James Wyatt - In the Claws of the Tiger

Janik had spent months arguing with Dania, but he had to admit that she had been right. This was different than the Last War. He had served Breland, even described his work for the crown as the true conflict, from which the massed armies and bloody battlefields were a mere distraction. But all his intrigues and exploits were no more than a shadow.

The real war was being fought right in front of him, and it was a war Janik didn’t know how to fight. He shifted his sword in his hand, suddenly aware of its irrelevance.

The floor of the cavern began to shake-the merest tremor at first, not enough to break the silence. But it grew, until first the stone tablet rattled against the altar, then Dania’s armor softly clanked, then the room rumbled. Trickles of dust started falling from the ceiling. Janik’s body tensed for action, but he had no idea what to do.

The rumbling stopped, and Maija cried out and convulsed.

A shadow seemed to seep from her body, a smear of darkness without form or feature. It slowly separated from Maija and then sloughed her off as if stepping out of a robe. Maija slumped to the floor, discarded.

Dania didn’t move. Her hands hung at her sides, her sword dangling from one and her shield from the other. She didn’t lift either as the dark spirit slid forward, engulfed her-

And melded into her.

“No!” Janik cried.

As the darkness sank into Dania’s skin, Janik saw a spasm of pain cross her face, and she dropped to her knees, her mouth stretched in a silent howl. She drew a long, tortured breath, then began wrestling her face and body under control.

But whose control? Janik had no idea whether the Fleshrender, the argent spirit that inhabited Dania, or Dania herself was the will that moved Dania’s body. Whichever it was, it moved her body with agonizing slowness-lifting one knee off the floor and planting the foot, dragging her arms forward to rest on the raised knee, shifting the weight forward and dragging the other foot until the body stood erect. Dania’s face was calm except for a muscle twitching wildly beside one eye.

Janik stood tensed in a defensive stance, his sword gripped firmly between him and Dania. He watched carefully for a sign of who was in control and what her intentions were.

Slowly, Dania’s head lowered and turned to the right. Then her right arm rose, the sword hanging limply from her hand.

“Janik,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

She extended her arm, holding the sword out toward Janik and lifting its point toward him. He stepped back.

“Take … take my sword,” she said.

“What?”

“Take it!” Her voice was regaining strength.

Janik sheathed his sword in one smooth motion. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and lifted the sword from Dania’s fingers. His hands tingled where they touched it, but the sensation was not unpleasant-certainly not the biting pain Krael had endured.

“Now, Janik,” she said. “Do it now.”

Janik’s eyes widened. “Do what?” he asked, knowing and yet dreading the answer.

“Kill me,” Dania said.

“No!”

“Kill me!” she repeated. “And the Fleshrender dies with me!”

Her eyes met his, and he realized with a start that they were again their normal dusky blue. They pleaded with him in a way her voice could not manage, even as one eye twitched, reflecting the struggle that raged inside her.

Her words at the pinnacle of the temple came back to him. “Do not let your heart be troubled, Janik. I have chosen this path, and I am not afraid.” He had not understood at the time, but now he grasped her meaning. She had known that this was how she would defeat the Fleshrender.

And she had been counting on Janik to do it, to kill her. His fingers shifted on the unfamiliar grip of her sword.

“Janik,” she said, gaining a little more control over her voice. “Back in Karrnath, I swore an oath by everything holy that my sword would bring an end to this. Please-” her voice was a desperate gasp-“fulfill my oath!” A spasm of pain passed across her face, a sign of the struggle for control that raged within her.

Janik lifted the sword and stepped back a little, testing the heft of the weapon, thinking about swinging it. For a moment, he almost convinced himself he could do it.

Then he saw her eyes again. The sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the stone floor, sparking motes of silver light.

“I can’t, Dania.” His gaze fell on Maija, lying on the floor like a discarded robe. “I can’t do it.”

“Janik!” Dania cried, but he turned away.

As he turned, he saw a small cloud of shadow detach itself from the ambient gloom of the chamber. It quickly congealed into a human form, then Krael stood before him. The vampire ducked past Janik to pick up Dania’s sword.

Silver light flared as Krael’s hand touched the hilt, and the smell of burning flesh reached Janik’s nose.

The vampire’s voice was choked with pain. “I told you I’d return the favor if I could, Dania,” he said, grimacing in agony as the sword continued to sear his hand.

Dania did not move to defend herself. Janik felt paralyzed. He thought a flicker of a smile crossed Dania’s face, and she began to nod-or else bowed her head in acceptance.

Then Krael swung the sword with all his strength, cutting deep into Dania’s shoulder. Krael screamed along with Dania’s cry, smoke and silver fire surrounding his hand.

Janik’s heart was suddenly a lump of stone in his chest, and he couldn’t seem to draw a breath.

“No.” His lips formed the words, but he had no breath to give them.

Krael dropped the sword and stepped back. Dania was drenched in blood but her body was slow to fall to the ground. A soft white light surrounded her, a contrast to the shadow that emerged as she fell.

Janik’s heart pounded again, a brief terror seizing him as he saw the Fleshrender take shape before him. The spirit was clearly visible, like a zakya with ebon fur. It was a black flame raging, shadow streaming from its insubstantial form like a radiant darkness. Even as the life ebbed out of Dania, Janik could see the life pouring out of the fiend, for it bore the same mortal wound in its shoulder. As Dania slumped to her knees and then, lifeless, onto the floor, the fiend staggered away from her, falling to the floor a few steps away.

As Janik continued to stare, the fiend’s body dispersed into wisps of darkness and was gone.

Janik fell to his knees and stared blankly around the room. Mathas was near the door, slumped against the wall, his head lolling to one side. Auftane lay on his face halfway between Janik and Mathas. Maija’s crumpled form was close, and Dania lay in a spreading pool of blood. The serpent torc was still coiled around her neck, and the eyes seemed to stare up at him.

He looked over his shoulder at Krael.

“What was that you said about returning the favor?” he said. His own voice surprised him-it was flat, emotionless. He felt a sea of rage and pain churning inside him, but managed somehow to float on its surface, not letting himself feel it. He merely observed it, noted it, and tried to keep from collapsing on the floor.

“She helped kill Havoc,” Krael said, “and freed me from his control. And I freed her.” Krael’s voice was shaking as he cradled his wounded hand to his chest.

“Then you accomplished a great deal with that one blow,” Janik said. “You repaid your debt to her, fulfilled Dania’s oath-which I presume you prompted, one way or another-and you got your revenge against the Fleshrender for making you a vampire.”

“It’s been quite a day.”

“It certainly has.”

“What about you, Janik? Is it time for your revenge?”