“I’m glad to see you can function without your books,” Krael said.
“I still want them back.”
Mathas sat up, his desire to participate in the conversation finally overpowering his weakness. “Is it possible,” he said, “that the imprisoned rajah could extend its will beyond its prison to control Maija, while most of its essence remained trapped here?”
“That would mean the rajah could be using Maija to try to free itself,” Dania said. “And I confess I don’t know enough about this kind of thing to say for sure. Kophran might have been able to answer that, but—”
“But we wouldn’t want to be locked in this tiny room with a pompous ass,” Auftane said.
Janik ran his fingers through his hair. “I want to consider the more likely possibilities first.”
“And what are those?” Dania asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Janik snapped. “If my theory is correct, the city of Mel-Aqat was built long after the rakshasa rajah was imprisoned. The ziggurat was built to mark the site of the rajah’s prison, and the city was built around it.”
“Who built the city?” Auftane asked.
“Based on the scale of the ruins, most of the city was inhabited by giants.”
“Giants?” Auftane exclaimed. “Not the areas we’ve been in so far!”
“Right. The subterranean chambers, which include the chamber where we found the Ramethene Sword, were neither built nor used by giants. It suggests two possibilities. The pattern often seen elsewhere in Xen’drik is that of giant-sized main structures, plus attached quarters built on a human-sized scale that were used by the elf slaves of the giants. The chambers we’ve seen don’t fit that pattern. They don’t look like slave quarters—they’re far too well built and extravagant. And they’re not decorated with the typical elven motifs of skulls and scorpions. Instead, we find stylized tiger faces.”
“Hmm,” Krael said with mock seriousness. “Now who would have carved tiger faces in these ancient stone walls?”
“Right,” Janik said, ignoring Krael’s sarcasm. “I have long argued that Mel-Aqat was built by a fringe cult of giants that worshiped the rakshasa rajahs. I think now that this cult was led by a smaller cadre of rakshasas—a force of zakyas responsible for direct control of the giants, and smaller echelons of the more powerful fiends above them.”
“So you think that one of these rakshasas might be the spirit possessing Maija?” Dania said.
“That’s where my theory was heading,” Janik said.
“The Fleshrender,” Krael said.
“What?”
“The Fleshrender,” Krael said. “That’s the spirit in Maija.”
Janik’s brow furrowed. “The Fleshrender is a name for the Ramethene Sword,” he said.
“I thought so too, until just now. But what’s the one text that uses that name?” Krael asked.
“One of the Serpentes Fragments.” Janik searched his memory for a moment, then quoted:
“It’s a clear textual parallel, the Sunderer in the first couplet and the Fleshrender in the second, both referring to the sword.” Janik was thinking out loud.
“And what’s the next couplet?” Krael said.
“Something about the blade and the hand that wields it. I don’t remember exactly.”
“‘For the blade drinks the blood, and the hand that wields it feasts on the life.’ The two couplets are parallel, but not synonymous. The blade is the Sunderer, drinking the dragon’s blood. But the hand that wields the blade is the Fleshrender, feasting on the dragon’s life. See?”
Janik opened his mouth and closed it again, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
“I think you might be right, as much as I hate to admit it. But what makes you think this Fleshrender is the spirit possessing Maija?”
“Two things,” Krael said, “neither one more than a gut feeling. First, there’s the kind of magic Maija used in Karrnath. I suppose any fiend might use such spells, but they seem particularly well suited to one called the Fleshrender. Second, consider the connection to the Ramethene Sword. Like it or not, Janik, I think you released that fiend when you pulled the Ramethene Sword from its place.”
“I don’t like it, but I can’t argue that right now. So—we have a name for our enemy—though not a very pleasant name. How do we get the Fleshrender out of Maija’s body?”
“First, we get out of here,” Krael said.
“We?” Dania said. “I don’t plan on letting you out of here alive, let alone helping you escape.”
Krael looked distinctly uncomfortable and Janik felt a strange twinge in his chest. A large part of him agreed with Dania. Krael had caused him so much misery and difficulty over the last few months, to say nothing of the previous fifteen years, that helping him and accepting his help in return seemed unthinkable. At the same time, he couldn’t avoid seeing himself in Krael’s situation: helpless and at the mercy of his worst enemies. Krael had been cooperative, and, well, useful—probably because he knew he needed the help of his enemies if he was to escape.
More than that, though, Janik somehow felt that Krael wasn’t fundamentally different from himself. He had not seduced Maija away from him—Janik had grown so used to blaming Krael for what happened that he had a hard time separating his anger at Krael from his despair over Maija. And he was here for the same reason that Janik was: to claim revenge against the fiend that had destroyed his life. They had some common goals, both in the short term and in long-range pursuits.
“You need me,” Krael said. “You’ll never find your way out of here without my help, and you’ll never find Maija.”
“She might very well find us if we escape from here,” Janik said.
“And she’ll overpower you again, probably kill you this time,” Krael said. “With me and Sever along, you’ve got a fighting chance.”
“I don’t think so,” Dania said. “Now that I know what we’re facing, I think our victory depends entirely on my ability to force this Fleshrender out of Maija’s body. Two extra swords aren’t likely to make the difference—assuming we can recover our weapons.”
“Both of us are very effective without weapons.”
“Krael, stop begging,” Janik said. “It’s embarrassing.”
Krael visibly bit back another sarcastic retort and looked away, toward the door.
“Seems to me it’s an open question how any of us will escape, whether we decide to help each other or not,” Janik said. “But it’s certain that sitting in here arguing with each other isn’t going to get anyone out of this room.”
Dania looked at the floor. “Sorry, Janik.”
“Auftane, how’s your patient?”
“I’m fine, Janik,” Mathas said. “Tired, but fine.”
“Glad to hear it, old friend,” Janik said with a warm smile. He fought down the lump in his throat and turned back to Auftane. “Would you have a look at the door and see if there’s any way you can open it?”
“Sever’s tried that, too,” Krael said.
“Not to judge too hastily based on Sever’s appearance, but I suspect that Auftane is capable of more subtlety,” Janik said.
“Agreed, Martell,” the warforged sneered. “All I can say is that the door’s too strong for me.”
“And that probably means it’s too strong for any of us to break down, but my hope is that Auftane can find another way to open it.”
The dwarf was peering into a tiny hole near the right edge of the door, about halfway up its iron surface. “I suspect this is the other side of the keyhole,” he said, “but it’s too small to get at the mechanism.”
“I believe the door is barred as well,” Sever added. “Your lockpicks won’t lift the bar, Khunnam.”