Rise of the Seventh Moon: Heirs of Ash, Book 3 (32 page)

“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.”

“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.

T
WENTY
-F
IVE

R
evenge 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.”

Seren nodded and hurried off through the ship.

In the corridor adjoining the ship’s bridge, a Cyran soldier burst out of a cabin. He was only a year or two older than Seren. He held a sword in one hand and had a life ring slung over his shoulder. His eyes were wide with terror as he brandished the weapon at her.

“Please,” he whimpered, backing away from her. “I don’t want to fight. I just want out of here.”

“Go,” she said. She held out her empty hands to show she meant no harm. The man turned and ran away through the ship. She felt a strange sense of pity. So this was their enemy. These were the men who had served Marth. They weren’t monsters—just sad souls with nowhere else left to go. Had her life gone just a bit differently, she might have been in their place. She neither saw nor heard any other crew. Most of them had likely abandoned ship.

Seren pushed open the hatch to the bridge and stepped inside. Omax stood at the helm, his large hands grasping the controls. Unlike the
Mourning Dawn
, the
Seventh Moon
’s helm was contained inside a large bridge. One wall was clear glass, displaying the Sharn skyline. Beneath them, Skyway’s central island trembled. Glowing fractures continued to spread through the clouds like a spider’s web. Airships circled at a safe distance around the
Moon
, occasionally releasing bursts of lightning in their direction. The Brelish were clearly wary of the ship’s power but were afraid to approach too close.

The helmsman still lay on the floor where Shaimin had killed him. Next to him lay a second body, now covered in Shaimin’s cloak. A pair of familiar velvet boots poked out from beneath them. The pungent odor of burnt flesh hung on the air. She turned away, covering her mouth and gagging.

“He knew the sacrifice he was making, Seren,” Omax said. “I think Shaimin intended to return the life that he owed to Marth.”

She turned away, unable to look at the fallen elf. Why did it bother her so much? She had seen men die before, and she had hated Shaimin. The elf had almost killed her. He had been the last member of their makeshift crew that she would have expected to make such a sacrifice.

The
Seventh Moon
bucked again as another blast took her, throwing Seren off balance. Omax’s hands gripped the helm so tightly that she heard the wooden handles creak between his fingers. Skyway was so close now that Seren could see panicked people running through the streets.

“Do you know how to fly an airship, Omax?” Seren called out.

“No,” Omax said, “but I do not need to fly her. I need only find a place to crash her.”

“There!” Seren said, pointing ahead and to the left.

Behind a crumbling mansion, a grassy courtyard the size of a large park offered a relatively flat landing area. Omax nodded and fought with the helm, steering the crippled airship down. Seren glanced around for something on the bridge that she could hang on to when the ship crashed, but found only one thing. She clung to Omax. He removed one hand from the helm, holding her to his side.

With a deafening crash and a violent wrenching, the
Seventh Moon
collided with Skyway. Seren turned away as the forward
wall shattered, showering them with broken glass and soft earth. The airship continued her forward motion, digging a deep gouge through the courtyard. A terrible shriek of tearing metal was the proud vessel’s death cry as she landed for the last time.