James Davis - Circle of Skulls

"I trust her to be what she is. I believe greed will keep her actions in line with ours, if not her intentions," Jinn answered as he waited for the last of the sunset to leave the ward in darkness. Quessahn did not reply, but he knew she wasn't convinced and he could not blame her, for he had his own doubts. "Do you trust the avolakia? Briarbones?"

"Until he grows bored, yes, I do," she said, the scrape of chalk on smooth stone accompanying her words. "He is very old and not afraid of death in the least. As long as there is something to interest him, to engage his voracious curiosity, he shouldn't feel the need to create something interesting. Luckily I think the whisperers of Seawind Alley should keep him occupied for decades at least."

"I doubt he will be easily bored tonight," Jinn said quietly.

"Do you really think Callak Saerfynn is involved in all of this?" she asked. "He has wealth, status-such as it is-and wants for nothing

…"

"I imagine to some, the more gold one has, the less valuable it seems. To a few, immortality would be beyond value, even worth the life of a sister," he answered absently, musing as he studied the dark house and the dirtied host surrounding it.

"I guess those that don't have immortality-" Quessahn began then stopped abruptly, falling silent, her ghostly reflection in the window casting nervous glances at Jinn as she focused on the arcane circle drawn around her.

Jinn hesitated as he considered the door mere strides away, part of him already outside and retreating from the ghosts of his previous life, another part holding him still, waiting for her to speak again, to say things he had no right to ask of her.

He managed a single step, his hand rising to take the handle.

"I buried him," she said, her voice faltering slightly. "I… I don't know if that means anything to you, but you-I mean, Kehran-you both…" She sighed loudly and slumped, shaking her head as he turned to face her. "Gods above, but this is strange."

"Go on," Jinn said, unsure if he said it out of pity or just for himself, but he wanted to hear her, needed to hear her.

"He fought like you, endlessly. It was hard to keep him still most days," she said. "But for a time, he did stand still and we had a life together, deep in the High Forest. He had what, for him, passed for peace, like he had escaped something, and for almost a year, he was a different person." A brief smile crossed her face, disappearing as quickly as it had come. "But in the end, it called him back, his drive to fight, to chase down the memory of old causes and raise a standard against… Well, good and evil meant different things to him.

"We argued the last time I saw him alive, and I told him not to go, but…" Her voice broke and she breathed deeply, maintaining her composure. "I found his body the next day and buried him that evening."

Drops of rain tapped on the doorstep and on the grass outside, dripping from the trees outside as mist gathered in their branches and ran down the bark like tears. Jinn stared at the eladrin, her brief tale a unique experience for him, as though he'd witnessed his own funeral. He took the doorknob in his hand and turned it once.

"You're not really hunting Sathariel, are you," she said. It was a statement, almost an accusation, rather than a question. "He's just a means to an end, your connection to Asmodeus."

Jinn did not reply, for there was no need. He could not deny what was in his heart, what festered in the deepest parts of himself.

"Do you think to kill a god?" she asked quietly. "Or do you hope he has the power to kill you, to truly end you?"

"I don't know," he said, considering his answer carefully. "There is a reason, I suppose. For the cycles in the world, death and rebirth, over and again. They have a meaning, as if we are all being prepared for something, either glory or death or both." He shook his head and swore under his breath. "But damned if I'll ever understand it."

He opened the door and looked out across the street, silhouettes of the ahimazzi merging like the dark shape of a single crouched beast, their daggers its rusty teeth, their tattered robes its filthy mane.

"Be careful," he said to her as he stepped outside, leaving her to her ritual and praying that she would survive what she had planned.

"See you soon," she replied. He closed the door behind himself and made his way through the garden, sword drawn to challenge the many-eyed beast that awaited him-as they always did, time and again. He did not shout or flourish his sword in a duelist's manner, though his heart raced to meet them and to clip the wings of their dark master.

Tavian's boots scuffed loudly in the empty streets, a patrol at his back as night settled into the alleys and dark avenues of Sea Ward. He had often wished to escape the bureaucracy of his command and put heels to the cobbles, but he'd never imagined he would regret that selfish desire. They carried their lanterns high along lines of dark street lamps, a casualty of the curfew and of the lamplighters' fear after the morning's news had spread to the other wards. Foolhardy gawkers and would-be adventurers were stopped and questioned before being sent away, though Tavian knew they would attempt to slip back in, to make a name for themselves or hire themselves out to nobles amassing armies of bodyguards.

The Watch commanders, fearing an increased lack of trust in their officers, had called for reinforcements to patrol until the ward's matters could be settled. Investigators had been summoned, and the details of the killings, such as they were, were under review. Already they had found odd notations and inconsistencies in the recent logs.

Primary among them was a sizable donation to the local Watch by the slain Loethe family, a donation recorded and signed for yet long since disappeared.

As much as he could, Tavian had defended Allek Marson to his superiors, proclaiming him to be a good man in unusual circumstances, but as evidence mounted and changed by the bell, he found he could no longer trust his own report of the man. He'd known Allek to be honest and trustworthy, an efficient officer if ever there was one, though he could not deny the growing sense that the fallen rorden had been manipulated and used. Worse still was the idea that Allek had allowed himself to be treated that way, pawn to a foul plot and seduced by something he could not turn down.

As rumors spread through the ranks, more and more patrols frequented the perimeter of the House of Wonder, suspicious of the magic-users within. Tavian imagined any sleeping wizards within would dream of armies on the march, such was the foot traffic outside their courtyard. The Watchful Order had been summoned to question the wizards, much to the discomfort of many of Sea Ward's regular officers, rumors of foul magic abounding in the tales of the murders. Tavian had never had much trouble with wizards, but somewhere in the ward, he smelled magic at work, as if it were on the air, worming itself into the cracks and gutters, making ready for some final act to unfold.

A shrill scream pierced the streets, echoing through the lofty spires. He stopped his men in their tracks, listening as it faded in the distance. Tavian held a gloved hand up, his breath steaming as they waited for the scream to repeat and give them a direction. His heart pounded and he wondered, after all the reports, what bloody scene might await them. The scream came again, and he dropped his fist, leading the patrol west and north to the disturbance.

Pale green light swung from one building to the next as the officers ran, breath steaming in puffs behind them as they turned a corner and found a woman, frantic and leaning out from a second-story window, wailing and pointing. Her face was white as a ghost, and masculine hands held her shoulders as she struggled, grasping for something unseen.