of Sea Ward would be attending any of the night's festivities, unless they were hired to cook or serve.
Satisfied that no one was around, Jinn and Quessahn ascended the short steps and tested the front door. The lock was smashed, the brass doorknob still lying on the ground, smudged by dark prints. Jinn entered the house, noting the ashy boot prints just inside and feeling his blood boil at the thought of Dregg violating the privacy of his friend's home. The office had been ransacked, though to Allek's credit, there was little to destroy save a small desk, a comfortable chair, and a low table covered in various broadsheets from across the city.
Quessahn lit a lantern, and Jinn's gaze immediately turned to the fireplace on the opposite side of the room. An empty knife stand remained on the mantle where Allek had kept the gifted dagger stolen by Dregg. A fine painting, one of Allek's few valuable possessions, lay on the floor, sliced to shreds.
'Should we be looking for anything specific?' Quessahn asked.
'No,' Jinn answered. 'But I expect we'll know it when we see it. We know how Allek was killed; now we need to know why.'
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He opened them slowly, taking in the details of the room. Aside from the general mess, Jinn saw little out of order save for the dark smudges of heeled boot prints throughout the room. He followed them as Quessahn raised the lantern high, tracking them to the base of a narrow stairway just outside a small kitchen. He took the stairs and Quessahn followed. The eerie silence set his nerves on edge, and he kept a hand on his sword, wondering if they were truly alone.
Allek's bedroom was just as sparse as his office: a simple bed, a chest of drawers, and a small desk by the single window. Nothing appeared disturbed and the shadows created by the lantern revealed no hidden assassins. Just the same, Jinn did not let down his guard, sensing something beyond the mere ghost and memories of a murdered friend.
'How long before Dregg is replaced, do you think?' Quessahn asked as she set the lantern down and laid out a scroll on the bed, her rune-covered dagger in hand.
'Long enough,' he replied and sat down at the desk, opening drawers. 'It is not unknown for some officers to take private donations-sharpening the blade, I believe they call it. If someone in particular wants Dregg in charge for some reason, then it can be afforded.'
'Long enough, then,' she said as Jinn pulled forth a bundle of letters from the desk's bottom drawer, each of them smelling of fine perfume. He leaned closer to the lantern, making out the name Rilyana Saerfynn on each of the missives. Quessahn cleared her throat, waving her dagger over the scroll and whispering arcane words, each followed by a spark of glowing light from the parchment as the writing burned itself away.
Jinn tucked the letters into his coat and sat quietly as the eladrin performed the ritual, a working of sight from what he could recognize among the recited passages. Her eyelids fluttered as the magic took shape, tiny arcs of energy rippling across her face, her voice reaching a quiet crescendo, leaving her breathless and shaking. Her bright blue eyes pooled with clouds of swirling black as visions of the recent past rushed into them.
'Lucian Dregg,' she muttered, cocking her head as if listening to a quiet conversation. 'He was here, drunk and swearing at… something… at someone?'
'Who else?' Jinn pressed, and she spun around, blinking fiercely and squinting. She stood at the top of the stairs, her ear against the wall, eyes rolling.
'Archmage Tallus,' she answered and squeezed her eyes shut, covering her ears. 'They're shouting, fighting about something!'
Jinn stood and grabbed her elbow as she swayed forward over the stairway, reeling in the grip of the magic. She grabbed his hand, sinking to her knees, trembling and trying to catch her breath.
'What are they saying?' he asked quietly, careful not to startle her.
'Too many voices,' she managed. 'Hundreds… screaming.' She inhaled, arching her back torturously and shouting, her voice hellish as she dismissed the spell and collapsed in Jinn's arms, breathing heavily. She got to her feet unsteadily, black eyes clearing to blue, like the sky revealed by a passing storm. 'Something was with them. Something old and powerful. I couldn't see through it, couldn't hear. It was like a hole hanging in the air on black wings…'
'Sathariel,' Jinn whispered, thoughts racing as he tried to fathom what business had been conducted in Allek's home, scarce hours after the rorden had been slain.
'Bloody Mystra,' Quessahn swore, regaining her balance. Then she froze as a whimpering groan, guttural and plaintive, echoed from somewhere downstairs.
Jinn drew his sword, his instincts proving honest on at least one undeniable fact.
They were not alone.
Harsh-worded rhymes drifted in the air as Tallus chanted, slowly turning a short length of ash wood between his fists. Standing in the dark at the back door of Allek's home, he strained to pull the magic into shape, smiling in triumph at each victory, each curve or bend that formed to his will. The energy swirled around him tentatively, like an animal fearing a trap. He had read accounts of magic use before the Spellplague and pitied those who had drawn upon the well-ordered threads of the old Weave, as if magic were an instrument waiting for simple breath to give it life. They hadn't suffered for the Art, hadn't wrestled the raw energy of magic into a usable shape with mere words and willpower. He saw achievement of the Art as a crucible and many of those who had once been long lived upon the magic of the past were long dead due to the storm of magic that he had learned to command.
With a final phrase, the first spell was complete, and he stepped back, grinning as an oily sheen crawled over the windows and doors of the Marson house, sealing it such that his next spell would eliminate the loose threads Rorden Allek had invited into Sea Ward.
You're wasting time, Archmage, the angel said in his mind. Tallus sneered.
'The skulls are well tended,' he replied, returning his attention to the spell at hand. 'And I shall gain from them all I need soon after midnight.'
Truly? Sathariel said. The winter air grew colder, numbing Tallus's hands. The angel's shadow fell upon the house, wings outstretched, his face like a smooth, black mask haloed by an ebony flame. I wonder, who is betraying whom?
'What do you care? We shall both have what we want!' Tallus spit back, growing tired of the angel's meddling and thinking he would have rather dealt with Asmodeus directly.
Take care, Archmage, that the skulls do not get what they want. The angel descended, his black eyes hovering inches from Tallus's face. Or you shall share in their punishment.
'You flatter me,' Tallus said. 'I would not dare attempt to fool a god as they once did.'
Mind your tongue! Sathariel's voice tore through his mind like lightning, ripping through his confidence and racking his body with pain. He fell to his knees, breathless and clutching at his chest. Have some respect or the only immortality you shall receive will be in the burning pits of Nessus. Now finish this petty business, and do not try my patience further!
Cold wind rushed around Tallus, whipping at his robes as Sathariel left him gasping and shaking. Grunting with effort, he raised the ash wood, turned it once more between his fists, and chanted the last of his ritual. As the wood rotted and crumbled in his grasp, he threw it against the back door and fell forward, cursing as the pain faded from his chest and lirnbs. Rising slowly on his hands and knees, he spied the pale, wide-eyed face of his apprentice watching him from the bushes along the side of the house.
'Quit cowering, Gorrick,' he said, clearing his throat and regaining his voice. He brushed the rotted wood from his hands and nodded in satisfaction, done with the deva and the eladrin. Leaning on his staff, he scowled as Gorrick fell into step at his side and prepared himself for the rest of the evening's work and for dealing with the circle of skulls. Though they had been weakened by the Spellplague, he knew his acting could not fool them for long. If he gave the circle of skulls cause to sense his duplicity, all would be lost. 'Tell the others to ready themselves; then return to my tower. I have important work for you.'
'Yes, Archmage,' Gorrick said, grinning and placing a Winterfirst mask over his face before setting out to begin the last rites.
Tallus watched him go then limped slowly out to the street, heading home and taking a peculiar interest in his own weaknesses, his aching joints and untrustworthy pulse, forging a memory of them that would make his victory all the sweeter.
'Important work indeed,' he muttered.
