“I prefer it to the world that sent my family to the gallows and destroyed Cyre,” Tristam said, stabbing at the changeling as he retreated. “I prefer it to the world that made madmen like you.”
Marth’s ravaged features flushed with rage. “How dare you speak of my homeland,” Marth hissed, slashing out and leaving a red line across Tristam’s chest. “I gave everything for Cyre, and the other nations destroyed her.”
“Gave everything for Cyre?” Tristam asked. He circled the hole in the floor as he darted away, clutching his chest. “Are you talking about how you murdered your commanding officers?”
“Those men were no true sons of Cyre!” Marth roared. “Traitors, all. I did my homeland a service by destroying them.”
Tristam shook his head. “And those soldiers you killed in the core chamber?” he said. “Not true sons of Cyre either, I suppose. How deep do your delusions go, Marth? How much has Zamiel twisted you?”
Marth’s lips pressed into a firm line. He leapt across the gap in the floor, holding his blade high. Tristam brought his sword up to block. The two men crashed backward into the wall. Tristam rolled, punching Marth across the face with the hilt of his blade. The changeling reeled, sword falling from his hands. Tristam lifted his blade, the point hovering just above Marth’s throat.
Marth’s let his features shift. His face became the one he wore so many years ago, the face of Orren Thardis.
“Tristam, no,” he whispered.
Tristam hesitated. Something struck the side of the airship heavily, rocking the entire chamber. The Brelish were attacking again. Marth moved as Tristam was thrown off balance, stabbing the boy in the hip with a small knife from his belt. Tristam cried out in pain and sprawled on his back beside the gap in the floor, nearly sliding out into the void. Marth rose quickly, snatching his sword from the deck and kicking Tristam’s blade through the hole.
“You never listened to me, Xain,” Marth said sadly. “Opportunity won’t wait for you. Don’t wait for it.”
“Good advice,” Tristam said hoarsely, looking past him.
Pain seized Marth. He looked down to see the hilt of a dagger blooming from his chest. Across the chamber, Seren stood in the hatchway, another knife at the ready. A slow, bitter smile spread across the changeling’s face. The sword fell limply from his hand. A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. The blade had not struck his heart, but it was close enough that the difference would amount to only a few seconds.
“Xain, stop the prophet,” he whispered. “Please.”
“I will,” Tristam said, struggling to his feet and backing away from Marth.
“Bury me in Cyre,” Marth begged. “With my family.”
“No,” Seren replied, glaring hatefully at him.
Marth’s eyes rolled back into his head and he fell forward, though the shattered floor, down into the City of Towers. As he fell, the face of Orren Thardis became the changeling’s scarred visage a final time.
The black crystal in the changeling’s hand erupted as he died, releasing one more wave of white energy over Sharn. The Legacy’s disruptive power washed through the center of Skyway.
TWENTY-FIVE
Revenge was a strange sort of thing. In the stories, the hero was often wronged by some hated enemy. He would swear revenge, and, after toil and sacrifice, there would be a final confrontation. The villain would fall, and the hero would come away with an empty feeling-a feeling that his vengeance served no purpose after all. In the stories, it was always the same. So that was what Seren expected.
To her surprise, seeing the man who murdered Jamus Roland plunge out of an airship was strangely satisfying. She watched Marth’s body drop until it vanished into the clouds below.
“Seren!” Tristam shouted, shaking her back to her senses.
She looked at him in surprise. “Sorry,” she said, composing herself.
“How did you get out of there?” Tristam asked, amazed. “Marth sealed the door.”
“And I’ve spent the last few years picking locks in a city full of wizards,” she answered.
Tristam smiled, but his happiness quickly faded. “This isn’t over yet,” he said. “The island is tearing itself apart.” He stared through the hole in the ship at the cloud below them. Shimmering fractures were swiftly spreading through Skyway. The bulk of the island was too large to disintegrate under a single burst from the Legacy, but Marth’s final attack had started a chain reaction that would inevitably destroy it.
“So we failed,” Seren said, afraid.
“No,” Tristam said. “We can still stop this. I have to get back to the core chamber!”
Tristam hurried back down the corridor. She followed, finding him kneeling beside Omax. Tristam summoned his magic to heal the fallen warforged as best he could. Omax sat up stiffly amid a heap of wooden debris. He looked from Tristam to Seren as he scrambled to his feet. “Where is Marth?” he said. He clenched his fists, prepared to fight, oblivious to the deep scorch marks on his arms and chest.
“Dead,” Seren said.
The warforged seemed surprised at that. The airship shook violently. A loud snap sounded from somewhere deep within the vessel, and the Seventh Moon listed to port.
“What was that?” Omax asked.
“From the way she’s handling, I’d guess she’s going down,” Tristam said. “The Brelish are trying to shoot us down. If we don’t land soon we’re going to crash. Can you and Seren make it to the bridge safely?”
“Yes,” Omax said. “Why?”
“I need you two to try to land the ship on the main island,” Tristam said. “There may still be time to save Skyway.”
“What are you going to do, Tristam?” Seren asked.
Tristam looked toward the ship’s core. “Use the Legacy,” he said. “Even without Marth’s control sphere, I should be able to control it from the core itself.”
“The Legacy will only make matters worse, Tristam,” Omax said.
“No,” Tristam replied. “Only if I use it as Marth intended. It’s like you said, Omax-destruction is not its true purpose. The magic that Sharn’s architects used to construct Skyway is intended to be self-sustaining, but the Legacy has started a chain reaction that has crippled that. If I can access the Legacy’s connection to whatever plane it draws its power from and release that energy in one focused burst of magic, the chain reaction will stop. The residual enchantments will feed off that power. Sharn’s connection to Syrania should regenerate, and the main island will stabilize.”
“What kind of focused burst are you talking about?” Seren asked.
“I’m going to power up the Legacy and then destroy the Seventh Moon’s containment core before it can activate,” Tristam said. “When the elemental escapes, it will release a burst of pure magical energy over Skyway. That should reverse what Marth has done.”
“That sounds incredibly dangerous,” Omax said.
Tristam shrugged. “I can’t let Sharn die while there’s still a chance I can help,” he said. He headed toward the core chamber. “You’ll have about five minutes before I can crack the core. Land the ship on the main island-or at least get it as close as you can!”
Omax grunted his assent and hurried off. Seren waited behind for a moment. Tristam looked back at her nervously.
“I’m sorry, Seren,” Tristam said, unable to meet her eyes.
“Sorry?” she said. “For what?”
“That I couldn’t finish it,” he said. “Even after everything Marth did, I was ready to forgive him. All I could see was my friend.”
Seren wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was all right, that to offer compassion to an enemy wasn’t weakness. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. She loved Tristam, but a part of her still hated Marth too much. Instead she just moved to him, pressed her lips to his, and smiled sadly.
“Good luck,” she said.
“Hurry up to the helm and help Omax and Shaimin,” Tristam said. “There still might be soldiers up there willing to put up a fight.”