James Davis - Circle of Skulls

"The circle of skulls," Mara began slowly, as if choosing her words carefully, crossing her arms and pacing as she spoke. "Seeking to attain immortality, they began a ritual. They slew their bloodlines and made a deal with Asmodeus."

"Which they promptly broke," Briar added.

"And in the end they failed, were cursed, and lived as flameskulls. And for three centuries, they hid their souls from the archdevil," Mara continued, waving her hand at each point, ticking off the steps of the skulls' tale with a deft finger.

"During which time, Asmodeus became a god," Briar said as he absently twisted a length of dried flesh from the arm of one of his oblivious undead sentinels and began chewing on it. "Making what eternity they had managed to cling to even harder to hide."

"And now they mean to complete their old spell," Mara finished, "and spend the power they stole from the devil-god."

Quessahn shuddered in the contemplative silence that followed, wondering at the indomitable will that would gamble upon the wrath of a god, simply for the opportunity of immortality. Three hundred years of hiding their miserable souls, living as little more than magical oddities, the spellhaunt of the House of Wonders. When she had been but a child, the skulls had hidden in shadow for more than a century, a trivial topic for curious wizards as they schemed and plotted to take what they had lost.

"Nine immortal wizards with a century to adapt their Art to the effects of the Spellplague," she whispered in disbelief, having lived through the wave of blue fire following Mystra's death, but learning her magic well after the calamity that had swept the world.

"They are somewhat limited by their curse, only manifesting in Pharra's Alley and only dimly aware of events throughout the city in the time in between," Mara said, and she turned several pages in the book, near the end of Tallus's scribbled notes. "But the Nine are the least of our concerns."

"Sathariel?" Quessahn asked. "The angel?"

"Even he, whatever role he has to play, is nothing compared to the ritual itself," Briarbones said. "The birth of just one immortal, in this powerful release of old magic, could destroy a handful of city blocks."

"Then all nine at once… plus whoever is helping them…," Quessahn whispered, her eyes widening at the implications.

"It could consume all of Sea Ward, at least," Mara said.

Quessahn shook her head, unable to imagine such destruction and looking to Briarbones. "Is this the prophecy you feared?" she asked.

The avolakia raised an eyebrow and leaned over the archmage's notes, his lips moving as he scanned several passages.

"I do not believe so, though Sathariel's interest in these killings makes me wonder," he replied. "The First Flensing, as it is called, is an ancient covenant, far older than the circle of skulls. It is a formal invitation, preparing a single front for battle, an outpost from which Asmodeus's influence in our world would become more direct. Before his ascension the prophecy was a frightening novelty, one of many such threats, and though dangerous, a manageable one, but now that he has attained true divinity… catastrophic."

"Likely angering the gods of good," Mara added. "And inspiring envy among those of evil."

"A war among the gods." Briar nodded. "With mortals caught in the middle."

Quessahn squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples as the idea escalated. Her head ached, assaulted with far too much for one evening and wondering if the sleep she desired would be possible at all. She tried to banish the speculation of the others, but nagging details kept her from ignoring them completely. Jinn's words haunted her, his talk of the killings as a distraction, a show to obscure whatever Sathariel was truly working for-and she began to agree, finally seeing some of what he feared.

"I think," she said, "we must find the souls of the circle of skulls and protect them, keep them from the angel, just in case."

"And what of the other souls? Those of their slain bloodlines?" Mara asked. "Speculations of prophecy aside, the ritual of immortality being prepared is dangerous enough."

"How many do they have left to take?" Quessahn asked. "We must have time to find them."

"Less than a dozen remain," Briar answered. "All of them children, orphaned and displaced, living with other families. A well-kept secret of the Watch, but-"

"Not secret enough," Quessahn finished, cursing. "They saved the easiest for last. Gods above." She sighed. "And we need to rest, or we'll be useless to do anything."

"I do not sleep," Briarbones said, eyeing the list, his false face twitching as he waved her and Mara away. "Take what rest you need. I'll work on locating the children."

"Find them quickly; we need to keep them safe," the eladrin said, sitting in a dry corner and pulling her cloak tight.

"Yes, of course. Keep them safe, at least until we run out of options," Mara muttered as she took the opposite corner, her illusion fading as she curled within her long, tattered robes, crimson eyes glowing dimly in her hood.

There was no malice or feeling at all in the hag's words, though they sent a chill down Quessahn's spine. If they could not keep the children from the skulls, if all else failed, she wondered if she would have the conviction to kill them herself. The thought of it made her sick, but she could not deny the possibility of failure. It was some time before she could sleep, listening as Briar worked, wondering if all their study had been for naught.

It occurred to her that, if they were already too late, she might not wake up at all.

Thin, lacy threads of smoke drifted from the ashes of a hearth fire in a high-ceilinged drawing room. Chunks of charred wood tumbled and hissed, sending small sparks to fly and die through an ornate grating. They glowed, casting an eerie light on a fine-cushioned chair and low couch. The front doors stood open, unguarded and allowing the season's chill to race through the manse, though no one remained to clutch at warm covers or to investigate the source of the sudden cold.

Jinn stood before the glowing embers, sword drawn as he waited, listening and letting the settling noises of the Saerfynn house guide his senses. Drops of blood had pooled and dried near the cushioned chair. A large, woven carpet of simple design and bright thread dominated the center of the drawing room, its far edge stained by ashen boot prints. With Pharra's Alley a short walk from the front gates, he was not surprised to find evidence of something amiss in the mansion. What he could not understand was why it had been abandoned.

The quiet home remained uncooperative, giving no indication of anyone on the premises and keeping its secrets close. He strolled around the edge of the room, looking at the paintings of the Saerfynn family, of the absent parents and several children, most, he assumed, lost as well. Callak, he observed, bore the hawkish features of a cruel man even as a child, each depiction of him including a slight sneer. Those of Rilyana were plain and unassuming, though Jinn noticed that the two never appeared in any portrait together as the other children did.

He wandered the remainder of the house, swiftly and quietly examining each room, finding most well ordered but in need of dusting and two recently used. The one he presumed as Callak's was filthy and stank of sweat and stale spirits, the bed unmade for what appeared several days by the condition of the sheets. The other bore a large, four-poster bed veiled in lace with blood upon the pillow and the sheets.

It stained his fingertips, cold but still damp and sticky.

He turned to study the rest of the chamber when the sound of shattering glass echoed through the mansion, thunderous and startling as Jinn whirled, sword raised. His skin felt flush as he waited, muscles tensing and heart racing. Tingling arcs of energy stabbed through his limbs as he crept down the long halls and winding stairs back toward the drawing room. Trembling and anxious, he paused in the arching doorway, his eyes caught by the dangling shadow of a limp body high above.