In the Claws of the Tiger Read online

  For many years, Mel-Aqat was thought to be a mere legend, part of the many tales drifting out of the dark continent of Xen’drik. Mentioned in various ancient texts, Mel-Aqat was thought to be the prison of primal power, long locked away from the confines of the world.

  But at the height of the Last War, during an exploration of Xen’drik, the scholar Janik Martell discovered the ruins of Mel-Aqat—much to his sorrow. Pursued amongst the ruins by an old rival, the one he loved most in all the world betrayed him, leaving him a shattered man.

  Years later, something is stirring again in Mel-Aqat, and the only one who may be able to stop it is the one man who swore he’d never go back—Janik Martell.

  THE

  WAR-TORN

  THE CRIMSON TALISMAN

  ADRIAN COLE

  THE ORB OF XORIAT

  EDWARD BOLME

  IN THE CLAWS OF THE TIGER

  JAMES WYATT

  BLOOD AND HONOR

  GRAEME DAVIS

  This book is lovingly dedicated to Amy and Carter:

  “The touch of her hands always seemed to soothe away the aches and bruises and hurts of the day even more than her spells of healing did. Her love for him had always felt like tangible proof of the Sovereigns and their divine love.”

  Special thanks to David Silbey and Chris Perkins, who reviewed the manuscript in various stages. I am grateful to my editor, Mark Sehestedt, for his confidence in me throughout the process.

  A note of thanks to Blizzard Entertainment for the incentive to write every day. (“If I write 700 words a day, then I can play WORLD OF WARCRAFT.”) Thanks to Rieta, whose advancement to 60th level was delayed until after the novel was finished.

  More thanks to Keith Baker and Bill Slavicsek, for EBERRON and the chance to help create it. And to the folks who play D&D there with me—David Noonan, Andy Collins, Gwendolyn F.M. Kestrel, Stephen Schubert, and Cameron Curtis.

  This book was written almost entirely at the Panther Lake Starbucks in Kent, Washington. Thanks to Sharon and Tom and their staff for a steady diet of for-here venti mocha Valencias, as well as a relatively low-rent desk.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 Airborne Attack

  Chapter 2 First Reunion

  Chapter 3 Thrane

  Chapter 4 Second Reunion

  Chapter 5 City of Towers

  Chapter 6 Departure

  Chapter 7 Shargon’s Teeth

  Chapter 8 Stormreach

  Chapter 9 Hope’s Endeavor

  Chapter 10 The Phoenix Basin

  Chapter 11 Landfall

  Chapter 12 The Wasting Plain

  Chapter 13 The Fiend-Lord’s Domain

  Chapter 14 Mel-Aqat

  Chapter 15 Third Reunion

  Chapter 16 Revelations

  Chapter 17 Escape

  Chapter 18 The Rajah’s Prison

  Chapter 19 Death

  Chapter 20 Reconciliation

  Epilogue

  AIRBORNE ATTACK

  CHAPTER 1

  Janik Martell?”

  Not looking at the black-haired man beside him, Janik stared at the Blackcap Mountains far below the airship. He had watched the man since the voyage began, having pegged him as one of the Royal Eyes of Aundair. He gave a slight nod even as his left hand moved to the hilt of his short sword at his belt.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions.” The man’s voice was low and heavy. “In the name of Queen Aurala of Aundair.”

  Janik pushed a wayward strand of tawny hair over his right ear and lifted his eyes toward the horizon, where the mountains sank down into hills and flowed into the plains and vineyards of Aundair. “We’re not across the border yet.”

  “And it’s my job to make sure you don’t get across the border if I don’t like your answers.”

  Janik looked at the other spy, studying him. He was shorter than Janik by a hand’s breadth, and his hair was cut short. He wore a midnight blue coat open in front, revealing light armor—and the hilt of his sword—underneath. The two eyed each other for a moment, then Janik turned back to look down at the mountains again. “So ask,” he said.

  “What’s your destination?”

  “Fairhaven.”

  “How long are you staying there?”

  “As short a time as possible.”

  “What’s your business there?” As the man asked the question, Janik felt the pressure in his mind that meant someone wanted access. No way, he thought, and mentally slammed a door in the intruder’s face while looking around to see who had cast the spell. A wiry man lurked in the shadows across the deck, holding a scroll. Janik spotted an open pouch bulging with scrolls at the man’s belt and guessed that he was an artificer. Janik scowled and gripped the hilt of his sword.

  The other man shrugged, raising both palms as if to ward off an angry outburst. “Just a spell to check the truth of your words, Martell. Understandable in our line of work.”

  “I don’t like sneaking spellcasters.” Janik jerked his head toward the artificer, who was rummaging in his pouch for another scroll. The Aundairian agent looked lazily over his shoulder, then turned back to Janik.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any way we’re going to convince you to submit to this spell? Prove you have nothing to hide?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “All right. Haunderk—” The man made a sign to the artificer, and the wiry man slunk off toward the rear of the ship. “So what is your business in Fairhaven?”

  “It’s personal.”

  “Well, I hope you won’t take it personally if I have you put off the ship.”

  Janik held his adversary’s steady gaze. No, the man wasn’t bluffing. After a long moment, he gave a grim smile and held out his hand. “You never told me your name.”

  The Aundairian hesitated for a moment, then smiled and shook Janik’s hand. “Kelas ir’Darran.”

  “All right, Kelas ir’Darran.” Janik released his hand. “I’m visiting your fine capital to find my old friend Mathas Allister, who worked with me during the war. No doubt you have him under constant surveillance. I hope to enlist his aid for another mission.”

  “Another expedition to Xen’drik, in Breland’s service?”

  “Maybe Xen’drik, but not for Breland. We’ve been invited to Thrane, to an audience with the Keeper of the Flame herself.” Janik smiled to himself as he watched Kelas stiffen. Aundair and Breland had been enemies during the Last War, but had also been allies at times. Nothing but bad feelings ran between Aundair and Thrane. “Look, Kelas,” he said. The Aundairian turned away from Janik to look at the fields of his homeland drawing closer beneath the airship. “I’m going to Aundair to collect my friend and leave. Honestly, I don’t know what the Keeper wants with us. But if it’s the least bit political, I’m out. I’m not interested in that kind of work for Breland, let alone Thrane.”

  “You don’t know what she wants?”

  “No idea. But she summoned me, so I can only assume it has something to do with my expertise, which is Xen’drik, not subterfuge against Aundair.”

  “And why would Janik Martell emerge from three years of quiet teaching in Sharn to answer a summons from the Keeper of the Flame? I thought you followed the Sovereign Host.”

  “I used to. And I certainly have no interest in the faith of the Silver Flame. This isn’t about religion. It’s—well, like I said before, it’s personal.” A sudden flash of anxiety hit Janik as he thought again about Dania’s letter. He fought it down, but his voice was choked as he said, “Another old friend asked me to come.”

  Perhaps aware of Janik’s discomfort, Kelas stared out over the bulwarks without saying anything. Janik turned away as well and stared blindly at the ring of elementa
l fire that surrounded the airship, keeping her airborne and propelling her through the skies. As they stood in silence, the mountains dwindled to foothills and Aundair stretched out in autumnal splendor beneath them. Janik lowered his gaze to the mosaic of red, yellow, orange, and brown leaves radiant in the evening light far below, enjoying a different experience of autumn than he had in Sharn—where the change of seasons just meant more rain.

  “Well, Janik Martell,” Kelas said at last, “welcome to Aundair.” He clasped Janik’s hand again and smiled. “I hope your stay in Fairhaven is pleasant—and short.” He turned and walked aft, leaving Janik alone with his thoughts.

  Janik pulled Dania’s letter from the breast pocket of his coat and tapped it idly against the bulwarks. He hadn’t seen Dania or Mathas since leaving them at an airship dock in Sharn three years ago. They had just returned from their famous expedition to Xen’drik. On a mission for King Boranel of Breland, Janik had led his friends to ancient Mel-Aqat, a temple-city known from numerous ancient inscriptions. That mission had cemented Janik’s reputation as a scholar and explorer, and it had shattered his life.

  He had spent the last three years hiding—hiding from Mathas and Dania, hiding from the memory of that expedition and its disastrous outcome. The memory of Maija, his wife, betraying him.

  He had thrown himself into his work—his teaching at Morgrave University, his translation of the stone tablets he had brought back from Mel-Aqat. Working, constantly moving, he had succeeded in suppressing those memories, at least during daylight. But the letter had brought them all back, and as he looked at the page in his hand once more, after reading it over and over for three days, it still made his chest tighten.

  Janik lifted his gaze to the horizon, watching a hippogriff soaring in the distance. He stuffed Dania’s letter into his coat pocket and tried to force his thoughts back to where they had been before Kelas interrupted—planning his search for Mathas. He rattled off a mental list of places the old elf favored: fine restaurants, booksellers, perhaps a wizard’s college or even a university. Mathas could teach Xen’drik history as well as Janik could, if he ever desired to do so. But soon he felt the same clenching anxiety that hit him every time he tried that line of thought. Searching for Mathas was one thing. Finding him was something else entirely.

  “Sovereigns! What’s he doing?”

  The cry jolted Janik out of his reflections. A woman had shouted, part of a well-dressed couple who had kept to themselves on the trip so far. Janik guessed they were newlyweds, celebrating their recent marriage with an airship journey. The young bride was pointing into the sky above the port side while her husband craned his neck curiously.

  A hippogriff swooped low over the airship, and Janik saw what had drawn the woman’s attention. A man was on the hippogriff’s back, not strapped into a saddle and harness, but standing. Just as Janik realized what was happening, the man jumped.

  Janik pulled his short blade from its sheath and leaped toward the wheelhouse, where the windwright pilot steered the ship. The jumper landed hard on its roof—hard enough to drive the airship’s stern downward. Janik stumbled as he ran across the rocking deck toward the wheelhouse, but he kept his feet. He watched the man drop from the roof to the stairway leading up from the deck, and saw one of the House Lyrandar guards, stationed there to protect the pilot from just such an event as this, crumple under the man’s blade. Janik reached the bottom of the steps as the man disappeared into the wheelhouse.

  He sprang up the stairs by twos, just in time to see the other Lyrandar guard fall, his neck slashed by a broad arc from the killer’s sword. The windwright stood clutching the helm, his knuckles white and his eyes wide with terror. The attacker turned, and Janik got his first look at the man’s face—except he was not a man. A featureless mask of metal formed his face, and beneath a black cloak, his body was similarly composed of metal, wood, stone, and strange sinewy cords. His bastard sword was the gleaming silver-black of adamantine, with gold tracings etched into the blade. He gave Janik the merest of glances, then turned his attention to the windwright. “Martell,” he said as he stalked toward the terrified pilot, “they told me you’d be the first one here.”

  Janik did not waste time responding. He leaped over the first guard’s body toward the warforged, hoping to push him away from the pilot and into the bulkhead. He ducked under the swinging adamantine sword and slammed hard into the killer’s chest, but his opponent didn’t even miss a step. Janik tottered backward and slashed at the thing’s elbow, aiming for sinews between hard plates. The warforged jerked his arm to the left and Janik’s blade clattered against the hard plating on the forearm. The bastard sword went up and slashed down on the windwright’s skull, sending a spray of blood into the air as the pilot collapsed.

  The airship lurched as the elemental bound into a fiery ring surrounding the ship felt the hands holding its reins fall slack. The warforged stumbled. Janik pressed the momentary advantage, slashing at his opponent’s neck. The adamantine sword batted Janik’s smaller blade away.

  “You wield your blade with skill, Martell,” the warforged said, his voice strangely human coming from such an inhuman frame, “but there is no strength behind your blows.”

  “You’re giving me fencing lessons?” Janik decided to buy time by letting the warforged have his conversation. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know all about you, Martell.” The killer’s voice was mocking as he launched a fierce offensive with his whirling blade. “Your life and loves, your strengths, and especially your weaknesses.” Janik dodged and parried the relentless assault, his breath coming faster with the exertion. “Captain Kavarat told me.” The voice of the warforged betrayed no hint of fatigue.

  Krael Kavarat, Janik thought. I should have guessed.

  When Maija had left him, she had delivered the Ramethene Sword right into the hands of Krael Kavarat, an officer of the Emerald Claw who had been Janik’s rival and enemy for a decade.

  First a letter from Dania, now an assassin sent by Krael.

  “It seems my past is determined to catch up with me,” he said. Striking the adamantine blade as hard as he could to knock it wide, he slashed from his right, trying to drive the warforged toward the stairway. Momentarily surprised by Janik’s renewed barrage, his foe stepped closer to the stairs, turning his back to the wheelhouse’s only entrance.

  Just where I want you, Janik thought with grim satisfaction. Now we wait.

  He fell into a defensive stance, intent on keeping the adamantine sword away from him.

  “So Krael sent you to kill me,” he said. Continuing the conversation was the best way to keep the killer distracted, he figured, though speaking had become a real effort.

  “That’s right. Crashing the airship was my idea, though.” There was a trace of a smile in the voice of the warforged, though his face was expressionless.

  Crashing the airship?

  Since the initial lurch at the death of the windwright, Janik had not paid attention to the ship’s movement, but he suddenly noticed that the deck was slanted toward the prow.

  Better finish this up quickly, he thought, though he had little hope of success.

  Janik’s patience was rewarded as another man appeared in the wheelhouse doorway, almost directly behind the warforged. It was Kelas, the Aundairian spy, bastard sword in hand. His eyes flicked from Janik to his opponent, to the dead guards and the pilot, and quickly back to the warforged. Swiftly and silently, he stalked up behind the warforged and brought his sword down in a deadly arc. At the last instant, the killer twisted and the sword cut into his shoulder instead of cleaving his skull. Roaring in surprise and pain, the warforged spun around to retaliate—and Janik took the opportunity to hack with his short blade at his opponent’s shoulder. This time, it was a solid blow. The warforged nearly dropped his sword, but quickly shifted it to his left hand.

  “About time you got here, Kelas,” Janik said, smiling at the Aundairian.

  Kelas nodded, hi
s eyes wide and fixed on their opponant, the warforged had turned sideways, and Janik could see that he was trying to keep both humans in view while sizing up his opportunities for escape.

  “Whose idea was it to get yourself trapped in a small room with two opponents?” Janik said. “Probably Krael’s. He’s never been too concerned about the lives of his minions—especially those who fail.”

  The warforged had lost interest in idle conversation. But Janik’s words apparently reminded him of his purpose, and he renewed his assault on Janik, swinging his sword left-handed with undiminished strength, trying not to expose his back to Kelas. Again Janik focused on defense until Kelas could distract the warforged. Just as Kelas maneuvered behind their opponent, the warforged took a halfhearted swing at Janik and then rushed for the door. Kelas’s sword glanced off the back plates of the warforged, then their foe was out the door. Janik saw him knock the Aundairian artificer off the steps as he bolted down. Hurrying to the door himself, Janik watched the warforged run to the bulwarks and throw himself over the side.

  For an instant, Janik prepared to rush to the bulwarks himself, to see what happened to the assassin. But a commotion on the deck wrenched his attention to a more immediate concern. Passengers clung to each other, sought shelter belowdecks, or knelt down and prayed for deliverance. The ring of fire that normally burned steadily leaped and crackled as if trying to break free of the magical bonds that held it in place around the ship. From the deck where the warforged had knocked him flat, the artificer cried out, “The airship’s going to crash!”

  FIRST REUNION

  CHAPTER 2

  Janik spun around and hurtled up the stairs to the wheelhouse, pushing past Kelas in the doorway. Standing over the fallen windwright pilot, he examined the helm of the airship. “I wonder how you use this thing,” he said to himself.