In the Claws of the Tiger

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 W
ORLD
O
F
W
ARCRAFT
.”) 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 E
BERRON
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
.

J
anik 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 elemental 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.