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.
Despite Tristan's order, the huge warrior seemed locked in place. Wondering why Ox hadn't obeyed, Tristan steadied himself, then grabbed Ox by his massive shoulders.
"Fly back to the roof!" Tristan commanded him. "You must go now! Even I am not sure of what is about to happen! What I must do here, you cannot be a part of!"
As the flames roared all around them, Ox looked sadly into Tristan's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Then Ox did something that no Minion warrior had ever dared to do.
Taking a step forward, he embraced his Jin'Sai in his wings.
Both honored and surprised, for several precious moments Tristan embraced him back. Saying nothing, Ox released Tristan and took to the air.
Tristan looked around. He was near the banks of the Sippora, about thirty meters upriver from the palace. Buildings as yet untouched by the approaching inferno stood nearby, the fires' shadows crawling along their walls-a haunting portent of things soon to come. The stinking heat and choking smoke were nearly overpowering. Feeling faint, Tristan placed one hand before his face. He couldn't go any farther or he would die before he did what he had come here to do. And so he was forced to wait for the awful thing to come to him.
Finally, the dark, stinking mass of superheated pollution in the Sippora drew closer. The ever-changing cracks in its surface shot poison and hungry flames high into the air. In moments it would be alongside the palace. It was time to act, Tristan knew, and there wasn't a moment to lose.
He reached over his right shoulder and took one of his throwing knives from its scabbard. Just as the Scroll Master had instructed him, he made a small incision in his left palm. He replaced the knife, then braved the heat to struggle to the edge of the river. He held his wounded hand out. Making a fist, he squeezed the wound until his blood dripped into the water. He stepped back from the bank, looked at the blood, and narrowed his eyes.
Almost at once the blood expanded, billowing outward, and began to flow upstream, against the current. As if it had a life of its own, it sought out the dark pollution coming its way.
The two substances touched.
The clouds of red blood slowly snaked their way around the mass. As Tristan concentrated with all of his might, the blood formed red tentacles that left the water and, like a spider's web, reached up and around the mass. Once the mass was encased, the tentacles started to squeeze. As the mass flowed down the river, an azure haze formed around it.
The explosion that followed ripped through the heavens. Blinding rays of pure white light burst upward, illuminating the burning city. The mass disintegrated, cracking and splintering noisily. Its remaining fragments rained down harmlessly on the river and its banks.
And then it was gone. Amazingly, the river had returned to its natural state.
Exhausted, Tristan lowered his hands. The Scroll Master had been right, he realized. But there were still two Forestallments that remained to be employed. As he stood there among the flaming ruins, he could feel them calling out to him, begging to be released.
Turning to face the river, he raised his hands again. The Scroll Master had warned him that, due to his growing fatigue, each of the two successive Forestallments would be progressively more challenging to dominate. If he lost control, they could turn on him, killing him. Wondering whether he was about to die, Tristan looked to the water and concentrated all of his newfound power upon it.
Slowly, agonizingly, the waters of the Sippora started to rise. The plume that was being generated soared high into the sky. As the onrushing river water continued to feed it, the whirling maelstrom of water flattened out at its top until it reached from one end of the city to the other.