In the Claws of the Tiger

by James Wyatt

  Janik spent the afternoon on the deck while Mathas retreated to his cabin to study. He watched the plains and rolling hills of Aundair far below, idly wondering at what point they became Thrane. No natural feature marked the border, which he supposed might be the reason it had been so hotly contested during the war. He saw two different places—easily a three-day journey apart—where the land still had not recovered from some pitched battle fought there in the last years of the war. He supposed one or the other might lie on the border set in the Thronehold Accords. He wondered how long it took for the earth to heal a scar like that.

  As the autumn sun drew near the horizon behind the ship, bathing the deck in golden light and long shadows, Janik changed into formal clothes and joined Mathas in the dining room. In place of the sunlight and chatter of luncheon time, the dining room was now dancing with candles and alive with the soft music of a small orchestra. Janik found Mathas at a small table near the window, just as he had in Aundair the day before.

  “I find myself drawn to windows these days,” Mathas said as Janik took his seat. “I don’t know what it is—I can find endless amusement in just staring out, no matter what’s on the other side.”

  Janik peered out the window himself. The fiery glare of the airship’s elemental ring all but drowned out the Ring of Siberys in the deep blue sky, the golden belt of dragonshards that circled the world. He looked at Mathas and grinned. “You must be getting old.”

  “Nonsense,” Mathas said. He sipped his wine. “I was old when you were born. In fact,” he continued, “I believe the last time I was in Thrane was before you were born. King Thalin was such a strange man, so … devout. His presence made those around him feel uneasy, as though they might be called upon to praise the Silver Flame at a moment’s notice. I expect the Keeper of the Flame will be much the same.”

  “Is it true she’s a child, this Jaela Daran? Eight years old?”

  “I believe she must be eleven by now, but yes, a child,” Mathas said. “Ruling part of Galifar like a queen, Sovereigns help us.”

  “There must be a regent or something—someone who does the work of government on her behalf?”

  “I believe so—a council of clergy of some sort. It’s absurd to imagine an eleven-year-old in charge of affairs of state.”

  “Quite. Do you think we’ll be dealing with this council, then? Or someone else?”

  “I have no idea,” Mathas said, then he gave a laugh. “Maybe Dania.”

  “Sovereigns help us,” Janik replied, rolling his eyes dramatically.

  When a waitress approached the table, the two fell silent, not wanting to offend the young woman, who proudly displayed the emblem of the Silver Flame around her neck. She took their order and withdrew, and Janik took the opportunity to change the subject.

  “I neglected to mention—Dania is not the only old friend who has suddenly inserted herself back into my life.”

  Mathas raised his eyebrows. “Who else?”

  “I received a … communication from Krael Kavarat on my way to Aundair. The messenger nearly crashed the airship.”

  “An Emerald Claw assassin?” Mathas looked shocked.

  “A warforged assassin. I don’t know about Emerald Claw. But he admitted Krael sent him. To kill me.”

  “That’s bizarre. Why now?”

  “Exactly. I haven’t heard a word from or about Krael since he walked off with Maija and the Ramethene Sword. And why should I? I’ve been no threat to him these last three years—he’s had plenty of opportunity to send assassins after me in Sharn. But no, he sends his latest killer after me now, after Dania has invited me to Thrane.”

  “Clearly he knows something about our mission. Probably more than we do at this point.”

  “My thought exactly,” Janik said. “It gives me a bad feeling. Whatever the Keeper, or Dania, or whoever has in mind, it’s clear that Krael will be involved.”

  “On the bright side, maybe we’ll have the opportunity to kill him this time.” Mathas smiled grimly.

  “That would be good,” Janik said. “That would be really good.”

  After dinner, Janik and Mathas retired to their cabins. As he often did, Janik dreamed of Maija—her head on his shoulder, her brown hair tickling his nose, her skin pressed against his. When the steward called “Flamekeep!” outside his door in the morning, he awoke confused, unable to figure out where he was or where Maija had gone. He called her name twice before he came back to the present, and the familiar dull ache settled around his heart again. He threw on the clothes he had set out the night before, hoisted his pack, gave the room a quick glance, and stepped out.

  Janik looked up and down the crowded hall, but saw no sign of Mathas. He walked to the elf’s cabin and pounded on the door. “Mathas! Are you awake?”

  “I’m an elf, you idiot. I don’t sleep.” Even so, the voice inside sounded groggy, and Janik heard some frantic sounds of motion. A few moments later, Mathas stumbled out, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. Wordlessly, the two made their way through the crowd to the mooring tower.

  Flamekeep was far different from Fairhaven. While the capital of Aundair was spread out in ordered streets, Flamekeep sprawled over a small island and the nearby mainland shore. At its heart was the great Cathedral of the Silver Flame, standing like a beacon above the rest of the city, clearly visible from the mooring tower. Even the shops and houses in the city had a soaring architecture that suggested Thrane’s devotion to the Church, lending an elegant beauty to the relative jumble of the city’s streets.

  Janik was so focused on making his way through the crowds in the mooring tower that he didn’t notice the knights converging on him until Mathas nudged him. They were heavily armored—“easily outrun,” in Janik’s mind—and wore the insignia of the Church of the Silver Flame beautifully engraved on their breastplates. They carried longswords at their belts and bows slung on their backs. The only visible threat in their approach was the way they moved from opposite sides to approach Janik from the right and left, narrowing his chances of escape.

  Fair enough, he thought, but I won’t bolt just yet.

  “Janik Martell,” one of the knights said, stepping forward and standing formally at attention. The other knight adopted a similar pose, and Janik stopped with Mathas just behind him. “Welcome to Thrane.”

  “Thank you,” Janik said. “Was that a real welcome or a ‘you’re under arrest’ welcome?”

  The second knight, a blond woman at least ten years younger than Janik, smiled at that, but her male companion frowned. “We are Knights of Thrane,” he said, “and we do not speak to deceive. You are an honored guest of the Cathedral, and you are most welcome.” He gave a small bow, which his still-smiling companion echoed, and Janik nodded slightly in return.

  “Thank you, Knights of Thrane,” he said with a glance back at Mathas. “I apologize for appearing to question your honesty—it’s just that I was not aware the Cathedral knew of our arrival on this particular airship.”

  “The knowledge and wisdom of the Keeper of the Flame admit no limitations,” the smiling woman said.

  “Indeed,” the male knight replied. “If you will accompany us, we will take you to your quarters in the Cathedral.”

  “Thank you.”

  As the knights began to walk toward the stairs, Janik and Mathas fell into step behind them. “My friend also requires lodging,” Janik said. “Are there accommodations prepared at the Cathedral for him as well?”

  “Our apologies, master,” the male knight said, looking at Mathas for the first time. “We were not informed of your coming. However,” he turned to Janik, “I’m sure you’ll find that your lodging at the Cathedral includes adequate room for your companion.”

  “I do not sleep on benches,” Mathas said with only a slight smile.

  “There will be no need for you to do so,” the knight replied.

  “The Cathedral’s hospitality admits no limitations,” Mathas said under his breath.

  Ja
nik chuckled as the knights led the way down the mooring tower’s stairs to the street. There, a large and ornate coach waited for them, hitched to two white horses that looked prepared for a parade. The driver jumped down from his perch and opened the door when he saw them approach, holding the door as Mathas and then Janik climbed in and settled themselves on the comfortably padded seats. The female knight stood at the door. “It’s just a short ride to the Cathedral,” she said. “We’ll be on the back.” She closed the door quietly, then Janik heard the knights’ armor clanking as they climbed onto the back of the coach. Hooves clomped on cobblestones as the carriage began to bounce and roll.

  “That’s strange,” Janik said, looking across the carriage at Mathas. “How would they know I was coming on this airship but not know that you were coming? At first, I thought Kelas had notified them of our departure from Aundair, but wouldn’t he have told them about you?”

  “It’s more likely they have agents watching the mooring tower in Fairhaven,” Mathas said. “Or House Lyrandar sends passenger lists ahead of the airships. Why would Kelas tell them we were coming, anyway? He has no love for Thrane.”

  “You’re right. I’m probably reading too much into this. They have access to the passenger lists. Looking over the list, they’d have no idea we were traveling together. A live agent in Fairhaven would have seen that.” Janik rested his head on the cushioned seat back behind him. “Politics make my head swim. I’d rather head back into the Xen’drik jungle.”

  Mathas smiled. “If only we could ride in cushioned coaches through the jungle.”

  “That would be a sight!” Janik laughed.

  Mathas closed his eyes while Janik gazed out the window. The coach made its way down the long coastal road to one of the bridges that connected the island-city to the mainland. A low wall ran the length of the bridge, carved with reliefs depicting the religious history of Thrane. Once across the bridge, the coach wound up a steep hill toward the Cathedral.

  Janik’s heart started beating faster, and he felt somehow as if he were about to step into some new, unexplored ruin in Xen’drik. Another adventure, he thought.

  Still, I’d rather be walking into a crypt or ruin than this, he mused. That kind of adventure I know how to handle.

  The carriage came to a halt. Mathas shifted in his seat and Janik looked anxiously out both windows. They heard the Knights of Thrane step off the back of the carriage, then the female knight opened the carriage door.

  “Welcome to the Cathedral of the Silver Flame,” she said formally. Then she smiled again, looking Janik in the eye. “And no, you’re still not under arrest.”

  Behind her, Janik could see the male knight’s disapproving frown. He returned the woman’s smile as she helped him step down from the carriage. Mathas followed him out, and the male knight stepped toward the front doors of the Cathedral. The two friends paused, staring up at the soaring bulwarks and reaching towers of the Cathedral.

  “Quite impressive,” Mathas said to the smiling knight beside him. “It lifts the spirit, does it not?”

  “It does stir the blood,” she replied. “Come. I’ll show you to your accommodations. You will be staying in the old palace.” She gestured toward a magnificent edifice to the left of the Cathedral.

  The male knight gestured toward the Cathedral and spoke to Janik. “And I will take you directly to your audience,” he said. “The Keeper of the Flame awaits.”

  The knight began walking and Janik followed.

  “Well, good luck, Janik,” Mathas said, but the words barely registered in Janik’s rushing thoughts.

  “All right,” he said to the knight. “Let’s get this over with, then.” Only when the ornate silver doors of the Cathedral closed behind him did he look back.

  The knight led Janik up a set of stairs into one of the towers that flanked the Cathedral’s spacious narthex. They went up only a single flight, though Janik could see many more landings above them, and through a door to a sumptuous sitting room. Dominating the far wall, a tapestry gleaming with silver thread depicted the paladin Tira Miron joining with the Silver Flame to prevent the escape of a mighty demon from Khyber. A fire raged in a hearth below the tapestry. Half a dozen cushioned chairs were arrayed facing the fireplace, and the knight swept his arm across the room.

  “Please make yourself comfortable. I shall return in a moment.” The knight went out a narrow door in the left wall, and Janik started to pace.

  His mind was not on the Keeper of the Silver Flame or on the content of his impending meeting. Rather, a series of images of Dania filled his mind, threatening to consume him with guilt. He recalled the way she used to look at him when he’d done something particularly well, whether it was maneuvering to catch a troll in a gout of flame or successfully leading the expedition to Mel-Aqat. For years he had denied that Dania had any romantic feelings for him. He had loved Maija with all his heart, and treated Dania as another great friend, just like Mathas. When he had taken comfort in her arms after Mel-Aqat and then abandoned her in Sharn, he had not just betrayed the love she had harbored for him all those years—he had betrayed their friendship as well. What kind of reception could he expect from her? Why had she contacted him at all?

  The narrow door opened again, and Janik wheeled to face it. The knight stood beside the open door, inviting Janik in with a gesture. With a deep breath to steel his nerves, Janik stepped past the knight and entered a well-appointed audience chamber. The vaulted ceiling rose as high as a cottage roof, framing a colorful mural, another depiction of Tira Miron. The walls were hung with simple banners carrying various symbols Janik didn’t recognize. The left wall was pierced with four high windows through which daylight streamed, making the room warm and bright. The floor was black marble laced with veins of silver.

  She’s not here, Janik thought with relief. As the knot of anxiety in his chest started to unwind, he surveyed the room and its occupants.

  A large dais rose on the far wall. At its center, a sculpted wooden chair dwarfed the young girl perched in it—yet somehow Jaela Daran, the Keeper of the Flame, managed to avoid looking like a child. She sat erect, her soldier-straight back not touching the ornate wood behind her. Her hands rested lightly on the chair’s arms, occasionally moving to rub the smooth wood, almost like a lover’s casual caress. Her eyes took in Janik with intelligent curiosity, noting the short sword at his belt, his metal-studded leather armor, the traveling dirt on his boots. She wore a simple white robe tied with a cord of pure silver. A plain silver circlet was her only badge of office.

  Janik sized her up quickly, then gave a start as a hulking shape on the floor next to the throne opened two small silver eyes and raised a monstrous head to peer at him. How had he not noticed it first? He supposed he had taken it for a large dog, but its four curved horns marked it as something other than canine. It looked at him for a moment, then settled its head back down on its two front claws, apparently returning to its nap.

  Janik forced his attention to the half-dozen attendants standing beside and behind the Keeper. Their heads shaven and their bodies draped in shapeless robes, they gave Janik the impression of being ageless and sexless creatures, almost inhuman. He noticed one or two of them inclining their heads slightly to whisper in a neighbor’s ear. One was bending down to whisper to the Keeper herself.

  So here we have the hands that hold the reins, he thought, and he began watching the attendants closely, trying to determine who really ruled Thrane.

  “Janik Martell.” The knight announced him, then backed out the door, bowing. He closed it behind Janik.

  “Welcome, Janik Martell,” the Keeper of the Flame said. Her high voice was a girl’s, but was strong and clear. “The Silver Flame has summoned you.”

  Janik ducked his head in a minimal bow. “I’m honored,” he said, more than a hint of sarcasm in his tone. You summoned me, he thought, and I wouldn’t have come at all except for Dania. “How can I be of service to you?”

  One of the attendants
spoke. “You are aware of our Church’s mission?”

  “You mean fighting evil, casting out demons, that sort of thing?” Janik couldn’t quite suppress his smirk. Back home in Sharn, the Church of the Silver Flame didn’t so much fight evil as curl up in bed with it. He studied the attendant who had spoken more carefully—the second from the left. He thought he detected the hint of a sneer on that one’s face.

  “We are called,” another attendant said, more than a hint of disgust in her voice, “to wage war upon the evil spirits that prey upon mortals, and sometimes to do battle in the flesh with evil when it takes bodily form.”

  “Hasn’t our world seen enough war?” Janik retorted.

  “Enough is when the war is won,” the same attendant replied.

  “No wonder Aundair is still looking warily across its borders.”

  “We are not speaking of a war that can be fought with armies across borders.” This was a third attendant, the one directly to the Keeper’s left. She cast an imperious glance at the one who had been arguing with Janik, and Janik decided to watch this one more carefully.

  Now here’s some authority, he thought.

  “I am well acquainted with wars fought on a smaller scale,” he said. “I assume that this summons has something to do with my service for Breland during the Last War.”

  “Thrane has no need of spies.”

  Right, Janik thought, thinking of a few Thrane spies he had encountered during the war. “Then why have you called me here?”

  The attendant on the Keeper’s left looked over her shoulder at the one on the end of the line, who stepped down off the dais and took a few steps toward Janik before speaking. These attendants had no visible weapons, but Janik moved his left hand to rest on the hilt of his sword as he adjusted his stance to face the approaching attendant.

  “Your fame is considerable, Janik Martell,” this one said. “In particular, your discovery of the ruins of Mel-Aqat has drawn our attention.”