James Davis - Circle of Skulls

"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.