Circle of Skulls

SEVEN

NIGHTAL 20, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

Several blocks of cold streets passed in an unremarkable blur, Quessahn's mind elsewhere, her eyes only mechanically watching her surroundings. The gates of the House of Wonder opened noiselessly, the cold iron numbing her fingers until the warmth of the House's corridors brought the feeling back in comfortable waves. Melting snow on the back of her neck sent chills down her spine as she passed the spectral guardian and made her way to the tall stairs at the far end of the house.

The scratching of quills on parchment was the only indication she was not alone as she took the first step, grinding her teeth and steeling herself to deal with the insufferable Archmage Tallus. She'd always rolled her eyes when others mentioned the patience of long-lived elves and eladrin, for she had no patience for the archmage, but she suspected he could be of help to her. Some of the books in his library were whispered about among other students of the Art, and having had only fleeting glimpses at the tomes, Quessahn knew that at least half of the rumors were true.

If anyone possessed the knowledge to unravel the spell being cast in spilled blood, it would be Tallus. The other masters she did not know as well and was not sure who among them she could trust, but with the archmage at least she knew where she stood. It would have to be enough.

The hallway at the top of the stairs stretched several strides to the south, far longer than any exterior view of the building might have led the casual observer to believe, just one of the many wonders in the old house. Her lip curled in disgust, expecting any moment to be accosted by Gorrick, Tallus's lapdog apprentice and as intolerable as his master. But halfway to the archmage's door, Gorrick never appeared, nor did there seem to be any light shining beneath the door at an hour the archmage was usually up and about.

She listened at the door, hearing nothing, and tentatively knocked just loud enough to be heard by anyone awake. There was no answer. She laid a hand on the handle, heart hammering in her chest, and the door opened easily, unlocked and barely shut. Pushing it open fully, she gasped in wonder, wide eyed at the bare walls, faint outlines of bright paint where shelves had once stood, impressions in old dust where a large desk had sat. Naught remained but a square of light from the window and the burned-out nub of a candle on the ledge.

Tallus was gone.

"Bloody Mystra," she swore, her mind racing at the possible implications, thoughts coming back around to what had brought her to the room in the first place. "If anyone possessed the knowledge," she muttered and closed the door behind herself, swiftly crossing the mystical hallway as if it, too, would disappear and leave her stranded somewhere between reality and nothing.

NIGHTAL 21, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

The afternoon sun painted the winter sky pink and violet as Jinn strolled slowly through Pharra's Alley, searching the faces of a dispersing crowd. Hopeful students gathered daily before the gates of the House of Wonder, some performing minor tricks for passersby. Illusions danced at their feet and flew through the air, their makers' chants accompanied by the occasional clink of a coin dropped into tin cups at their feet. Jinn saw no familiar faces among the crowd, but he hadn't truly expected to. He was passing by the House only on the remote chance of spotting Archmage Tallus.

Quessahn, after informing them of the archmage's disappearance, had remained strangely quiet, she and Mara regarding one another with a chilled silence he hadn't yet deciphered. He ignored their discomfort. Having last seen Tallus at the Storm's Front, just before Allek had been killed, he was more than eager to question the wizard.

As the bells of gateclose sounded, pealing through the streets, one crowd's dispersal seemed to cue the slow appearance of another. Jinn smiled slyly as they passed by the alley's mouth in small groups. Formal costumes of black and white, chased in silver and gold, were the favored looks for the evening as early celebrants gathered in the failing light. Painted masks leered as they drifted by, some simple with subtle designs, a few others garishly designed with feathers and fanged mouths. A pair of coaches sped toward one or another of several celebrations, false faces blurred within the confines of thin glass as they turned left up the street.

Jinn had no particular love of the revived Winterfirst celebrations, an archaic and mystical ceremony reduced to an excuse for expense and pomp among the wealthy. But he could not deny its usefulness. He adjusted the plain white mask over his features and pulled his hood low, nodding respectfully to a passing patrol of the Watch. For one night at least, he could conduct his business without too much complication.

"We can't just knock and expect to be invited in as guests," Quessahn said as they made their way up Flint Street. "Tallus is not entirely fond of either of us to begin with. If he's involved in these killings…"

"We'll only observe," Jinn replied. "At first."

"Then we'll knock," Mara added, smiling from behind her thin-handled mask. "I am infinitely curious to peruse his library."

They passed the hollowed remains of the Storm's Front, the windows not yet boarded up and the area still smelling of smoke. Jinn turned toward a district of tall towers and large homes, putting the tavern to his back, his stride quickening at the thought of Allek left to bum inside. He whispered a prayer for his friend's forgiveness just as he caught sight of a swaggering figure near the end of the street.

"Dregg," he said and slowed, sliding casually into the shadows of closed shops on the north side of the street. Though well out of sight, he soon realized he needn't have bothered. The former swordcaptain's swagger seemed well enhanced by early drinking. His uniform still dirty from the previous evening, his boots still grayed with ash, the acting rorden seemed comfortable in his new role-until, Jinn reasoned, the Watch superiors caught up to him.

Fortunately for Lucian Dregg, much of the Watch's attention was focused elsewhere; a gang war stretching from Mistshore into Downshadow had left the relatively peaceful Sea Ward under Rorden Allek's supervision for some time. Dregg would have time to enjoy his usurped title.

"Jinn," Mara whispered, pointing at the human. "The dagger."

Jinn narrowed his eyes, noting the glint of silver at Dregg's belt, an ornate dagger standing out on the unkempt rorden like a lit candle in a dark room. He balled his fists, eyeing the number of people in the streets with a curse.

Too many witnesses, he thought.

"What is it?" Quessahn asked.

"The dagger belonged to Allek," Jinn explained. "I gave it to him when he became rorden."

"Gods," she replied. "He stole it from Allek's body."

"No he didn't," Mara said, lowering her handled mask. "Allek never wore the dagger."

Mara's eyes remained fixed on the rorden as Jinn turned, seeing something in her face he'd glimpsed only a few times. She had been friendly with Allek Marson out of habit, a part of her disguise, but she had been among mortals for longer than even he knew. He would never see tears in her eyes, never remorse or regret, but the hag knew revenge, that he could count upon.

"Stay here," he told Mara. "Keep an eye on Dregg. See what he gets up to."

"Where are we going?" Quessahn asked, laying a firm hand on Jinn's arm and forcing him to face her, adding, "Do not even think you'll leave me here as well."

"No, I'll need your help," he answered and turned back the way they'd come. "We're going to Allek's home first. We'll catch up to Tallus later."

They rushed back down Flint Street to the southern end of the ward, hiding themselves in groups of party-goers, ducking down side streets to avoid Watch patrols. He had no fear of being recognized by Dregg, but he expected the men under his command to be more competent. They would begin questioning random citizens, ask for masks to be removed before moving on-all the trademarks of a well-trained force. It was Allek's legacy in uniform, and Jinn worked to avoid each patrol, not wanting to have cause to harm that legacy.

After several turns and a long, winding path through the southern part of the ward, they approached the modest home of Allek Marson warily, hiding in the shadows of early evening between the houses. Few in that area of Sea Ward would be attending any of the night's festivities, unless they were hired to cook or serve.

Satisfied that no one was around, Jinn and Quessahn ascended the short steps and tested the front door. The lock was smashed, the brass doorknob still lying on the ground, smudged by dark prints. Jinn entered the house, noting the ashy boot prints just inside and feeling his blood boil at the thought of Dregg violating the privacy of his friend's home. The office had been ransacked, though to Allek's credit, there was little to destroy save a small desk, a comfortable chair, and a low table covered in various broadsheets from across the city.

Quessahn lit a lantern, and Jinn's gaze immediately turned to the fireplace on the opposite side of the room. An empty knife stand remained on the mantle where Allek had kept the gifted dagger stolen by Dregg. A fine painting, one of Allek's few valuable possessions, lay on the floor, sliced to shreds.

"Should we be looking for anything specific?" Quessahn asked.

"No," Jinn answered. "But I expect we'll know it when we see it. We know how Allek was killed; now we need to know why."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He opened them slowly, taking in the details of the room. Aside from the general mess, Jinn saw little out of order save for the dark smudges of heeled boot prints throughout the room. He followed them as Quessahn raised the lantern high, tracking them to the base of a narrow stairway just outside a small kitchen. He took the stairs and Quessahn followed. The eerie silence set his nerves on edge, and he kept a hand on his sword, wondering if they were truly alone.

Allek's bedroom was just as sparse as his office: a simple bed, a chest of drawers, and a small desk by the single window. Nothing appeared disturbed and the shadows created by the lantern revealed no hidden assassins. Just the same, Jinn did not let down his guard, sensing something beyond the mere ghost and memories of a murdered friend.

"How long before Dregg is replaced, do you think?" Quessahn asked as she set the lantern down and laid out a scroll on the bed, her rune-covered dagger in hand.

"Long enough," he replied and sat down at the desk, opening drawers. "It is not unknown for some officers to take private donations-sharpening the blade, I believe they call it. If someone in particular wants Dregg in charge for some reason, then it can be afforded."

"Long enough, then," she said as Jinn pulled forth a bundle of letters from the desk's bottom drawer, each of them smelling of fine perfume. He leaned closer to the lantern, making out the name Rilyana Saerfynn on each of the missives. Quessahn cleared her throat, waving her dagger over the scroll and whispering arcane words, each followed by a spark of glowing light from the parchment as the writing burned itself away.

Jinn tucked the letters into his coat and sat quietly as the eladrin performed the ritual, a working of sight from what he could recognize among the recited passages. Her eyelids fluttered as the magic took shape, tiny arcs of energy rippling across her face, her voice reaching a quiet crescendo, leaving her breathless and shaking. Her bright blue eyes pooled with clouds of swirling black as visions of the recent past rushed into them.

"Lucian Dregg," she muttered, cocking her head as if listening to a quiet conversation. "He was here, drunk and swearing at… something… at someone?"

"Who else?" Jinn pressed, and she spun around, blinking fiercely and squinting. She stood at the top of the stairs, her ear against the wall, eyes rolling.

"Archmage Tallus," she answered and squeezed her eyes shut, covering her ears. "They're shouting, fighting about something!"

Jinn stood and grabbed her elbow as she swayed forward over the stairway, reeling in the grip of the magic. She grabbed his hand, sinking to her knees, trembling and trying to catch her breath.

"What are they saying?" he asked quietly, careful not to startle her.

"Too many voices," she managed. "Hundreds… screaming." She inhaled, arching her back torturously and shouting, her voice hellish as she dismissed the spell and collapsed in Jinn's arms, breathing heavily. She got to her feet unsteadily, black eyes clearing to blue, like the sky revealed by a passing storm. "Something was with them. Something old and powerful. I couldn't see through it, couldn't hear. It was like a hole hanging in the air on black wings…"

"Sathariel," Jinn whispered, thoughts racing as he tried to fathom what business had been conducted in Allek's home, scarce hours after the rorden had been slain.

"Bloody Mystra," Quessahn swore, regaining her balance. Then she froze as a whimpering groan, guttural and plaintive, echoed from somewhere downstairs.

Jinn drew his sword, his instincts proving honest on at least one undeniable fact.

They were not alone.

Harsh-worded rhymes drifted in the air as Tallus chanted, slowly turning a short length of ash wood between his fists. Standing in the dark at the back door of Allek's home, he strained to pull the magic into shape, smiling in triumph at each victory, each curve or bend that formed to his will. The energy swirled around him tentatively, like an animal fearing a trap. He had read accounts of magic use before the Spellplague and pitied those who had drawn upon the well-ordered threads of the old Weave, as if magic were an instrument waiting for simple breath to give it life. They hadn't suffered for the Art, hadn't wrestled the raw energy of magic into a usable shape with mere words and willpower. He saw achievement of the Art as a crucible and many of those who had once been long lived upon the magic of the past were long dead due to the storm of magic that he had learned to command.

With a final phrase, the first spell was complete, and he stepped back, grinning as an oily sheen crawled over the windows and doors of the Marson house, sealing it such that his next spell would eliminate the loose threads Rorden Allek had invited into Sea Ward.

You're wasting time, Archmage, the angel said in his mind. Tallus sneered.

"The skulls are well tended," he replied, returning his attention to the spell at hand. "And I shall gain from them all I need soon after midnight."

Truly? Sathariel said. The winter air grew colder, numbing Tallus's hands. The angel's shadow fell upon the house, wings outstretched, his face like a smooth, black mask haloed by an ebony flame. I wonder, who is betraying whom?

"What do you care? We shall both have what we want!" Tallus spit back, growing tired of the angel's meddling and thinking he would have rather dealt with Asmodeus directly.

Take care, Archmage, that the skulls do not get what they want. The angel descended, his black eyes hovering inches from Tallus's face. Or you shall share in their punishment.

"You flatter me," Tallus said. "I would not dare attempt to fool a god as they once did."

Mind your tongue! Sathariel's voice tore through his mind like lightning, ripping through his confidence and racking his body with pain. He fell to his knees, breathless and clutching at his chest. Have some respect or the only immortality you shall receive will be in the burning pits of Nessus. Now finish this petty business, and do not try my patience further!

Cold wind rushed around Tallus, whipping at his robes as Sathariel left him gasping and shaking. Grunting with effort, he raised the ash wood, turned it once more between his fists, and chanted the last of his ritual. As the wood rotted and crumbled in his grasp, he threw it against the back door and fell forward, cursing as the pain faded from his chest and lirnbs. Rising slowly on his hands and knees, he spied the pale, wide-eyed face of his apprentice watching him from the bushes along the side of the house.

"Quit cowering, Gorrick," he said, clearing his throat and regaining his voice. He brushed the rotted wood from his hands and nodded in satisfaction, done with the deva and the eladrin. Leaning on his staff, he scowled as Gorrick fell into step at his side and prepared himself for the rest of the evening's work and for dealing with the circle of skulls. Though they had been weakened by the Spellplague, he knew his acting could not fool them for long. If he gave the circle of skulls cause to sense his duplicity, all would be lost. "Tell the others to ready themselves; then return to my tower. I have important work for you."

"Yes, Archmage," Gorrick said, grinning and placing a Winterfirst mask over his face before setting out to begin the last rites.

Tallus watched him go then limped slowly out to the street, heading home and taking a peculiar interest in his own weaknesses, his aching joints and untrustworthy pulse, forging a memory of them that would make his victory all the sweeter.

"Important work indeed," he muttered.

Quessahn flinched at the sound of a chair sliding across the wood floor. She stared down into the inky dark of the stairway, her moon elf eyes strangely unable to penetrate shadows that ebbed and flowed like water. Jinn stood still as a statue, sword drawn and listening intently, his gold eyes narrowed to tiny glints of light in the faint glow of the lantern. Closing her eyes, she pressed her palms to her head, shutting out the echoing sounds and sights from her previous ritual, the screams of a thousand souls in torment attempting to shatter the calm she would need in the next few moments.

The spells slowly overtook the visions, their singsong rhymes setting her at ease as she whispered their ancient names, calling upon the mystical sources that fueled her magic. A hand fell on her arm, and she looked up, her flesh tingling at the contact as she saw the question in Jinn's eyes. She nodded, waving her hand to signal that she was fine as she crept back into the bedroom and pulled back the curtains from the window. Her reflection stared back at her, illuminated by the weak lantern light. The glass was cold and clammy, black as fresh tar, and though the latch was unlocked, it resisted her attempts to open it. Desperate, she smashed the pommel of her dagger into the window, cursing as the spiderweb of cracks slowed and reversed itself, repairing the damage.

"We're trapped," she whispered.

"And something is down there," he added.

"Not someone?" she asked.

"No," he answered as a chill breeze blew up the stairs, bringing with it a stench of decay that burned her nose and made her stomach turn. The smell seemed to seep through the wood, hissing through the walls as an unintelligible murmur came from the bottom of the stairs.

"What is it?" she managed, covering her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to block the smell.

"It's here," he said.

In the shadows at the base of the stairway, the shape of a figure coalesced in the dark, a black silhouette in the shadow so faint that Quessahn suspected she could have imagined it. The mere sight of it chilled her skin, and her breath came in steamy puffs as the figure half crawled up the bottom steps in nervous twitches. She stepped back as Jinn raised his sword, a spell on her lips as she brandished her ritual dagger and noticed movement to her right.

The lantern's light shrunk as a patch of shadow on the bedroom wall darkened, spreading like a mold stain and slowly taking shape. A masklike face of deepest black pressed through the wall with crude gouges for eyes and a pitlike mouth twisted in quiet suffering. A thin, emaciated arm stretched through the plaster, reaching for her as the thing's hollow eyes found her.

A shock wave of icy energy gripped her chest, and she fell back, her heart thumping painfully as the thing's torso flowed through the wall. Its ghostly face drooped, a theater mask of sorrow, as it moaned in hunger. Her hands seemed unnaturally pale as she raised them, turning her dagger in a graceful curve as the rhyme of the spell poured from her cold lips, pulling raw magic to her fingertips and shaping it into a searing light that blazed across the room.

The thing hissed in pain as the light crashed into its chest. It writhed and beat at the walls, the light spreading across its body, its flesh rippling as it pulled back into the wood and plaster.

Turning back to the stairs, she saw the dull flash of Jinn's blade as it severed the grasping fingers of another of the creatures, the wriggling digits hitting the ground like shadowy clay, dissipating in moments. He followed the slash with another, receiving little for his efforts besides voiceless hissing as the thing reached for his legs.

As Quessahn called upon another spell, the walls in the stairway rippled, wavering as more of the dark stains appeared, two then three, each slowly forming into crude, pained faces. Hungry moans escaped their toothless mouths as painful chills needled through Quessahn's flesh, her arcane rhymes growing stronger as she allowed the pain to push her, reaching into the dark places between the stars and calling forth the favors of the slumbering things that lived beyond the world's painful light.

The magic stirred through her body as Jinn's blade spun and slashed, surrounded, his gold eyes lost to her as she fought to keep them both alive for a while longer-long enough to reach him, to hold him, to let him know that in another place, in another life, she had loved him and had watched him die.