James Davis: Circle of Skulls

"Which suggests the victims were specific targets."

Jinn stepped back from the body and nodded to Allek, who waved Yarrow back to reseal the quiet chamber. The rorden's face seemed older, expressionless as they walked back to the end of the corridor.

"Have you had a priest or wizard examine any of the bodies?" Jinn asked. "Perhaps one could attempt to speak with the spirit."

"We made one attempt with a priest," Allek answered, "and he has yet to recover. Some kind of… backlash is the best I can describe it. It threw the man across the room, left him burned and senseless. For their safety we've kept those few among the Watchful Order that know of the murders away from the bodies themselves. As I said before, magic is serving us very little as of yet."

With the suspicion of wizardry in Waterdeep of late, Jinn could understand why Allek was hesitant to involve spellhurlers, but he couldn't abide not exploiting whatever resources might prove useful. As they ascended to the more common hallways of the Westwall, Jinn stopped Allek before they were in earshot of the other officers.

"We will need a wizard," Jinn said, knowing that Allek, despite his distrust, had to agree with the next most logical avenue of finding answers.

The rorden merely nodded, crossing his arms, clearly troubled by the prospect of involving anyone else in the mystery.

"I have some contacts," Jinn added. "I'll be discreet."

"Do what you need to," Allek said. "I'll meet you back in the alley at gateclose tomorrow."

"Get some sleep," Jinn said before taking his leave of the rorden, though Allek did not answer. Jinn did not envy the man the long night he faced, trying to rest, keep his composure, and see to his duty as a Watchman amid the loss of his only family.

Outside the wall, Jinn raised his collar against the cold and set out toward the House of Wonder, one last thing to do before succumbing to his own exhaustion. The Watchful Order, while capable wizards, could not be trusted with the discretion he required, and though Mara was quite skilled with spells and rituals, her resources and contacts within Sea Ward were limited. Jinn suspected one person in particular could prove invaluable, both due to the nature of the crimes and in knowledge of the ward in general. He sighed, however, dreading the task and having his own reasons for avoiding certain magic-users.

NIGHTAL 19, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

Steam swirled above the greenish sludge in the labyrinth of Waterdeep's sewers. Rats huddled along the bordering catwalks, gathering for warmth, fighting and cannibalizing the weak when hunger demanded a sacrifice. Moonlight glimmered ghostlike down through a hidden entrance in Torch Lane above, twinkling in Essirel's eyes as he drew his dirty cloak tighter against the cold. His breath came slow and even, almost mechanical, his heartbeat much the same.

Thought and even the memory of emotion was rare and fleeting, serving more to confuse him than to offer hope, though he struggled to hang on to those moments. He could not help but fail, so lost was the soul that had driven his ambitions and desires. Only the moon and the rats kept him company as he waited, filled with dread-the only real feeling he had been allowed to keep-for the beating of its wings, the call of his master's voice.

Others shifted closer, their once-fine robes almost unidentifiable, covered in the filth of miles of sewers. Dull eyes led them to share in Essirel's moonlight, to watch for the shadow across the moon, to listen for the thunder of the angel Sathariel. They crawled closer on hands and knees, pressing close at Essirel's shoulder, the stink they brought swallowed by the pervading scents of the sewer. He swayed as they crowded around him, blank faces upturned to the glow.

A terrible will was gathering them, bringing them to clean streets and wealthy homes with the promise of redemption. Essirel gasped at the thought but was left slack jawed a breath later, drool stringing slowly down his chin. There had been a moment, seemingly eons ago, when he'd seen the bright spark of himself, watched it glow, tethered to him by ephemeral strands of being before it had been ripped away. Every moment since, every breath had been the same, lost in the moonlight, moving to the will of some distant mind, shuffling through the streets to that place, far from the dark altars of the Vigilant Order.

Heavy ripples flowed through the sewage, and Essirel's eyes widened, his gut twisting in pain as a quiet rumble of thunder resonated through the tunnels. In that breath he felt his soul shudder in its prison, writhing in the guts of his lord's servant, the devouring angel sent to punish him and his brethren. The bodies around him stirred and began to rise, reaching up with filth-encrusted hands, ready to serve if only for the chance at forgiveness. The clarity held for a moment, and Essirel resisted the call, drawing breath to scream and clutching at his chest where he'd last seen the spark of his existence torn from him, but the scream never came.

His hands fell to the damp stone beneath him, and he pushed himself to his feet, reaching for the rusted rungs of an old ladder, and pulled. Soulless and directionless, he followed the rumbling voice of an angel, determined to serve, called to hide among the cold streets until the time of the Flensing when he might glimpse the terrible face of his god.

And the time was near.

Jinn paused before the gates of the House of Wonder, studying the symbols on the wrought iron and steeling himself for what lay within. The sketches of Alma's body seemed to burn a hole in his pocket, teasing him. Like found gold, he clutched them close on the walk from Westwall, certain he was close to his quarry and half expecting Sathariel to come for him any moment. He was tired of the constant questions and cryptic answers. He had no care for the blood spilled in Sea Ward and had quietly promised whatever Power might be listening that he would walk away from the strange killings happily if he might do so with Sathariel's angelic blood on his blade.

Sighing, he resigned himself to the slow hunt and raised his hand to the house's gate.

"Are you a wizard, saer?"

Jinn spun around, hand on his sword, only to find an officer of the Watch at his back, a lean man with a sharp, wolflike face, half-lidded eyes, and a thin smile set on his wide mouth. A pair of crossed, diagonal slashes on the officer's tabard declared his rank. At the officer's back, a patrol of seven men had paused, glancing toward the pair at the gates, but talking low among themselves. Jinn let his hand fall away from his sword.

"Not at all, Swordcaptain," Jinn answered. "Merely visiting, Officer…?"

"Dregg," the man replied. "It's a bit late for a visit, isn't it? Streets can be dangerous after dark. Lots of undesirables hanging about lately."

Jinn narrowed his eyes at Dregg's ignorant comments. There were some in Sea Ward who referred to any race other than human as undesirable, sneering at the so-called lesser races as unworthy upstarts, usurpers of human wealth and safety. At each meeting with an elf or dwarf in the streets, they scowled, considering the high walls of Waterdeep a failure for allowing such trash to contaminate their communities.

"You speak true, Swordcaptain," Jinn said with a threatening smile, gold eyes flashing. "One would do well to avoid such confrontations, wouldn't one?"

Dregg's smile faded, but he did not avert his gaze. He took a step forward, looking Jinn up and down with a cold sneer.

"Jinnaoth," Dregg said as if spitting the name. "You are Rorden Allek's pet, are you not?"

"Allek is an old friend," Jinn replied, sensing something other than mere racism in Dregg's demeanor-something personal, though he had never met the man before.