James Davis - Circle of Skulls

"Aye, sir-I mean, yes, they've been instructed to observe and report only," Naaris answered. "Though I have a feeling even if we were in full uniform, we might not be noticed…"

He gestured west, but Tavian was well ahead of the observant officer, noting the carriages lined up along two estate walls, some already laden with locked chests. Servants worked feverishly, hauling various items back and forth through the gates as hired guards stood by. Tavian had been told that once, well before the Spellplague, Sea Ward during winter was a veritable ghost town, nobles and the wealthy abandoning the area for homes elsewhere. The howling winter wind off the shoreline was not entirely unbearable, but those with enough gold had never had to bear what they could afford to avoid. In more recent times, the practice was mostly unheard of, especially among the newer families, not as loose with their coin as in times past.

Others with coin to spare seemed intent on staying put, their hired bodyguards reporting for duty and standing sentinel at ornate gates.

At the corners of the next intersection, two crowds had begun to gather, pausing to talk in low voices as the shouts of competing broadsheet criers echoed above the din of business as usual.

"Eighteen massacred in Sea Ward!" one cried.

"Wealthy blood on Sea Ward streets!" another added as customers crowded the lads, each vying to read the scandalous headlines first. Dozens were sold in a matter of breaths, the smiling boys stuffing coins into their satchels. Buyers stood by in small groups, poring over the tale and conferring with worried faces before racing away, lost in the tide of crowded streets.

"Torm's blessed fist!" Tavian swore quietly. He clapped Aeril on the shoulder. "Buy one of those broadsheets before they're all gone!" he said, backing out of the street. He crossed his arms as more full carriages rolled by, wealthy socialites riding with their valuables. "What in the Abyss is going on?"

At a second glance, as he absorbed the shouted headlines, he noted the lack of patrons in the eating establishments and the concerned looks of other shop owners as potential customers passed them by with barely a glance. Such was the frantic pace of it all that Tavian half expected to find similar scenes playing themselves out all across the city, business as usual forgotten in the mad dash to escape being the next victim or, he mused, the rush to gawk at the next body found.

Aeril returned, winding through the crowd, already reading the broadsheet.

"Two families slaughtered last evening, sir," he said, scanning the print for details. "The Loethes of Ivory Street and the Sedras Family off of Breezes Cut, along with six as of yet unidentified men in Watch uniforms. The bodies were marked up, but Watch commanders have made no comment yet on the details of the crimes or any possible suspects."

"So much for keeping this quiet," Tavian grumbled, absently tugging at the end of his beard. "Go. Get your uniforms and a sharp blade. Sea Ward is out at least one patrol; we can help with that. We'll gather the others at midday and have the Watchful Order in the ward by gateclose."

"Lucian Dregg appears to be missing, sir," Naaris said, reading over Aeril's shoulder. "He was last seen outside the Loethe manse, dueling an unusual man in the street."

"Well, it's not all bad news, then," Tavian replied under his breath. "Off you go. Meet back here within half a bell."

The swordcaptains joined the tide of bodies as Tavian lingered, carefully crossing the street, drawn by the sound of children. As worried parents oversaw the packing of their carriages, the children played in the street, turning in circles and singing within the imposing and jagged shadow of an older house, nearly overgrown by the creeping vines of a once-impressive garden.

Tavian shivered as they sang.

Roses in the garden, roses in the hail,

Roses on the window, roses on the wail,

Roses 'round your neck, nine sterns shorn,

Roses on the floor in the House of Thorne!

NIGHTAL 22, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

Jinn awoke to the fading voices of the whisperers as they passed through Seawind Alley and away to unknown places. Unintelligible words drifted at the edges of a blurry dream, and he wondered for a moment what they had said to him, but the dream was gone, and only the stale scents of the sewer remained. Though Briarbones's lair sat at the top of an incline and remained fairly dry, the worst of the extensive maze of sewers flowed a mere short walk away. Jinn had no fear of his clothes becoming soiled, but he wondered if his nose would ever recover.

Quessahn slept in the corner opposite him, eyes darting beneath their lids as her breath came shallowly, her dreams not yet done with her. Mara snored lightly against the far wall, wrapped in her dark robes, barely a large smudge of shadow, more a stain than a slumbering hag.

Jinn started at the approach of something from the south, a dry, slithering sound echoing through the tunnel. Briar's multifaceted eyes broke through the faint light from the surface entrance first, turning on their stalks before withdrawing. Jinn could hear the avolakia changing in the dark and sat up from the wall.

"Do not cover yourself for my sake," he said, and the noises stopped. "I've lived with illusions long enough."

"I suppose you have," came the old man's voice, his face appearing in the light. "But I much prefer to speak like this, it seems more… polite than forcing words into someone's head."

The old man smiled and hobbled into the dry chamber, placing a small chapbook on the table and glancing at Quess and Mara before turning to Jinn.

"I have located the last of the bloodlines. They are safe now but not for long," he said, patting the chapbook lightly. "The Watch has almost tripled since this morning. The broadsheets were filled with tales of last night's murders, and the streets have become somewhat empty of most intelligent folk since. But the patrols can only do so much with what information they have, and if we attempt to tell them

…"

"They'd take you in," Quessahn said, rubbing her eyes as she awoke. "They'd question you, lock you up, and by the time they realized you were telling the truth-"

"It would be all over," Mara supplied, the dark smudge of her body still against the wall though her crimson eyes glowed from beneath a tattered fold of her robe.

"Indeed," Briar said. "But whether we inform the Watch or not, their numbers will certainly stand in the way of anything we have planned. Speaking of… what do we have planned?"

Jinn stood and stretched, gathering his thoughts as everyone looked to him for an answer. For his own part, he knew what he needed to do; he'd mulled it over several times while trying to sleep in the uncomfortable lair of the avolakia. The grim surroundings and grave sentinels just beyond the pale shadows a few strides away had served only to cement his intention.

"What do you know of the House of Thorne?" he asked Briar.

The avolakia's face split into a curious grin. "Roses on the window, roses on the wall," Briar replied in the sing-song voice of a child and touched a gnarled finger to an old map upon the wall, the spot ominously smudged by his fingertip. "It once belonged to the Thorne family, and no one else for a full season in the three centuries or so since. Over two dozen bodies were found in the basement, the Thornes' included. They say that even after several paintings and remodelings, you can still see the old blood everywhere, as though the house were haunted by it."

"That's where he-I mean, they, will be," Jinn said.

"You are sure?" Mara asked as she unfolded from her dark corner.

"I am. It's likely they'll be there tonight, or if not, then I'll get to the house first," he answered.