Circle of Skulls w-6 Read online

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

  Jirin stared down upon the hustle and bustle of Suldown Street, absently studying the faces of passersby and listening to the broadcriers hawking the latest scandals. Shadows lengthened as he stood, still as a statue in the window above Pages Curious, the bookstore owned by Maranyuss since she had been exiled to live among mortals. His room was small and uncluttered with the things many people took for granted, the various trappings and mementos of a long life lived. Only the window stood as a connection to the world outside. The furnishings consisted of a chair and small table for his meals and a simple bed for when he grew tired.

  Though his rented room was nigh bare, his mind was a labyrinth of information and memories, cluttered and filled with the details of more than a hundred lifetimes. He was never privy to all his lifetimes of memories at once-just a recalled name here, a familiar place there-but even so, each life had made its mark on the next. Only the details of his current existence were fully open to him. He cursed his limited memory, wishing for some insight into the devil Belsharoth's warning.

  Even in its apparent fall, the Vigilant Order vexed him.

  Sighing, he stepped away from the window and leaned over the small table next to the view of the city, his eyes scanning the rough map on the bloody tablecloth for clues. He did not look up when Mara arrived at the top of the stairs, though he could feel her watching him. She could be as silent as the grave, but her presence exuded a dark aura that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

  "This business is not done yet," she said. "We'll find him."

  The angel Sathariel, an agent of Asmodeus somehow bound to Waterdeep, was Jinn's only focus, his one reason for having hunted the Vigilant Order, for living in the city when he might have adventured across the length and breadth of Faerun. Mara and he shared that focus, and it had bound them in purpose, though their reasons were vastly different.

  He shook his head and rolled up the cloth, tired of staring at blood for answers that never came.

  "I had hoped that he might find us," Jinn replied. "We've weakened his following, set spies in every ward of the city, and still he will not view us as a threat."

  "Perhaps we aren't," Mara said. "Not yet anyway, not until we figure out why he's here."

  Jinn's hand rested on the bloody tablecloth, the crimson map of the city burned in his memory, the dark splash of Sea Ward teasing him with mysteries. It was in that moment he considered the poor soul who had likely been sacrificed to scrawl the crude map, and he instinctively whispered a short prayer, though the gods of Mulhorand he had once served were long gone from the world.

  A bell rang downstairs in the shop, and Mara turned to go, her cruel sense of business always ready to greet a customer with a smile.

  "I'll pay a visit to Sea Ward after gateclose," he said to her as she descended.

  "Waste of time," she called back.

  "Better than wasting it here," he whispered. He had no mind to sleep despite his body's desire for rest. His head ached from the strain of trying to recall something useful, something that might point him in the right direction. He yearned to simply challenge the angel as his kind once had in older days, to bind it and strike it down, devote the victory to his ancient masters, but more compelling reasons than celestial blood spurred him on.

  His kind were rare-at any given time, less than a handful existed within a day's dragon's flight of one another. It had been centuries since he recalled meeting another deva, but in Waterdeep, in his life as Jinnaoth, he had met one. The stolen blade, laid across his bed, shined, and he remembered her face. He blinked the image away.

  "No," he whispered. "It is not a waste of time."

  "Jinn!"

  Mara's voice startled him from his vigil, and he turned to the stairs, looking over the railing to find her there, motioning him down with a curious light in her eyes. Though cautious, he decided not to belt on his sword and descended the stairs to find an officer of the Watch standing among the shelves and tomes of Mara's shop. He felt a moment of alarm, wondering if he and Mara had been spotted that morning, but the captain's mark on the officer's tabard-signifying his rank as a rorden of the Watch-settled his concerns. As the officer turned to meet him, Jinn recognized his old friend and smiled.

  "Well met, Rorden Allek," Jinn said, though his smile faded at the unusually stern expression upon the rorden's face. "How can I be of service?"

  "Jinnaoth, I-" Allek paused, clearing his throat nervously. "I cry your pardon, Goodwife Mara, but I should speak with Master Jinn alone."

  "But of course, Rorden," Mara replied demurely, playing her part well and smiling sweetly as she gathered a small armload of books for cataloguing. "I shall attend to the shop, but please call if you should need anything."

  "I shall. Many thanks for your understanding," Allek said, and he gestured to the cushioned chairs by the tall, arching window at the far end of the shop. Few of Mara's usual customers used the chairs, their pursuits far too secretive and Mara's selection too arcane for casual perusal, but the chairs gave the shop a comfortable and inviting atmosphere.

  Jinn sat down guardedly, wondering at Allek's dark and secretive manner. The rorden sat at length, clearly troubled. He clasped his hands before him, knuckles white and dark circles beneath his eyes. His boots were strangely unpolished for Allek, and his uniform was rumpled. The visible evidence sparked Jinn's interest. Also the fact that Allek's current station was in Sea Ward.

  "What's wrong, Allek?" Jinn finally asked, taking the rorden's attention away from the floor.

  "Yes, right. I must apologize for my manner; it has been a long day," he said. "I'm still trying to get things straight."

  "Not at all. Take your time," Jinn replied.

  "What I am to tell you must be held in the strictest of confidence," Allek said, his eyes set upon Jinn's, one of the few humans who could endure the deva's golden gaze without flinching.

  "You have it," Jinn said, growing more excited, his heart once again racing with hope, though he suspected whatever answers he sought had been bought at a great price.

  Allek nodded and took a deep breath. "Over a month ago, and each night since, I and a handful of Watch patrols under my command began an investigation into several murders occurring in Sea Ward," Allek said, looking over his shoulder hesitantly as he spoke.

  "I recall some news about it, though the broadsheets at the time were lacking in detail," Jinn replied.

  "Aye, that they were." Allek nodded. "And not a word about them since, with good reason. The bodies… gods." He paused again, collecting himself. "Specific mutilations, identical in each case with varying degrees of defensive wounds, struggle, and so forth. The scenes left in full view, no attempts being made to hide the bodies. No witnesses or at least none willing to come forth. And I…" Allek's voice trailed off as he shook his head, speechless.

  "Pardon my assumption," Jinn said, "but you have surely handled such cases before. Strange deaths in Waterdeep are nothing new."

  "My niece," Allek said, his hard eyes dry but reddened with a sorrow Jinn hadn't noticed before. "My brother. His wife. All slain."

  "Suspects?"

  Allek smiled sadly. "There's a bright coin of a question," he answered. "We have almost as many bloodstained killers in custody as we do corpses."

  "Gods," Jinn whispered, thoughts racing, trying to understand. "Why have you come to me with this?"

  "We've known each other for a long time, Jinn. I trust you and I know you've dealt with these kinds of things before." Allek seemed tired, at the end of a long rope and exploring resources beyond the Watch. "I need your help."

  "But surely there are others more qualified, wizards perhaps, the Watchful Order must-?"

  "No wizards," Allek said swiftly. "Not yet at any rate. Magic, so far, has failed us in this."

  At first Jinn wondered if Allek suspected a wizard was involved, but there was a general mistrust of arcane magic since the Spellplague. He unders
tood the rorden's hesitation to employ such spells, though distrust could hold for only so long before necessity demanded extra measures be taken.

  "I am at your service," he said, adding, "Specific mutilations, you said?"

  "I can show you."

  "Tonight?"

  "As you wish."

  Feeling refreshed and ready to accompany Allek immediately, Jinn found himself walking a fine line between respect for the rorden's loss and his own fierce desire to view the bodies, to discover the source of the bloody river on the map upstairs. Instinct told him he was close, that Sathariel was near.

  Mara appeared as if on cue as the two men approached the front entrance.

  "I apologize for so brief a visit, dear Mara," Allek said, "but duty seems determined to keep me busy at every bell this day."

  "No need, Allek," she replied, placing a hand lightly upon his arm, a motion that both amused and at the same time sickened Jinn as he imagined the gnarled, clawed fingers hiding behind her delicate skin. "Visit when you're able and worry not between."

  "At evenpeal, then?" Jinn said.

  "Aye, Pharra's Alley," the rorden answered, adding, as he stepped out into the street, "Fair evening, gods will it."

  The doorbell sang as he left, and Jinn stood pondering why they should meet at Pharra's Alley, so close to the House of Wonder's wizards. At length he caught Mara staring him down, one eyebrow cocked. Jinn cursed the hag's impatience, knowing she'd been listening the entire time.

  "Pharra's Alley?" she said, turning back to her books. "Interesting."

  "Indeed?"

  "They say it's haunted," she replied ominously with a little grin. "Well, those that survive say so, at any rate."

  Jinn's furrowed brow at that news did not leave him as he ascended the stairs, picking apart the rorden's tale, turning it over, looking for something to match all that had gone before. He took his place by the window again, watching the world go by as he pondered and waited for sundown and answers.

  It was not quite evenpeal. A cold wind whistled through the streets, bringing with it scents of snow. Layered against the chill, Jinn strolled beneath the blurry light of a half-moon. He appeared neither wealthy nor informal but bore enough of both to walk where he liked in whatever company.

  His step was smooth and sure; he knew the city by heart. Shops were closed and quiet, and the taverns were growing louder. He was more comfortable with his off-human appearance at night. His pale face and skin sigils tended to make those who hunted the dark think twice before confronting his golden gaze.

  Somewhere, somehow, a life would soon end, the chill and night's shadows told him as much. The chill wanted a better cloak or coat, warmer boots, and a warm meal. Shadow gave that want a place to hide a knife.

  "Need a guide, saer?"

  Jinn turned, startled from his thoughts by a child's voice.

  "Find your way through the city, I can!"

  A glance at the boy, out at night and alone, told him much that the boy's thin clothes and thinner health had not already declared, though the child's bright eyes held a wisdom beyond his young years.

  "You know these streets well?" Jinn asked.

  "Well as any man o' the Watch, saer!" the boy answered excitedly.

  "What is your name, young master?" Jinn asked, kneeling down and receiving the usual shocked stare as the boy looked into his eyes in wonder.

  "Tombil," he said, taking half a step backward nervously.

  "Well, young Master Tombil, I am Jinnaoth, and I have no need of a guide this night." He stood but swiftly produced a large, platinum coin, called a sun, and let it shine before Tombil's eyes before adding, "But should we cross paths again, I may have need of your mastery of the streets." He pressed the coin into Tombil's hand and grinned, letting the boy get a good look at him. "Remember me well."

  "Aye, saer. I will, saer!"

  Tombil ran off, clutching the coin tightly. Jinn watched after him a moment, always fascinated with children of all races, as he had never been a child and could not fathom the games and rituals of childhood and growing up. Several of the shadows in Tombil's wake, along the walls of closed shops and noble mansions, shifted slightly, huddled figures sidling away from his sight.

  It wasn't long before he arrived at the outer walls of the Saerfynn Manor. As he entered Pharra's Alley, he studied what details could be made out along the walls, on the cobbles, already assuming the place to have been the scene of one of Allek's mysterious murders. The alley was wide and clean, as was most of Sea Ward, the wealthiest in Waterdeep. It was decently lit save for the middle and the end, the latter of which bore the gates of the House of Wonder. A Watch patrol made its way by at the far end, one man separating from the group and offering Jinn a wave.

  Jinn paused close to the wall across from the Saerfynn grounds, finding a spot that had been missed when the scene was cleared. A thin splash of rust lay in a short, straight line on the stone at shoulder height. He studied the angle and direction of the stain as Allek approached, reading a piece of the tale of what had occurred there.

  "Jinn, well met," the rorden said.

  "This was recent?" Jinn asked, pointing to the stain and noting the look of surprise on Allek's face.

  "Yes," he answered. "Last evening, roughly four bells before sunrise."

  "It was a long blade," Jinn said, tracing the arc of the splatter with a gloved finger. "A shallow cut, imprecise and unpracticed. Possibly a defensive injury, not a killing wound by any measure."

  "Gods, Jinn," Allek whispered and turned away from the wall, shaking his head. "I need those eyes on my payroll."

  Jinn looked away from the stain. "I'm sorry," he said. "Old blood tends to tell stories of how and sometimes when, but very rarely who. You have my deepest sympathies for your loss. I didn't realize-"

  "No, forgive me," the rorden said. "It has been difficult separating duty from family. I honor them more by working to find out what curse has befallen us."

  "Why this place?" Jinn asked, putting the moment behind them.

  "Right," Allek said, an officer of the Watch once more. "Here we received the first and only evidence we've gotten from this whole mess." The rorden led Jinn to the House of Wonder's gates. "Are you familiar with the circle of skulls?"

  "No."

  "An old wives' tale, according to some. Others call them ghosts, bogeymen, or spellhaunts, believing them to be magical remnants of the Spellplague. But tales of the skulls go back much farther than the Spellplague." Allek's gaze drifted to the stones of the alley with a haunted, faraway look. "I saw them once, when I was a child. Glowing with green flames, spitting fire at anyone that came near. Then they just faded away. Always in this spot."

  Jinn circled the area, studying what appeared to be a normal patch of ground, nothing out of the ordinary that he could see.

  "How does this connect with…?" Jinn asked.

  "The killer, a young man named Dason Hallsahf, before he lost his ability to reason, spoke of skulls, of green fire. Rambled on and on about them." Allek's voice grew tight, angry, barely held in check.

  "What else did he say? Anything?"

  "There was something about being trapped and 'dirty men,"' Allek answered, then added, "He said he saw an angel."

  Hands curled into fists, Jinn attempted to calmly nod, still pretending to study the ground where ghostly skulls were said to rise, though his heart pounded and his breath quickened. Reflexively, he glanced at the sky, expecting dark wings to descend at any moment and fiercely willing them to do so.

  The corridors of the Westwall were of cold stone as Jinn followed Rorden Allek down quiet hallways, through empty rooms, and into chambers well guarded from the public eye. Beyond the guards and heavy doors was a series of small rooms pervaded by a strange, sterile smell. Jinn's skin tingled with energy, sensing magic. Allek nodded to an officer with a gray goatee and a well-worn saber at his side. The old man, introduced as Officer Yarrow, produced a ring of keys and led them down to the last door on t
he left.

  "Don't use the quiet rooms much anymore," Yarrow said as he fumbled for the right key. "Had 'em down here more than a century or so now, just collectin' dust mostly."

  "These chambers cease the body's process of decay," Allek explained. "Useful in somewhat rare cases like this."

  "Eastwall used to have somethin' similar, until the Spellplague came through and ruined it," Yarrow mumbled. Then he smiled as he found the right key. "Rooms on that side started workin' too well, bringin' folk back to life… well, not life mind ye, but-"

  "I think I understand," Jinn said as the door opened, lanternlight spilling across the stained white dress of a young woman, lying atop a rune-inscribed slab of stone. Allek turned away but did not leave. He dismissed Officer Yarrow as Jinn examined the body of Allek's niece, Alma Marson.

  Her wounds, as Jinn had surmised from the alley, were mostly small and superficial, painful but not deadly, save for a small puncture in the left side of her chest. The cut was just wide enough to allow a thin blade to pass between the ribs and find the heart-one precise, fatal stab, amid a flurry of wild blows. Jinn took the wounds in, committing them to memory, though his eyes were fixed upon the line of injuries running from the base of her neck to her navel. Each was thin and deliberately shaped: an alphabet of some sort that he had never chanced upon before, possibly arcane and utterly mysterious.

  "Alma was the most recent," Allek said as Jinn quickly sketched the characters carved into the girl's skin. Her dress had been cut down the center of her chest, exposing a scarred ribbon of pale flesh. Little blood seemed to have flowed from the precise wounds, possibly a sign of magic or that the cutting had been done with little struggle. "We did not keep the other bodies, cremating the remains until such time as we can safely inform the families."

  "Their wounds were the same?" Jinn asked, examining the girl's left hand where the ring finger had been neatly removed.

  "Yes," the rorden answered. "On all save Dessa Marson, my brother's wife. Her… throat had been cut, a single wound."

  "She got in the way," Jinn muttered, replacing the small chapbook of sketches in his coat.