Rilyana drew close to Tallus, wrapping an arm around his waist and gently kissing his neck, her tongue darting close to his ear as she smiled cruelly at the deva.
"He doesn't seem particularly surprised to see you," she said, and she laid her head upon the archmage's shoulder.
Tallus grunted, grinning through his scraggly beard as he produced a wooden chest from beneath his robes and placed it upon the pedestal. "Only because he is a better actor than you, my dear. Had he known I was alive, he might not have wasted his time with that fool Dregg." The pedestal began to glow, the golden clasp and gilded edges of the chest flaring brightly even as the entire house groaned. "Though I must wonder, how did he find us here?"
"Perhaps you've been betrayed," Jinn muttered, lining the blade of his sword along the edge of his spine, leaning forward as he waited for Tallus to turn away once more. The wizard's confidence, though sickening, could serve Jinn's purpose.
"Oh, I've no doubt of that," the archmage replied and passed his hand over the wooden chest, chanting as the house seemed to lurch on its foundation, shaking violently. More dust fell and thorny vines crawled down through fresh cracks in the ceiling, writhing and spreading. The walls pulsed and undulated like flesh made of wood and stone, as though the entire structure were alive. "Too many would be more than willing to kill for my place in this ritual. Had I chosen to wait any longer, I might have ended up like the corpse you found in my tower."
"There's still time for that," Jinn said as the stone floor throbbed beneath his boots. An unholy energy seeped through the cracks that brought bile into Jinn's throat and twisted in his gut. The scents of the Nine Hells wafted through the room: sulfur, rot, and char.
Disoriented and nauseated, he choked and spat, sickened by the power the archmage was summoning, his heart pounding as his celestial nature was repelled by the ritual. Trying to focus on the wizard and his duplicitous lover, Jinn held on, waiting until Tallus finally turned. In a breath Jinn vaulted forward, sword drawn back as the archmage traced sigils on the chest, unaware of the impending doom at his back.
Quessahn stared out at the House of Thorne for several moments before drawing the curtains and returning to her ritual circle. A part of her feared for Jinn, just as another part wondered if she could trust his judgment, wondered if he were capable of sacrificing the lives of hundreds, possibly thousands, to satisfy his thirst for vengeance. She banished the thought, having her own work to complete. She sat, cross-legged, at the center of the design on the floor and shook her hands nervously then laid them gently upon her knees. Closing her eyes, she cleared her mind of all else but the spell prepared around her, mentally tracing each sigil and glyph, turning her mind through the arcane labyrinth of the ritual.
She whispered the runes of the outer circle, each symbol a listed name, all of them drawn from ancient texts and dark cults long dead. She called upon the power of stars and slumbering beings, many of whom were both, whose dreams were alive and whose nightmares fed upon the fabrics of the multiverse, infected by their creators' appetites for the flesh of reality itself. Invoking their essences, she worked to link the vast areas of space between one and the next, tracing her spell, her circle, in immeasurable symbols among the stars.
A dull ache settled in her bones as the pattern took shape, as if the raw magic she summoned had taken notice of her efforts and had begun to test the limits of her will. The names she uttered echoed through the outer circle, thrumming in powerful languages that were old when the world was yet young, naming themselves as she reigned in the power of the pattern. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and stars streaked through her field of vision as she shook, gritting her teeth and holding on to the magic. At length, mastering the power that flowed through and around her, she turned her attention to the inner circle.
The inner circle spun in her mind, the symbols turning as she spoke them, raising her hands and tracing them on the air. Her fingers clawed at ephemeral threads of energy, forcing them into the configurations she desired. Only one name was written within the inner circle, and she saved it for the last, holding it as it slid through her mind like a snake, its forked tongue flicking at her thoughts. It teased her and she trembled, fighting back the doubt that could destroy the spell. Infusing the ritual with her quiet fear, she turned her dread into bait for her target.
"Sathariel," she whispered, the word taking on a life of its own, drifting like smoke within the confines of the circles and tugging at her concentration, begging to be heard. It shouted itself in discordant echoes, over and over in rumbling waves that raised the hairs on her neck.
A quiet gasp escaped her as she fought to contain the power around her, the magic thrashing to be set free, loosed to her desired effect. At length the angel's name quieted in her mind, a cool calm settling among her thoughts, and she knew her spell had been answered.
The dark house grew darker, bereft of light save for the soft glow of the circles around her, a faerie fire to draw the angel in like a moth from the depths of the Nine Hells. Massive wings spoke in tones of thunder as he appeared, his very presence like a weakening of the heart. He drifted down from the tall ceiling, his body crafted of black flame, clothed in silvered armor shaped to resemble screaming faces. A long blade hung at his side, and a halo of flickering shadow curled around his featureless face, tiny, ice blue pinpoints glaring at her from within the twin pits of his eyes.
Is this your part to play, eladrin? his voice growled in her thoughts and shook the tenuous tethers of her spell. To summon me here and somehow foil the dark ritual of the nine skulls? Or is it to save the courageous deva from my wrath? Her mind filled with his laughter, a derisive storm that crashed against her resolve. Your sacrifice is indeed noble but terribly misguided. I can almost taste your ignorance, a veritable feast of empty gestures that only delay the inevitable.
"Y-you mock me. I court with beings far beyond the angelic lackeys of youngling gods," she said as the spell took on its final shape, binding itself to her as she bound herself to its purpose.
Indeed, a passing acquaintance, I am sure, with powers that defeated themselves in an age long before the rise of mortals, Sathariel replied. Ah, but could they smell your weakness now, I daresay they might awaken again.
"Until then… let us speak," she said, and she loosed the spell, sighing as it ran its course, flooding her body with tingling power.
A wave of green energy leaped from her palms at Sathariel as he drew and swung his heavy blade. The sword sparked at the edge of the circle, rebounding from the protective spell even as jade energy gripped his shadowlike body and mingled in its deep black like spilled ink.
What is this, witch? he shouted in her mind as his body shuddered and trembled, unable to escape the cloying power that coursed through him.
"A simple ward, a circle to keep you at arm's length, and this"-she held up her hands, flickering with a nimbus of green energy-"this will tell me a bit of your future, what those slumbering beings among the stars see in their dreams of things that are and things that could be."
Look well, then, elf, the angel replied, roaring in her thoughts as he crashed his blade against the outer circle, sparks showering around them both. For you are a doomed voyeur, a witness to your own death… and the deva's!
"Undoubtedly," she said, a familiar cairn settling her racing heart, her mind's eye drifting to maps of the constellations. Her back arched painfully as power rushed between their bodies. Blinded by a flash of white light, she felt as though she were suddenly flying, the fate of an angel flooding her senses.
A swirl of colors swam on the insides of Jinn's eyelids. Breath, heavy and laborious, poured into his lungs like warm syrup, tasting of fire and things long dead. A grating noise, like boulders roughly dragged down a paved avenue, rumbled in his throat as sparks of consciousness hissed in his mind. He recalled a brief moment of savage fury, light on his heels, a sword in his hand as he leaped for the throat of Archmage Tallus.
All else was pain and rough sto
ne floor on his back.
His skin felt burned as he turned on his side, leaning on one elbow and blinking the haze from his eyes. The edges of the wizard's ritual circle rippled lazily, waves flowing around and around the pair within the concentric rings of magic. Tallus glanced at him once, appearing amused but engrossed in his work as he carried out the instructions of the nine skulls. Rilyana's gaze did not falter, however, her face set in an excited, manic expression as Jinn sat up, grimacing as he took up his stolen blade.
"Do you feel better now?" the archmage asked, inscribing a deft sigil in the lid of the wooden chest on the pedestal. "I suspect your angel will make that attempt as well and gain much the same result."
"Your angel, I believe. I do not ally myself with lapdogs of Asmodeus," Jinn replied, sliding the edge of his blade along the perimeter of the ritual circle, air burning at the contact between magic and steel.
"Well, partnerships of convenience come and go so swiftly, do they not? And I believe you are the last one to be judging the dubious contacts of others, or have you and the night hag had a falling out?" Tallus sat back from the chest, grinning at his work.
Jinn ignored the human and shifted his weight, testing his legs before rising to a low crouch. He studied the chamber as he did so, looking for some crack, some weakness he might exploit to slow the progress of the skulls' ritual.
"Your kind are not welcome within this circle," Rilyana said, kneeling to catch Jinn's eye. "It has lain buried here for three centuries, waiting for this night to happen."
Jinn leaned close to the invisible barrier, a palpable charge around it tingling on his skin. He regarded the young woman who had seduced Allek Marson, Lucian Dregg, Archmage Tallus, and, if the rumors were to be believed, her own brother, who lay unconscious and bloodied barely a stride away.
"No, Mistress Saerfynn, it has been here far longer than that. This circle was a dream long before Waterdeep even had a name. The runes you hide behind owe more to prophecy than the villainy of greedy wizards," he said with a cruel smile, knowing the ambition that brought her to the brink of immortality would be the same that consigned her to the grim delights of a devil-god's court.
Rilyana leaned closer to him, her smile never faltering, her eyes bright and knowing. He could smell the heady scent of her perfume as she licked her lips and lowered her eyes demurely, smirking as she spoke.
"You and Sathariel are much alike, more than I'd expected," she said, adding mysteriously, "I can see why he likes you."
She withdrew swiftly to the archmage's side as Jinn leaned back, speechless as the wizard's voice rose to a shout, a profane chant that sent shivers through the deva's blood. The circle flared to brilliant life, energy spinning low over the carved symbols, raising sparks like the gears of a clockwork machine gone mad. The house shook, groaning again, and Jinn doubled over, sickened by a wave of unholy power as somehow, in the pit of his being, he felt a change in the air and knew what had happened.
The true ritual had just begun.
Hollow voices filled the chamber as Tallus fell silent and turned to the body of Callak, which stirred, writhing and convulsing on the floor.
"Tallus!" Callak cried, the name split among nine screeching tones, all of them furious.
Green flames burst from Callak's eyes, roaring high as shadows flooded from his wide mouth like thick smoke, curling and wrapping around his arms and legs, the misty strings of nine sorcerous puppeteers. He spasmed and lurched, rising on his hands as the darkness obscured his flesh, leaving only the flaming green eyes, which turned and glared at the archmage.
"Idiot! Fool! You have betrayed us!" they cried, voices cracking like a whip.
"Nonsense," Tallus replied calmly. "I have merely quickened the pace of our arrangement, though I suspected you would not be terribly pleased."
"We shall rip you limb from limb, knit you back together, make you a plaything for demons and a temple for maggots!" the Nine shouted.
"No, you won't," the archmage responded as Rilyana leaned upon his shoulder, "for there are a dozen souls left for you to prepare. Time is fleeting, but it has not yet left you behind. That is, provided you contribute your own souls to the ritual before the work is ruined…"
Jinnaoth listened to the exchange intently, quietly urging the souls to act upon their greed and reveal the location of their long-hidden souls. With that, he might draw out the angel, lure Sathariel with valuable secrets to within reach of his blade.
"Very well," the skulls growled at length, too close to the immortal flesh they so desired to resist its siren call. "Find them here…"
They drew a series of dark symbols upon the wooden chest, the characters matching the existing arcane designs as Jinn cursed under his breath, unable to read the language upon the box.
"Do not try us further, wizard. As it is, we shall have an interesting discussion when this business is concluded," they said, backing away from the pedestal, eyes flaring excitedly at sight of the wooden chest.
With an echoing whisper of magic, the nine skulls and the possessed body of Callak Saerfynn were gone. Taking their secrets with them, they left Jinn, bereft of all that he'd come for, alone and barred from the hellish circle where Tallus orchestrated a symphony of immortality for himself-and death for every soul within the reach of the foul ritual.
NINETEEN
NIGHTAL 22, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)
" I am sorry about your brother, dear Rilyana," Tallus muttered absently as he worked the clasps on the wooden chest, tracing a sigil upon each with the tip of his finger. "Callak's death will be slow and painful, but it will pave the way for you to join me… forever."
She smiled, her hand sliding from his right shoulder to around his waist, kissing him roughly and pressing her body close. Jinn turned away from the spectacle, collecting his scattered thoughts toward some other plan, some way to foil Tallus and draw Sathariel out of hiding.
"Never worry, my love. I mourn no lost brother," Rilyana purred, and something in her voice caught
Jinn's attention, her words reverberating like a slipped secret plucked from the air on a crowded street. He glanced up, curious, his thoughts racing back to Rilyana's mansion and the paintings upon the walls of the drawing room. Rilyana's tongue traced the lobe of Tallus's ear as she continued, looking sidelong at the dawning realization on the deva's face. A flash of curved steel appeared in her left hand, hidden at her side, as she added in a husky whisper, "I was adopted, my dear uncle."
Tallus's eyes widened in horror half a breath before Rilyana's blade plunged into his chest. The archmage gasped once, waving his hands as he tried to push away from the young woman, but she held on, wrestling his arms down and covering his mouth, foiling his attempts to save himself with magic. His next breaths gurgled in his throat as his face turned red, eyes burning into Rilyana's as she bore him to the floor, her white gown stained with his blood. She held him tightly, as though squeezing the last dregs of life from his body before rising to survey her work.
Her fingers dripping with blood, she traced a symbol upon the last clasp of the chest, and the house shuddered as the box slowly opened. A column of blue-white light erupted from the pedestal, giving Jinn a brief glimpse at the chest's contents before he was forced to turn away. He was not surprised at the sight of dried blood on gold satin, of yellowed bone and gray flesh-the collected fingers of the skulls' victims, vessels for their souls, to burn on the pyre of immortality.
Rilyana smiled, chanting over the box's contents, spatters of Tallus's blood dripping onto the circle as she took up the ritual chant. The energy over the runes spun ever faster, blurring into a disk of flickering yellow flames before she fell silent and knelt over the body of the archmage. She ripped open the front of his robes, her blade poised over his chest as she prepared his body for the rite, one more soul for the fire and a tenth family, the Saerfynns, added to the list of would-be immortals.
A blanket of white clouds rolled slowly eastward beneath Quessahn as a
sky full of stars wheeled overhead. Somewhere below the clouds, locked in the throes of magic, she could faintly feel the pressure of her body, the tightness of her skin and the cold sweat running down her neck, but it was as a dream, something outside of herself and bordering on the unreal. Close by she could feel the presence of Sathariel, caught in her spell, his future and fragments of his past feeding the magic as he struggled to free himself. Little tremors of pain danced in her distant wrists, traveling up her arms as she fought to hold him for just a few breaths more.
Weightless, she soared through the air, borne on the currents of time past and yet to be, spinning in the occasional whirlpools of random events until that which she sought came surging from the depths, showing her visions of the angel's future.
The stars flashed and her entire being shuddered as she plunged through the clouds, hurtling forward-or possibly backward, she couldn't tell which. Waterdeep stretched out beneath her, the streets a blur of activity and changing shadows as day and night turned over one another more than a dozen times in the space of a breath. Turning toward Sea Ward, she descended over its many-spired homes and grandiose temples as the moon took dominance over the sun. All across the city, streetlamps were lit, tracing a maze of light through main streets and winding avenues alike, though in Sea Ward the streets remained dark and foreboding.
Watch patrols rushed from block to block, like ants running in inexplicable patterns, chasing screams and shadows. Windows were lit in the House of Wonder as sleeping wizards awoke, responding to some commotion or another outside. The Watchful Order had roused the mages, separating and questioning them, keeping them from leaving the house. Instinct made her want to call out, to warn them that something was coming, but the course of the spell carried her quietly by, heading south, where a dark and dilapidated house awaited her.
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