James Davis - Circle of Skulls

His left arm and shoulder bled freely from the clumsy cuts that had reached through his defense. Wincing, he stretched his shoulder painfully as a wild-eyed, thin man snarled at him over the edge of a bloodied saber. Jinn nodded at the man in mocking approval and dashed forward, bending low as the sword on his left whistled over his head. The flat of the thrusting blade on his right he blocked barehanded, cold steel sliding across the numb flesh of his palm.

He came up between them, sword vertical as the thin man parried. At the ring of steel on steel, Jinn spun against the man's right shoulder, knocking the thin man off balance as the deva brought his stolen blade around. The swift, wide arc of his sword stopped only when it struck bone. The thin man's head lolled to the side, his neck gaping like a toothless mouth as he slumped forward, freeing Jinn's blade with a twitching jerk.

The other two men stared quietly at the third, their swords wavering as they stepped back a pace.

"Dregg's coin isn't enough for this," one said as he turned to run, his companion close behind.

Jinn breathed deeply, his lust for battle lessened but not sated. Frightened shadows hovered in the corners of several windows above the scene, but no one cried out for the Watch, too scared to call attention to themselves. Jinn sighed and resisted the urge to bow in a mocking salute to the voyeuristic eyes that took such a sickening enjoyment in the blood sport. At the sound of a pained groan, he turned. A large man rose from the ground to spit blood and teeth on the cobbles.

The big man surveyed the area, his eyes roaming from one body to the next as he wiped the thick crimson stain from his lips and met the deva's cold stare. He grinned and pointed.

"They cut your arm up pretty good," he said, resting the heavy sword against his shoulder.

"That they did," Jinn replied, narrowing his gold eyes and clasping the wound tightly. "It appears I already knew how to bleed. Is there to be a second lesson?"

The large man raised a thoughtful eyebrow and looked once again at the others. "Second lesson… is know when to quit," he answered and turned away, pulling the Watch tabard over his head and throwing it aside.

Jinn knelt to wipe the blood from his blade and paused, listening as screams echoed from the direction of the seaward wall. Annoyed, he stared down the avenue then glanced east, just a short run from the tower of Archmage Tallus.

The screams grew louder.

Cursing quietly, he followed the direction of his instincts, a slave to the celestial blood of his forced immortality. Despite himself and all argument to the contrary, he headed west, toward the screams.

The wailing screams had died down as Jinn arrived. He hid across the street from a modestly large mansion as servants and guests crowded outside an open iron gate. They huddled together for warmth, a few openly weeping as Watchmen entered and exited the home, speaking to one another in hushed voices and reporting each in turn to Lucian Dregg. The rorden seemed neither surprised nor concerned, pacing angrily outside the gates and glaring at those gathered before them. He crossed his arms as the first body was removed, covered by a stained sheet, and loaded onto an open cart. Eight more quickly joined the first, the crimson marks on each sheet suggesting a similar pattern of wounds suffered.

Jinn shook his head, troubled. There was no detailed observation of the scene, no interest in concealing the bodies or questioning anyone who might have witnessed the killings. He expected no better from

Dregg. He did, however, think there might have been a show of some kind, an act to keep at least an air of professionalism. The scene was surreal, unfolding within the wealthiest ward of the city without care or procedure.

"And parading it all in front of the servants," he whispered, "from whom word will spread house to house like wildfire."

"I thought I might find you here."

Jinn turned slowly at the sound of Mara's voice as he bound a tight strip of cloth over the cut on his arm.

"Did you?" he replied. "Because I was wondering where you were about six dead men ago."

Mara slinked through the shadows, looking over his injured shoulder and shrugging. He eyed her suspiciously, curious as to what had pulled her away from following Rorden Dregg; the night hag was not prone to whimsy.

"Dregg is the little man in all this. When do we visit the archmage?" she said, smirking, a barely imperceptible note of hunger in her voice that only increased Jinn's suspicion.

"You sound eager enough," he said flatly, catching her eye.

"I found a familiar scent earlier. I'm looking forward to tracking it down," she answered. "That's strange."

She nodded toward the mansion gate, and Jinn tore his gaze away from the hag, searching through the crowd until he caught sight of Dregg again. A woman stood at his side, her arm around his waist, her face buried in his shoulder as if in sorrow. When she lifted her eyes, turning to rest her head on the rorden's chest, Jinn's breath caught in his throat.

"Rilyana Saerfynn?" he muttered, absently placing a hand over the letters in his coat, written in her hand and full of her alleged dislike of Lucian Dregg. He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ground, puzzled once again.

"Are we going?" Mara asked, apparently having gotten her fill of the crime scene. Jinn stared at her a moment in a daze then blinked, seeing in the night hag the focus he was on the edge of losing. Too many mysteries, little details threatened to overcome his sense of duty to the bigger picture. He shook free of his bewilderment, glancing back only once as Dregg shouted orders to his men, who began ushering the crowd away from the mansion.

"Let's be quick and unseen," he said, heading east again. "Dregg is enforcing a curfew, and I expect there will be chaos tomorrow morning."

Pushing away from a desk overladen with reports, inventories, and old broadsheets, Commander Tavian yawned, stretching his lean frame in a plain, wooden chair made less for comfort than function. Less than a year ago, he'd not needed a chair of any kind save those offered to him occasionally by his superiors. Offices in the East Wall of Waterdeep's North Ward were places he had dreaded visiting, and he'd had his boots repaired or replaced more often than many of his own officers. Tavian glared at the little room, at the nearly bare shelves, the cobwebs swaying gently in a corner, and rued the days when he'd worked so hard for promotion.

He stood away from the parchment-crowded desk and took his heavy cloak, needing no window to time the end of shift, feeling in his gut the late evening slip toward very early morning. A long sword jangled at his hip, its blade clean and unblemished by wear or rust as he rounded the desk, satisfied with a good day's work, but less so than if he'd walked a patrol.

Reaching for the door, he paused at the sound of booted feet approaching down the hallway-four men, he reckoned, two of them restrained judging by the whispered curses echoing off the smooth, stone walls. A knock at his door swiftly followed, and he shook his head, whispering his own curse as he took the handle and faced what appeared to be four officers, two of them familiar and two of them in restraints.

"Commander," the officer on the left, known as Aeril, spoke first and gestured to the men in restraints. "A pair of unusual officers here to see you, sir."

"So you say?" Tavian replied, eyeing their dirty, ill-fitting tabards, worn dock boots, and matching black eyes, courtesy, no doubt, of the officers flanking them. "I don't believe I've had the dishonor of meeting these recruits on any of the regular patrols."

"Sir, we caught these two putting some quick heels to the cobbles just outside of Sea Ward on Shield Street," the officer on the right, called Naaris, explained. "We tried to question them, but they seemed more interested in resisting."