James Davis - Circle of Skulls

"Enough," he rasped, and everything stopped.

Snowflakes caught on his skin and melted as a mild breeze whistled down a stretch of alley. The sky had returned to its place, a flat, gray expanse of clouds above the cold cobbles and smoking chimneys. Up ahead a dark figure stood as though waiting for him. Dregg tried to catch his breath, cursing the circle of skulls even as he wondered how he might betray them and escape.

"This is Tallus's doing. He will betray you," he muttered as the figure approached, a silhouette that did not flicker with shadows or burn him with flaming eyes of emerald. A shining length of enchanted sword flashed in a weakening lamplight. Black hair whipped across cloaked shoulders, and chilling, golden eyes regarded him with hatred and pity.

"What do you know of the nine skulls?" the deva asked.

Taken aback, a burst of nervous laughter escaped Dregg, and he rocked backward, studying the strange alley as he leaned on the point of his sword.

"I surrender, deva. You win," he said, chuckling sheepishly as he reached for a pouch on his belt. "Now how much was Marson paying you?"

"What does Archmage Tallus have planned?" Jinn growled in response.

"I will double your pay," Dregg said, ignoring the question as he worked the bindings on his coin pouch. "And all you have to do is-"

"Where is Sathariel?" the deva asked, voice rising.

"Gold!" Dregg shouted in disbelief, stumbling to his feet and shaking the pouch in one hand, his sword in the other. "A small fortune here and more when we're out of Sea Ward! Understand? Your kind can't afford to turn down hard coin-"

The cold came again as shadows gathered at the periphery of his sight. He struck at them, swinging wildly and stumbling as though drunk, but his blade found nothing to cut.

"Enough sorcery, deva!" he shouted, finding his balance and throwing his coin pouch to the ground. "Save your breath and face me like a man."

Jinn did not move, standing as still as stone. Dregg chuckled wryly as something touched his boot, slithering over its top and wrapping around his ankle. He glanced down at the veined length of a yellow-gray tentacle, crawling out of a thin crack in the street. He pursed his lips in annoyance as he looked to the deva.

"More tricks, is it, then-?" he began but felt a strong tug at his leg.

Dregg slipped to one knee, staring in disbelief as the crack in the street widened and the tentacle wrapped further around his lower leg. More squirmed from beneath the cobbles, grabbing his other leg and reaching for his arms. His attempts to stand were futile, and he panicked, pulling at the rubbery growths even as others took his wrists, disarmed him, and pulled him forcefully toward the slit of darkness.

"No!" he rasped, hearing his sword clatter against a distant stone floor as he fought to remain above ground. A thick length of flesh encircled his head, filling his mouth with the foul taste of mold and decay, stifling his efforts to scream.

"Yes," Jinn replied, kneeling nearby.

The wind strengthened in the long alley as the rorden's legs were pulled into the dark, the frozen air carrying a sudden rush of sound, like a whimpering tide full of rushing, breathy voices. He felt his boots being peeled off, and he curled his toes as if he might stop them, kicking against nothing in a void full of tentacles and thin hands. The whispers grew louder, crashing around him in incoherent waves. He gripped the edge of the street, knuckles white with the strain of holding on as one feminine voice among thousands made itself clear, as if right beside him.

In the mountain's shadow, a king of bones shall hear their confessions.

Dregg puzzled over the words, feeling faint as his strength waned, desperate for meaning as the lamplight grew dim and his chest tightened. He felt divided from himself, a calm observer in a storm of mystery and aching. A sharp, distant pain traveled up his arm as one hand slipped and was jerked into the dark. The other quickly followed, and he strained to hear more of the whispering secrets as he lost the light and was borne down into the black.

Cold flesh shivered as weakened walls shook. Dust fell in gray, cloudy sheets, resting on a congealed surface of tiny, red lakes, their shores dried and blackened. The season kept flies away, though in time, rats appeared, edging furtively from disturbed homes to sniff at the bounty left for them. They scurried forth, snatching pieces away from the whole and returning to their secret places. The walls came alive with scratching and squeaks, some shrill as others stole their juicy prizes in greedy paws and yellowed teeth.

A figure overlooked the proceedings, perched upon an empty pedestal. His wings fluttered with interest as his cold eyes feasted upon the intricacies of the scene, devouring the aesthetics of a curled hand, somehow at odds with a length of glistening bone. Islands of red and blue, dried by exposure, lay scattered in the light of nearby candles. The ragged edges of once-fine cloth were soaked and sticky, wrapped around limbs that no longer required warmth or modesty.

Shadowy feathers in Sathariel's wings shook, briefly distinguishing themselves before dissolving again into the whole. He considered the nuances of the broken wizard's body, ever curious to witness the many stages of mortal death and wondering at the strange finality of the act.

"This all belonged to them once," a voice spoke from the top of the stairs, but the angel did not move, as still as stone, fascinated by the hungry chewing of a brave rodent.

"Yes," he replied. "I came here once over two hundred years ago, looking for the circle of skulls. And here I am again."

Dust and pebbles skittered down the stairs, followed by the tap-tapping of a gnarled, hardwood staff. Sathariel continued his study of the corpse, needing no eyes to smell the arrogant presence of the archmage. He felt as though he were joined by something less than a human and more like a smug smile that had grown a body and legs.

"They crafted genius here," Tallus said, leaning on his staff.

"And you sift through the scraps from their table," Sathariel added and turned his blank visage to the wizard, gratified to see him flinch. Sathariel did not bemoan Tallus his sense of greed or ambition, but the wizard had yet to learn any respect for the angel or Asmodeus, without whose consent he would gain precious little in the days to come. "And this poor soul, did he go willingly to his final rest, serving you until the bitter end?"

"Gorrick was… surprised, to say the least," Tallus answered, barely glancing at the unrecognizable body of his former apprentice. "Before he died he claimed he would see me in the Nine Hells, and he choked while attempting to laugh, but he was the last of my bloodline, a misplaced nephew I had some trouble in tracking down. I do not think I shall miss him much."

"Careful, Archmage. The circle of nine once boasted of slaying their entire bloodlines three hundred years ago and ended up little more than fleshless, floating heads in an alley of no consequence… Also, your enemies have captured Lucian Dregg; I wonder what he shall tell them of you?"

"More annoyances now than enemies; they are much too late," the archmage replied. "Tomorrow evening the spell will be complete, and I shall be far beyond their righteous reach."

"But the skulls' last secret?" Sathariel responded, his wings shivering in anticipation. "You have it?"

"No, though when I begin the ritual's ending, they will be forced to tell me," the wizard said with a sly smile that made Sathariel's claws itch. "If they do not, they will have failed again."

"You should not gamble on ifs, wizard," the angel said, the walls shaking with each word. "The consequences for failure…"

"Would be dire for us both," Tallus said, meeting Sathariel's cold eyes for a breath longer than the angel had expected, a feat few mortals were capable of. "I have all that I need to complete the skulls' ritual. I have fulfilled my duty to Asmodeus. Can you claim as much?"