Tiral nodded at Marianne awkwardly as she half-chided him for using the word 'madam' towards her. Damned if he understood any of that mess of titles and whatnot, but it hadn't managed to get him into hot water as of yet. Tossing out whatever seemed right for the situation had somehow always worked out for him, so... No problems there, right?

Turning to face Sir Ian (who was... actually somewhat injured, worryingly enough), Tiral's gaze flicked between him, Marianne, and the bandits who were cowering on the ground. It hadn't taken long for the remaining bandits to be routed and forced near the center of the camp, which would at least mean that if there was any time to be doing what he was planning, it would be now.

"Thank you for your assistance. Please, just hold out a while as I prepare," he stated as Marianne lent the wounded soldier her support. Well, it wasn't quite 'holding out' as much as it was 'finishing the job', but who cared about semantics at a time like this?

Rushing over to the fallen tree, Tiral took a deep breath and steeled himself. The magical energy that remained in his body would... Hopefully be enough to complete the job, but it would more likely than not knock him right out for a good while. 

"Too late for second thoughts now..." he grumbled, drawing the dagger from its hiding spot once more before beginning to chant.

"O, moon; though your light shines not upon this battlefield, the men grow weary in the wake of the sun. Smoldering embers, remnants of a battle neither won nor lost. And, above all else, the darkest sky that lights up even the coldest of nights. Heed my call.
The waters of life, from which all beings come forth; without it, we may die as we may live. With the strength of the rivers that so calmly flow through these lands, and with the chill that pervades those lonely mountaintops...
Entomb this burning waste in ice, and grant us safe passage forward!"

With a controlled breath, Tiral quickly braced himself and plunged his dagger--and his hand--into the blazing log before him. The reaction was almost immediate; a quick-forming frost began to spread out across the log (however slowly at first) before beginning to encroach upon the rest of the obstacle. The flames that fought back were quickly extinguished by what seemed to be a burst of water out of nowhere, and before long bush of the flames had been quelled.

During the entire spectacle, though, Tiral struggled to stay conscious as the ice began to crawl up his weapon. Though the dagger wouldn't break from something so trivial, he needed to retain contact so long as the spell was still in action. The toll it was taking on his body wasn't a small one by any means, and by now he was struggling to stay conscious as the magic ate away at his reserves.

"...Ah, damn. Harder than I thought... But this should be over soon enough."