Each of the other five Earthshakers met the same fate. One by one the great beasts fell, the ground trembling as they hit. In their death throes, their great, bony tails flapped up and down, smashing against the ground. With each great blow, more of the palace walls came tumbling down.
The demonslavers and the K'tons fared no better. Massively outnumbered by the Minions and the Wingwalkers, they died by the hundreds. Tristan watched in awe as the Wingwalkers defied gravity to scurry sideways along the walls, hang upside down beneath roof alcoves, then spin and cartwheel deftly in the sky to strike down their prey. Bit by bit, the Minions and the Wingwalkers-both onetime servants of the Coven-gained the upper hand.
Some of the K'tons attempted to flee, but were vaporized when they tried to break through the azure dome. Undeterred, still more of them suffered the same fate.
And then the six Black Ships finally entered the grounds of the palace. The six skeletal captains rained bolt after bolt down upon the Wingwalkers and Minions. Many fell, and for a moment Tristan feared that all would be lost despite their valiant efforts. He felt Shailiha's grip on his hand tighten.
But then another great horde of freshly born Wingwalkers descended upon the scene, turning the tide. They swarmed darkly over the vessels' captains and demonslavers, killing them all.
Without their captains to guide them, the great ships careened out of control. Tristan watched, his mouth agape, as the first nosed down to plow along the ground. As its hull tore across the earth of the inner ward, it took down countless hastily erected hospital tents; the people who had been hiding inside of them went screaming and running for their lives.
With a loud groan, the great ship lay over on her port side, but inertia kept her barreling straight for the entrance to the Great Hall. Sending up clumps of ragged earth in all directions, her bowsprit tore through the chamber's double stained-glass doors. With a mighty crash, the ship came to rest.
The other five ships crashed in a similar manner. One by one they banged into the earth and skidded across the palace grounds. Tristan felt the palace quake beneath him as two more ships rammed into its walls.
As the fighting in the courtyard died down, Tristan looked out over Tammerland again. Some of the Wingwalkers and Minions soared over the smashed palace walls to chase down and kill off the demonslavers and K'tons still ravaging the city. New fires were still erupting, and the courtyard resounded with the screams of the wounded and dying.
Tristan and Shailiha went over to join the others. Wigg and Faegan continued to support the azure dome with the craft. Jessamay and Abbey stood staring in horror at the carnage. Wingwalker, Minion, and demonslaver bodies seemed to lie everywhere, as did the dead and wounded who had first come to the palace seeking refuge from the Orb of the Vigors.
As he looked down at his traumatized subjects, Tristan lowered his head. He recalled that day not so long before when he had addressed many of them in the Great Hall and asked them for their trust.
But how will I ever gain their allegiance now? he wondered. How can they trust me when, yet again, the craft has brought them nothing but pain and death?
Then he thought about the three Forestallments remaining in his blood, and the muscles in his jaws tightened.
Hearing the flurry of approaching wings, Tristan turned to see Traax, Duvessa, and Ox land on the roof. They were all worn out and splattered with blood. Dax was not present. Tristan hurried over to them.
"Dax?" he asked anxiously.
Traax shook his head. "No," he said. "But he died well."
"And the state of the battle?"
"Our scouts tell us that it is over," Traax answered. "The wizards may dispense with the dome."
Wigg and Faegan gladly lowered their arms. They both looked past the point of exhaustion. The azure dome surrounding Tammerland slowly faded and then vanished, releasing the smoke that had collected beneath it.
"It is now time for you to complete your part of it," Tristan said to Jessamay.
The sorceress nodded and walked over to the map table. She picked up Failee's red leather grimoire. A golden bookmark extended from between its pages. As everyone watched, she went back to stand at the edge of the roof.
Opening the grimoire to the marked page, she balanced the book in one hand and raised her other. She looked down at the swarming Wingwalkers.
"Come to me," she said.
Almost at once the horrific creatures obeyed. Soon the night sky was black with them. The entire multitude hovered in the air before Jessamay, their numbers so vast that they blocked out the stars and the three Eutracian moons.
Taking a deep breath, Jessamay looked down at the grimoire and started to recite a spell.
Tristan stared sadly at the throngs of Wingwalkers. They had proven invaluable in the defense of Tammerland, but his mind was made up: though they were truly little more than killing machines, and despite the fact that their blood signatures now leaned to the right, they could not be allowed to live.
And so, Jessamay recited the secret words in Old Eutracian-the same spell that Wigg had tried to find that day in the bowels of the Recluse, but could not-and the leathery skin of the Wingwalkers burst into flames. As they cried out in pain, Tristan couldn't help but feel a touch of remorse. Steeling his heart, he put one arm around Shailiha and watched them die.
One by one they fell to the earth, dead. Their bodies burned until only their skeletons remained.
Tristan looked down into the courtyard and out across the city to see the streets piled white-as if it were the Season of Crystal and it had just snowed. Stunned citizens, their clothing and faces black with soot, stared in wonder.
Jessamay turned to look at the Jin'Sai. "It is over," she said wearily.
He shook his head. "You're wrong," he answered. "There is still much to be done."
Tristan looked down into the city that he so loved. From the west, the fires were fast approaching the palace. Surviving citizens had formed bucket brigades, but their efforts accomplished little. Soon the entire city would be lost.
He looked at the bend in the Sippora River where it curved to flow near the palace. He then looked upriver. Because of the smoke and the darkness, at first he couldn't find what he was searching for.
Then he finally saw it. He was quickly running out of time, he knew. If he didn't play his part now, the final act of this tragedy would soon open.
Tristan called Ox to his side and pointed to a spot on the ground just outside the smashed walls.
"Fly me there!" he ordered.
Without hesitation Ox picked up the prince, ran to the roof's edge, and took flight. As they went, Tristan gave Shailiha a final look. Panic and confusion gripped the princess as she watched her brother go.
Then they saw Tyranny's litter and her host of warriors cross before the three moons. As quickly as the litter touched down, the privateer came running to Wigg. Shailiha ran to join them, and she and Tyranny looked at the wizard with trepidation.
"What is Tristan doing?" the princess asked.
"What he was born to do," Wigg answered, placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. There was a worried, resigned look on his craggy face. "And may the Afterlife see him through it."
Wondering what was about to happen, Shailiha and the others could only stand and watch as Ox and Tristan soared away.
Ox landed and lowered Tristan to the ground. Tristan looked around urgently. The place he had chosen was deteriorating rapidly. New fires were erupting all about them, and the heat was unbearable. He knew that he and Ox wouldn't be able to stand this for very long. He looked into the faithful warrior's dark eyes.
"You must leave me now!" he ordered. His voice was nearly drowned out by the roaring flames.
No sooner had he finished speaking than another building fell, its walls collapsing only meters from their feet. When the blast of heat hit them, it nearly knocked them down.