"Fine," he answered and strode toward the door. "Gateclose tomorrow, in the alley."
He didn't wait for her reply, shoving the house's doors open. He missed the glimmering memory of ancient wars, the simplicity of facing an enemy across a shining field of battle, the trumpets of challenge and victory, but most of all he missed the memory of her, Variel, the deva he'd found after four millennia in the unlikely city of Waterdeep-the companion he'd lost to Sathariel.
By the time he'd reached Mara's shop, his fury had faded somewhat, replaced by exhaustion. Bodies, sigils, rumors, and ghostly skulls haunted him up the stairs, mysteries for which he had little stomach or patience, but for Variel, he would answer the call of his ancient spirit, with all eternity laid out before him to make right what he had once let slip away.
Tallus stood at his chamber window, looking down as Jinnaoth disappeared in the dark of Pharra's Alley. He ground the base of his gnarled staff into the floor angrily, drumming his fingertips on the windowsill and contemplating the winding, well-lit streets of Sea Ward from the heights of the House of Wonder.
"Gorrick," he called, causing a sharp intake of breath from the doorway.
His apprentice rushed into the room, robes swishing on the floor. "Yes, Archmage?" Gorrick said, and Tallus could imagine the fear in the ambitious young man's eyes. He would have smiled, enjoying the boy's discomfort, if not for the fact he knew Gorrick's fear did not lie entirely with the archmage.
"Return to the libraries. Keep a watchful eye upon Quessahn," he commanded. Though he doubted the eladrin warlock would discover anything useful in the common books available to students of the house, he did not want to take any chances. "Be discreet."
"Yes, Archmage," Gorrick said and swiftly left to obey, closing the chamber door behind himself.
Tallus was not overly fond of his apprentice, but he and Gorrick were two of a kind in the city, held under the same thumb and both threatened by the arrival of Jinnaoth. Gorrick was unaware of the threat the deva represented, but Tallus would not underestimate Jinnaoth as his brothers once had-he would deal with the problem quickly and efficiently.
"You are a fool," a hollow voice thundered, sending chills down his spine. Shadows lengthened through the room, encroaching along the walls and ceiling, crackling like dead leaves. The darkness pressed against him, edging him closer to the pane of glass. Tallus imagined he could hear distant wails and screams, the thousand or more souls trapped within the innards of the angel, imprisoned by foul and ancient magic.
"Sathariel," Tallus managed. "You should not come to this place. You risk too much."
"Your wizards do not care." Sathariel chuckled, the sound rumbling in Tallus's mind, scattering his thoughts. "They have their studies and spells, desperate for what magic they can grasp in their greedy minds. The world will have been long burning before they think to research rituals of water."
Despite himself, Tallus nodded in agreement, suspecting few of the idiots downstairs could see far beyond their own noses, but he knew there were a few who watched and listened, who still imagined themselves a part of the world beyond the walls of the house. Quessahn was a threat. Willful and often disobedient, she sought magic not for herself, but for others, wasting her talents on those who would never accept her, never trust her.
"Beware the deva, Tallus," the angel whispered in his ear, the words stinking of decay. "Leave him and the moon elf be."
Shapes fluttered at the edge of the crawling dark, brushing against the walls like long, black feathers. Motes of disturbed dust drifted down from the ceiling.
Tallus pushed back from the window slowly, forcing himself to stand against the inexplicable heaviness of the angel's presence.
"They will get in the way and slow the process down," he said. "I cannot risk their interference."
"Alas, it is your pride you fear to risk," Sathariel replied, chuckling again close to the back of Tallus's neck without breath or humor. "Pardon my amusement; I have some appreciation for the vices of mortals."
"My pride shall be satisfied by following the correct course of action," Tallus shot back angrily. "The deva must be removed. As for his allies… well, all in due course."
"I shall leave you to it, then," the angel said softly. "But do not neglect your obligations to me, wizard. Let the nine skulls of the circle be an example to you. Should you fail me, you will not be as fortunate as they."
The shadows receded, the sound of blown leaves being withdrawn as the angel's wings disappeared into nothingness. A forgotten candle guttered back to its false light, leaving Tallus to watch as shambling figures wound their way down Pharra's Alley, scattering themselves throughout the ward. He shuddered at their miserable fates and absently rubbed at the crimson tattoo on his left arm beneath his robes.
The Vigilant Order might rise again or fall to the depths of the Nine Hells, all on his success or failure in the next few days. His gaze rested at last upon the innocuous cobbles before the gates of the House of Wonder. He placed thoughts of the angel at the back of his mind and focused instead on the circle of skulls, preparing himself for their service.
As he did so, he smiled, a plan forming that would end his concerns about the deva and leave him to finish his great work in peace. Breath shortening, he coughed, a stab of pain rushing through his chest. He gasped as his heart seized and fluttered. He stumbled backward, leaning against the edge of his desk, breathless and wide eyed, gritting his teeth until the pain passed. The recurring attacks had grown more persistent, leaving him weak and clutching at his chest for what seemed an eternity. Recovering slowly, he breathed deeply and looked forward to the moment when such debilitating ailments were no longer his to worry about.
FOUR
NIGHTAL 20, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)
Sunset did not last long, dark clouds rolling in to steal the sky's red-orange, replacing it with deep blacks and undulating purples. Pharra's Alley was thinning out, the usual crowd of merchants and hopeful students meandering away from the wizards' gate, revealing the bare stones where the skulls were said to appear. Rorden Allek arrived, disturbing Jinn from his study of the rumored spot. He was not entirely convinced the circle existed at all.
"Master Jinn," Allek said, seeming more rested that the previous night but no less weary.
Jinn opened his mouth to respond then spied Quessahn approaching from behind the rorden. She handed him back his sketches, causing Allek to regard Jinn with a glowering, curious stare.
"Forgive me, Rorden Allek, this is Quessahn Uthraebor," Jinn said swiftly before either of them could speak. "I have asked her to assist us."
Allek glanced at the moon elf briefly before gesturing toward the end of the alley. He led them north through the ward as lamplighters gathered at street corners, long, iron hooks slung over their shoulders for the oil-pot lanterns that lit the city by night. Small, portable merchant carts rolled by, their wares folded away until the following morning's business. Horse-drawn carriages, well shined for the appearances of their wealthy occupants, set out from walled mansions, heedless of those foolish enough to get in their way.
"You call this discreet?" Allek said at length, eyes forward and in step beside the deva.
"She already knew about the killings," Jinn responded quietly, "and I suspect we'll need her insight."
"Insight?" Allek asked. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "A wizard…"
"Warlock," Quessahn corrected.
The rorden paused, turning to face the pair with a defeated expression. Jinn had gone against Allek's wishes, but they had both known the exclusion of arcane insight could not have lasted long.
"Well met, then, Mistress Uthraebor," the rorden said, though he glared at Jinn. "Let us be swift before the whole of Waterdeep knows our troubles. Then we'll be up to our eyeballs in wizards and the gods know who else."
Across the street from the corner of Stormstar's Ride and the Street of Glances, Allek stopped, gesturing to the tavern on the northwest corner.
"The Storm's Front," he said, "a popular gathering place for the young and wealthy. Many of the most recent victims were last seen here. The Watch has staked it out before with no success, but I'm hoping that between the two of us-"
"Three," Quessahn added quickly, studying the two-story stone and wood tavern as a well-dressed couple slipped inside. Scents of roasted meats wafted from the open doorway, and Jinn noted several patrons already seated, getting an early start on the evening's revelry.
"Three, yes," the rorden said. "I was hoping we might spy something of note, something the average officer might not notice."
"Is this all?" Quessahn asked. "After a month, this tavern is all you have?"
"I've added an extra man to each patrol and an extra patrol after evenpeal," Allek said angrily, keeping his voice low. "Beyond keeping our eyes, ears, and feet busy, I've little else to go on at this point."
"Fair enough," Jinn said, glaring at Quessahn as Allek made his way across the street ahead of them. Jinn caught Quessahn's elbow, holding her back a moment. "Any luck with the sigils?"
"Some but nothing very helpful," she answered. "Likely more than the Watch has uncovered yet. If they'd just trust a wizard long enough to-"
"We'll talk later," he replied and followed the rorden. "Until then try to keep in mind that the last victim was Allek's niece and that you're not the only one who cares that people are dying."
Jinn did not look back to see her reaction, though he felt the effect of his words in her ensuing silence. He was not fond of the general distrust of magic some people held, but by the same token, he despised the knee-jerk reactions of magic-users who suspected prejudice at every turn-an effective circle of ignorance begetting yet more ignorance.
Laughter and bright lanterns greeted him as he entered the Storm's Front, a large, curved main floor contoured to the shape of the street, the opposite end bearing a double stairway to a second floor and more private gathering rooms. The interior was well decorated with polished wood tables and chairs, candles at every seating, and an elaborate bar serving cold drinks and hot meals. It seemed to reflect what Jinn suspected to be a wealthy clientele, but it was also less than what he had been expecting. That he and Quessahn had entered without being stopped at the door was evidence of an inclusiveness that some finer establishments of the ward lacked. Several weapons of an ocean-themed nature hung on the walls and a wooden plaque over the bar bore a storm-cloud design over a crude wave of water. The tavern had an air of false roughness, alluding to a true sailors' tavern, though Jinn imagined that the only sailors who had ever entered the place were either long retired or owned small ships that they occasionally visited.
Jinn felt eyes upon him and the eladrin as they crossed the common room, joining Allek at a table that afforded a view of the entire bar and seating area. He caught more than a few sneering looks from the growing crowd and paid them no mind, sitting back and letting his gaze wander from one person to the next, trying to appear casual. He studied clothing, visible weapons, those who were quiet and watchful, and those who laughed and caroused. His eyes were drawn to the roughness or smoothness of exposed palms and took note of their footwear, marking filth and cleanliness, loud heels compared to smooth, quiet soles.
Altogether, he could piece together one suspect from among several familiar traits, though could not attribute any particular crime to the amalgam. No one presented themselves as anything other than what they seemed, and with Allek's admission that several unconnected murderers had already been placed in the Watch's custody, Jinn began to realize the difficulty of the task the Watch had undertaken.
"Rorden Allek!" a young woman at the door called out, extracting herself from a small group of admirers and sauntering over to their table. She was a short, curvy woman festooned with lace and jewels, a tight-fitting crimson dress leaving little to the imagination as she leaned against their table with a conspiratorial wink at the rorden. "How is my favorite niece of yours, Rorden? I haven't seen Alma in ages!"
Jinn noticed a brief shadow cross Allek's features, and Quessahn looked away uncomfortably. However, the rorden composed himself quickly, his voice bearing not the slightest hint of what he truly felt.
"Mistress Lhaerra," he said, "I fear that Alma has taken ill of late-"
"The poor dear!" Lhaerra exclaimed, an exaggerated look of concern on her face disappearing quickly as a round of laughter from the bar caught her attention.
"Give dear Alma my best, will you?"
She was gone before Allek could respond, lost in a crowd of smiling suitors and jealous rivals. The rorden merely sat in silence, eyes seeming to burn a hole in the tabletop for a moment before returning to his perusal of the common room. No one else approached the trio for some time, and for that, Jinn was grateful.
As the evening wore on closer to evenpeal, he sipped at a glass of water, earning scornful looks from the barkeep. Jinn fought the urge to suggest leaving, seeing little in the vapid decadence of those gathered that reminded him of the Vigilant Order.
He saw them more as prey than predators. The more they drank, the more closely he watched, waiting for signs of an approaching threat that might sniff and prowl at the weaknesses of those with too much coin and too little sense.
"Are we entertaining criminals in taverns rather than the jails now?" a young man at the bar called out to the amusement of his snickering companions. Only a few among them tried to shush the tall, lithe young man in black trousers and doublet, a fine-stitched storm cloak thrown over his shoulder to reveal a jeweled rapier at his side.
"Callak Saerfynn and his toadies," Allek said, nodding to the bar with a half-lidded gaze that turned more than a few heads back to their drinks. "Coins too shiny for the commoners and nary a kind word to the servants that tolerate them."
"Wits as dull as their gilded blades," Jinn muttered as Quessahn stood, tight lipped and with fists clenched. Jinn was prepared to intervene should the eladrin attempt to confront the group, but he relaxed when she turned away.
"I'll have a look around," she said almost calmly. "I need to stretch my legs."
Over the laughter and dull roar of conversation, Jinn heard the bells announcing evenpeal outside, the last bells of the night. The sound was comforting to him, more acquainted as he was with the later hours, and he renewed his scrutiny of the tavern's guests. Most of those in the city with foul intentions did their work under night's cover.
Allek shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "I feel a fool here already," he said, pushing away from the table. "I'll have a quick look upstairs, and we can leave soon."
"Take your time," Jinn replied, narrowing his gold eyes and sensing an unmistakable hush hiding among the tavern's crowd, a familiar calm that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He absently tapped at the pommel of his sword, searching for what had caught his interest, some movement among the crowd that stood out from the rest. He added quietly, "And be careful."
It slid among the young and perfumed, the wealthy and foppish. A shock of dark blue traced with lightning-white lace. With bright hazel eyes, she watched him demurely over the shoulder of one oblivious patron then another as if she moved apart from them, commanding space for herself by presence alone. Long, blonde hair, strands of it framing her soft face, fell down her back as she approached, appearing between two shocked young men like a ghost. Dark crimson lips smiled, and her eyes wandered to the patterns on Jinn's cheek, down his neck where they branched between his shoulder and collarbone.
Despite her beauty, or perhaps because of it, Jinn held still, waiting for a knife to appear in her delicate hand or horns to sprout from her forehead. The woman, in one way or another, was the predator he had expected to find. She sat across from him wordlessly, her body curving in practiced motions to accentuate its many attributes.
"You are Jinnaoth," she said matter-of-factly, leaning forward with a grin.
"And you are the third stranger in the last day claiming to know of me," he replied, sensing a game in
her sparkling eyes, a game he was determined not to play. "I grow tired of being marked before being introduced."
"Rilyana," she said. "Rilyana Saerfynn."
"You'll be the sister, then," he said, glancing to the disapproving glare of Callak by the bar, her brother red faced with drink and on the verge of what was likely an unseemly display of violence for the likes of the Storm's Front.
"Unfortunately," she said, following his gaze to Callak casually. "I hope you'll not judge me too harshly by his example."
"It seems I am forced to think just the opposite, wondering how the brother is related to the sister at all," Jinn said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "The sister that knows my name. I must also wonder what else she knows about me?"
"I have my sources. Despite its size, Sea Ward is actually quite small," she answered, staring deep into his golden eyes, though whether her stare was challenging or an attempt at seduction, he could not be sure. "You don't want to be here, do you?"
It seemed an innocent question, but Jinn felt the depth of it, even if such was unintended. A flash of the brilliant light from his dreams passed through his thoughts, the celestial glow of an ancient home abandoned. Though he tried to banish the image, it was strangely persistent, and he felt a slight pressure in his chest. Alarmed, he felt eyes upon him, glowering at him beneath a bushy brow from the doorway, the faint tap of Archmage Tallus's gnarled staff putting him on guard. A twist of pain wrenched his stomach, and he winced, reaching for his sword and comforted by the coolness of its grip as he glared at the wizard.
"What sources, pray tell?" he said as Tallus was covered by the crowd, lost to him near the tavern's door. A needling sensation pricked at his palms and worked slowly up toward his wrist and forearm.
"Pardon?" Rilyana asked innocently.
"Who told you about me?" he asked directly, standing as the pressure in his chest seemed to spread through his body. His mind raced, wondering what spell had hold of him. Instinct told him to draw his weapon and present it, but he resisted, confused by the sudden urge.
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