The center of Skyway drew nearer. Once the Moon came into range, the end would begin. Once the Legacy had corrupted the magic that bound the heart of the district, an avalanche of twisted metal and stone would rain upon the city. The towers of Sharn would fall. This magical monument to Brelish power and arrogance would be no more.
Marth frowned as the Moon suddenly decelerated. “More speed!” he commanded.
There was no reply. The changeling sneered in irritation. There was no time for such stupidity.
“You six, come with me,” he said, gesturing at a group of nearby soldiers. Though he doubted there was any possibility of an attack, he would take no chances.
Marth turned and climbed below deck, heading down the narrow passageway toward the ship’s helm. He gripped his wand in one hand and the sphere that controlled the Legacy in the other. The shimmering crystal cast fitful purple light upon the walls. He opened the hatch and stepped inside, finding it pitch black, swallowing his wand’s light.
“None of that,” Marth muttered. He summoned the Legacy’s power again, filling the room with crackling energy.
The magical darkness vanished. Marth dodged to one side just as a dagger sliced the air where his throat had been. An blast of green fire erupted from his wand, hurling his attacker against the wall. The figure rose instantly and lunged at him again. A second blast threw him across the room, clothes still flaming from the attack. The Cyran soldiers looked on, stunned. Everything had happened more quickly than they could react.
“Shaimin,” Marth whispered, taking a step forward. He grimaced at the smell of scorched flesh.
The elf’s burned face twisted into a smile as he slumped to the floor beside the dead helmsman. Shaimin lay on one side, his left arm twisted uselessly beneath him. “Thardis,” he said, breathing irregularly. “You were always quicker than you looked.”
Marth pointed his wand at the fallen elf. “Why, Shaimin?” Marth asked. “I can understand, after everything I’ve done, why all the others turned on me-but you have always been a killer.”
“You still don’t see,” Shaimin said with a cackle. “That’s exactly it. Life means nothing, Thardis. Life ends, no matter what we do-but the names we leave behind are eternal. Do you want to be remembered like this?”
Marth sighed. “Are you still trying to talk me out of this?”
“No,” Shaimin said. He smiled. The burnt skin on his left cheek cracked. “I’m just stalling you while Tristam sabotages the ship’s core.” The assassin rolled onto his back, drawing his other dagger with his left hand and hurling it at Marth.
The changeling twisted to one side, but the dagger sliced the right side of his neck. He cried out in pain and unleashed another bolt of roiling flame, incinerating the fallen elf. Marth sighed and gestured curtly, dismissing the flames before they damaged the ship.
“Take the helm!” he ordered the soldiers. “Guard this room and take the ship to the main island of Skyway at full speed!”
The soldiers quickly obeyed, flanking out to cover the room while one took the controls. He could feel the Seventh Moon gain speed again. None of them was as skilled a helmsmen as Marcho had been, but that didn’t matter. All they needed to do was fly the ship in a straight line toward the center of the city. Marth pressed a handkerchief to his injured neck as he ran through the corridors toward the core chamber. The bodies of dead and incapacitated soldiers lay strewn in his path. Tristam and his allies had definitely been here.
The changeling passed through the ship’s original core chamber. The shattered floor still yawned dangerously over open sky next to the defunct core. A used life ring lay discarded in one corner. A grappling hook was tangled about the inert core; a rope still dangled through the hole. Marth had expected Tristam and the others to attempt to board his ship again, but he had not expected them to enter from below.
Such trickery demanded to be repaid in kind. Marth’s features shifted. His face became Shaimin d’Thuranni’s. Enchantments in his cloak wove illusions over his clothing to complete the disguise.
The ship’s new core was housed in a supplemental cargo bay in the rear of the airship, not far from the original core. The door hung open at an awkward angle. Marth could still hear combat from within. He whispered a few words of magic, bolstering his defenses as he entered. Within, Tristam Xain, Seren Morisse, and Omax were locked in combat with three of his soldiers. Two more lay unmoving on the floor.
Tristam glanced toward Marth. His eyes widened. “Seren, look out!” he shouted, ducking behind the ship’s core.
Marth scowled in irritation that Tristam had not fallen for his disguise, but he did not hesitate. Following the destruction of the ship’s original core, the new one had been warded to resist magical attacks. Thus Marth pointed the wand, filling the chamber with green fire without concern for anything within. Omax darted to shield Seren with his body as the fire washed over them. The flames cleared an instant later. Tristam peered around ship’s core, staring in horror at the charred corpses of Marth’s crew.
Marth paused for an instant, realizing what he had done. Then Omax charged roaring and swinging at the changeling with heavy fists. Marth summoned a shield of force, but it shattered against Omax’s attack. The blow sent him flying backward, skidding on his back down the corridor. Marth sat up and grasped the Legacy. A wave of white energy washed over the warforged. Omax dropped to his knees but continued glaring at Marth. The light in Marth’s wand dimmed as the Legacy glowed more fiercely.
“The Legacy doesn’t seem to kill you, but it weakens you enough to do the job,” Marth said. The white fire faded, and the changeling’s wand ignited again. Marth pointed the wand at Omax’s chest and blasted him backward through a cabin hatch.
Tristam charged out of the core chamber toward Marth. Seren rose and drew her dagger, but the changeling closed and locked the door with a gesture, sealing her inside. Tristam pointed his wand at the changeling, praying that his preparations had been sufficient to shield his magic from the Legacy. A bolt of white lightning lanced toward Marth. The changeling’s invisible shield absorbed the blast, and he replied in kind, unleashing green fire at Tristam. The fire was absorbed in the same manner. Tristam still flinched when the blast struck him, as if he wasn’t sure the spell would work.
“Your magic has improved a great deal,” Marth admitted, drawing his sword. “I wonder if your skill with a blade is still as weak as before.”
Tristam blanched but drew the shortsword that hung at his belt. He held it awkwardly in both hands. Xain’s grip was too tight, just as Marth remembered. He lunged toward Tristam, but as he did, the younger man straightened and dropped his sword into one hand in a low grip. Xain wheeled away from Marth’s thrust. A searing ribbon of pain traced up the changeling’s thigh.
Marth stumbled backward, surprised by Tristam’s sudden display of prowess. He quickly brought his blade to the defensive, parrying as Tristam slashed at him. Marth retreated down the hall into the ship’s original core chamber.
“How did you know it was me?” Marth asked.
“Thuranni promised to hold the helm,” Tristam said. “He told us that if we saw him again, there could only be one reason. Do not wear his face, Thardis!” Tristam lunged again, slashing furiously at the changeling.
“So be it,” Marth said as he dodged aside. He released control of his appearance entirely, letting all of his injuries show-even those he normally concealed. His face was a hideous network of scars and deep burns. His right eye was a milky, unhealthy yellow.
“Now you see?” the changeling said, noting Tristam’s revulsion. “You truly have no comprehension of what I’ve endured. Why do you make this so difficult, Tristam? You were never my enemy. All you ever needed do was to get out of my way. Surely you must find this world of peace as unnatural as I do.”