietly a moment longer, as though considering the answer and still sizing up the deva with his dark eyes. Jinn noted the man's white-knuckled grip on the gnarled staff, the detail belying the wizard's otherwise perfect calm.

"I see," the archmage said, slowly turning to leave. "Then may your stay be pleasant and your business conducted swiftly, saer Jinnaoth."

"I do not recall introducing myself," Jinn said to the wizard's back.

"You did not," Tallus replied. "Give my regards to Rorden Marson."

Jinn stood stone still as the wizard left, though his eyes burned into the archmage's back, questioning his instincts and finding suspicion seemingly at every turn. He preferred dealing with devils and monsters; any beast that wore its intentions honestly was better than the petty secrets and half-hidden prejudices of mortals.

"Well, I see you're still making friends as easily as ever," Quessahn said, "though in your defense I doubt that Tallus has any friends at all."

"Can you decipher the symbols?" Jinn asked, more sharply than he'd intended.

"I will try," she answered. "And afterwards I will also assist you and the rorden."

"No. That will not be necessary-," he began; then he caught the stern look in her eye and cursed the eladrin's stubbornness.

"It is most certainly necessary," she said. "I don't know what your true business is here, but I have some knowledge of your technique in matters like this. These are murders, Jinn, not casualties. I intend to make sure that is not forgotten."

A part of him knew she was right, a part that seemed to speak up less and less in his thoughts as centuries and lives rolled by. He found compassion to be a difficult trait to maintain, one that every evil in the world took pleasure in exploiting.

"Fine," he answered and strode toward the door. "Gateclose tomorrow, in the alley."

He didn't wait for her reply, shoving the house's doors open. He missed the glimmering memory of ancient wars, the simplicity of facing an enemy across a shining field of battle, the trumpets of challenge and victory, but most of all he missed the memory of her, Variel, the deva he'd found after four millennia in the unlikely city of Waterdeep-the companion he'd lost to Sathariel.

By the time he'd reached Mara's shop, his fury had faded somewhat, replaced by exhaustion. Bodies, sigils, rumors, and ghostly skulls haunted him up the stairs, mysteries for which he had little stomach or patience, but for Variel, he would answer the call of his ancient spirit, with all eternity laid out before him to make right what he had once let slip away.

Tallus stood at his chamber window, looking down as Jinnaoth disappeared in the dark of Pharra's Alley. He ground the base of his gnarled staff into the floor angrily, drumming his fingertips on the windowsill and contemplating the winding, well-lit streets of Sea Ward from the heights of the House of Wonder.

"Gorrick," he called, causing a sharp intake of breath from the doorway.

His apprentice rushed into the room, robes swishing on the floor. "Yes, Archmage?" Gorrick said, and Tallus could imagine the fear in the ambitious young man's eyes. He would have smiled, enjoying the boy's discomfort, if not for the fact he knew Gorrick's fear did not lie entirely with the archmage.

"Return to the libraries. Keep a watchful eye upon Quessahn," he commanded. Though he doubted the eladrin warlock would discover anything useful in the common books available to students of the house, he did not want to take any chances. "Be discreet."

"Yes, Archmage," Gorrick said and swiftly left to obey, closing the chamber door behind himself.

Tallus was not overly fond of his apprentice, but he and Gorrick were two of a kind in the city, held under the same thumb and both threatened by the arrival of Jinnaoth. Gorrick was unaware of the threat the deva represented, but Tallus would not underestimate Jinnaoth as his brothers once had-he would deal with the problem quickly and efficiently.

"You are a fool," a hollow voice thundered, sending chills down his spine. Shadows lengthened through the room, encroaching along the walls and ceiling, crackling like dead leaves. The darkness pressed against him, edging him closer to the pane of glass. Tallus imagined he could hear distant wails and screams, the thousand or more souls trapped within the innards of the angel, imprisoned by foul and ancient magic.

"Sathariel," Tallus managed. "You should not come to this place. You risk too much."

"Your wizards do not care." Sathariel chuckled, the sound rumbling in Tallus's mind, scattering his thoughts. "They have their studies and spells, desperate for what magic they can grasp in their greedy minds. The world will have been long burning before they think to research rituals of water."

Despite himself, Tallus nodded in agreement, suspecting few of the idiots downstairs could see far beyond their own noses, but he knew there were a few who watched and listened, who still imagined themselves a part of the world beyond the walls of the house. Quessahn was a threat. Willful and often disobedient, she sought magic not for herself, but for others, wasting her talents on those who would never accept her, never trust her.

"Beware the deva, Tallus," the angel whispered in his ear, the words stinking of decay. "Leave him and the moon elf be."

Shapes fluttered at the edge of the crawling dark, brushing against the walls like long, black feathers. Motes of disturbed dust drifted down from the ceiling.

Tallus pushed back from the window slowly, forcing himself to stand against the inexplicable heaviness of the angel's presence.

"They will get in the way and slow the process down," he said. "I cannot risk their interference."

"Alas, it is your pride you fear to risk," Sathariel replied, chuckling again close to the back of Tallus's neck without breath or humor. "Pardon my amusement; I have some appreciation for the vices of mortals."

"My pride shall be satisfied by following the correct course of action," Tallus shot back angrily. "The deva must be removed. As for his allies… well, all in due course."

"I shall leave you to it, then," the angel said softly. "But do not neglect your obligations to me, wizard. Let the nine skulls of the circle be an example to you. Should you fail me, you will not be as fortunate as they."

The shadows receded, the sound of blown leaves being withdrawn as the angel's wings disappeared into nothingness. A forgotten candle guttered back to its false light, leaving Tallus to watch as shambling figures wound their way down Pharra's Alley, scattering themselves throughout the ward. He shuddered at their miserable fates and absently rubbed at the crimson tattoo on his left arm beneath his robes.

The Vigilant Order might rise again or fall to the depths of the Nine Hells, all on his success or failure in the next few days. His gaze rested at last upon the innocuous cobbles before the gates of the House of Wonder. He placed thoughts of the angel at the back of his mind and focused instead on the circle of skulls, preparing himself for their service.

As he did so, he smiled, a plan forming that would end his concerns about the deva and leave him to finish his great work in peace. Breath shortening, he coughed, a stab of pain rushing through his chest. He gasped as his heart seized and fluttered. He stumbled backward, leaning against the edge of his desk, breathless and wide eyed, gritting his teeth until the pain passed. The recurring attacks had grown more persistent, leaving him weak and clutching at his chest for what seemed an eternity. Recovering slowly, he breathed deeply and looked forward to the moment when such debilitating ailments were no longer his to worry about.