street, as if reading his thoughts. He quickly hid his grin. He'd grown comfortable with Mara over the years, but he was ever cautious not to offend her too seriously, and he suspected she was already in foul mood enough for one bright day.
'I do not like this, Jinn,' she said, little storms brewing in her eyes. 'Too many people, too much light.'
'It's just one day,' he replied and stepped into the street, setting a steady pace toward the far end of the markets. 'Let's make it a good one.'
'And your source, she is reliable?' Mara asked as she stared down a small man hawking his wares. He nervously turned away, choosing instead to bother a well-armored dwarf.
'As much as any,' Jinn answered and nodded toward a large dirt circle of gathered carts, scents of meat pies and livestock emanating from the area. 'She was a servant girl, recently in the employ of the order. An employment that we played a part in ending, but enough gold can do wonders for hard feelings.'
In truth the girl took some time in being convinced. Her fear of the Vigilant Order was paralyzing, but her growing fear of Jinnaoth swiftly overcame her hesitancy. She'd been drawn in by the order's wealth and promises, a typical tactic that made most forgo any idea of questioning the source of such assurances. Behind smiles, coin, and lavish mansions, they hid their ancient truths, tapping into the essence of the Hells themselves for the sake of a world made over in the dark vision of an ambitious god. One servant girl had stood quaking in Jinn's golden gaze, imagining the horrors she would endure for betraying her cruel masters and comparing it against an ancient rage that had forced the order into hiding.
Jinnaoth passed through the crowded circle, gesturing to a darkened alley just beyond the shouting and haggling. He and Mara slipped into the garbage-strewn alley, scattering rats before them, to find a plain wooden door. A small, crimson symbol had been painted in the top left-hand corner of the door, a mark for the number nine in an infernal language that few would recognize or even notice, a mark signifying a house devoted to Asmodeus.
'Shall we proceed as usual?' Mara asked, a crimson light flashing in her dark eyes.
'No, I'll go in first,' he said, pulling back his hood.
'They will not tell you what you want to know,' Mara said. 'You know this?'
'I do,' Jinn answered. 'It doesn't change anything.'
'It never does,' she grumbled and kept watch as he opened the door and stepped into the dark hallway beyond it.
Jinn stood still for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing in the dusty, stale air of the old house. Mara's words echoed in his mind, as they always did when he faced the order, each time reminded of their devotion, of their willingness to die rather than betray their faith in Asmodeus. And each time Jinn gave them the chance, asking his questions even as they spit on his offers of mercy.
Sighing, he opened his eyes and strode down the hall, searching the first room to the left for a mildewed carpet, which he kicked aside, revealing a trapdoor with a rusted iron latch. As he opened the door and stared down the dark stairway beneath, Jinn felt his blood rise, an ancient sense of duty pounding in his heart as he slowly descended, following the flickering light of a candle from somewhere below.
Drifting through his thoughts were images of other temples, of high, stone columns and bloody altars, of marble floors and hellish statues. Each grander than the last, and all palaces compared to the kingdom of dust and rot beneath Trades Ward. The memories were fleeting and without context, like intricate paintings rather than anything he'd actually experienced, the legacy of a thousand lives swirling like dreams through his soul.
Voices echoed from the bottom of the stairs, leading him to a heavy curtain through which shafts of yellow light breached moth-eaten holes. Peering through the holes, he saw several figures on their knees in a circular chamber, each in dark robes, their left sleeves marked with the crimson symbol of nine. Before them, his head bowed in prayer, stood a small child, a boy of seven or eight years with orange-red hair and pale, freckled skin, also wearing the garb of the Vigilant Order. Such corruption of the young was not uncommon, especially among the faithful of Asmodeus, the devil-god bearing a particular taste for the souls of the innocent. The boy's head rose, his blue eyes bright as he seemed for a moment about to speak, then he gasped quietly as Jinn parted the curtains and stared down the small congregation.
The kneeling figures turned in confusion, looking nervously from Jinn to the child, most edging away from the intruder and eyeing the visible hilt of his sword. The boy merely tilted his head slightly, smirking beneath half-lidded, knowing eyes.
'Have you come seeking forgiveness, old one?' the child asked sweetly, raising his hands in an attempt to calm his fearful gathering.
Jinn ignored the boy, staring into the eyes of the robed figures, mostly human, men and women seeking some way out of their miserable lives and finding themselves in places darker than they'd ever imagined. They looked back into his golden eyes only briefly, seeing in them a sorrowful judgment that made them turn away, ashamed. Jinn pitied them, but only to a degree, knowing the precipice they stood upon all too well and fully aware of the choices that had brought them so low. None of them could truly know the nature, much less the name of the god they would serve, but there was an inkling, always a hint of darkness in the Vigilant Order, despite its beguiling promises.
He sensed no evil in them, no malice or cruelty, only selfishness and greed, smoldering desires stoked to flames by desperate, silver-tongued devils scraping the dregs of society to maintain their Vigilant Order.
He reached down, grasping the collar of a middle-aged man who cowered and raised his hands before his face, whimpering as Jinn leaned close.
'Leave this place and never return,' he said loud enough for all to hear as he hurled the man through the curtain and stood aside as others slowly rose from their knees, unsure of what was happening. 'Or stay and learn the full measure of the mistakes you have made.'
The child-priest scowled angrily as the congregation rose and quickly shuffled through the curtains, none meeting Jinnaoth's gaze as they passed. A few cast aside their dirty robes, throwing them to the ground as they ran up the basement stairs. As the last footsteps faded away through the house above, Jinn faced the child and placed a hand upon his blade.
'They will return; they always do,' the boy said, crossing his arms. 'You accomplish nothing by coming here.' '
'Perhaps you are right,' Jinn replied, lowering his eyes menacingly, 'but they shall not find you again to mislead them.'
'You would kill a child?' the boy asked. 'Is this what you are reduced to?'
'No, I'll not stain my hands with the blood of a child,' Jinn said, stepping forward and drawing blade enough to shine in the candlelight, casting the reflection upon the child's face. 'However, this child I see before me I recall being fished from a well more than a tenday ago, quite dead if memory serves.'
The boy's blue eyes darkened to smoky pools of deep black. His arms lowered slowly, fingers curling like claws as a very unchildlike growl escaped his snarling lips.
Jinn smiled at the display, always enjoying the illusion's fall, when the predator was exposed and the acts of innocence fell away. Even among the order's mortal priests, he had found the beasts hiding beneath their robes, their true faces, full of vitriol and cowardice. It was that alone he had come to see, the last vestige of the Vigilant Order, a small but integral cult in the worship of Asmodeus, laid bare in the last pitiful temple to which they could lay claim.
'You play with fire, half-blood,' the boy said, his voice deep and thunderous. 'You have no idea-'
'I know to whom I speak,' Jinn said, kneeling down and matching the fiend's rage-filled stare, then adding, 'Belsharoth.'
The child-devil drew away, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the sound of his name and looking intently into the golden gaze of Jinn.
'Irramael?' the boy asked hesitantly. 'I watched you die.'
'Aye, as have many others,' Jinn said and stood, drawing his sword, an ancient blade stolen from the order years earlier. It pleased him to use the cult's tools against them. 'And that name died over seven hundred years ago.'
'Myth Drannor.' Belsharoth smiled, small teeth protruding at odd angles as longer, sharper ones grew in to replace them. 'Those were good days.'
'And long behind you, it seems,' Jinn added, gesturing to the cold, dusty chamber as he raised his blade
