“And mean old Dalan?” the same little girl asked.
“Mean old Dalan went back to Wroat, though he wasn’t quite so mean anymore,” Seren said. “Eraina returned to Karrnath to be with her church and her family. Zed was sad to see her say good-bye. Sadder than I think he’ll ever admit.”
“And what happened to Sir Arthen?” an older child asked excitedly. “Did he ever really get his magic back?”
Seren thought about her answer for a moment, then smiled sadly. “I don’t really know what happened to Zed Arthen,” she said. “He set off on his own shortly after we arrived in Zil’argo. I guess that’s another story entirely.”
A few of the children clapped excitedly. The halflings began to file out of the tent, but she noticed that one of the children was still watching with a strangely forlorn face. She suddenly remembered an important detail.
“And the dog was fine,” Seren said. “Dalan knew that the trip to the Boneyard would be very dangerous, so he left Gunther behind in Sharn.”
“You should have said that earlier,” the worried child said urgently.
“It didn’t seem to fit into the story,” Seren said.
“It was the dog,” the child said, completely outraged by the omission.
“Sorry,” Seren said.
The child pouted and stormed out of the tent.
“She was right, you know,” the old man in the back of the tent said. “Never forget the dog. You can kill all the heroes you like, but the audience will never forgive you if you hurt the dog.”
“Sorry,” she said, grinning at the old halfling. “How was it?”
The old man grunted. “It’ll do, I guess,” he said. “The language was a little rough, but the plot seemed all right. I could polish it up, I suppose. Helps that you wore that short skirt, too. That made the slow parts interesting.” The old halfling leered at her legs.
Seren folded her arms across her chest and gave Mannis Snowshale a disapproving look. He was as incorrigible as his grandson.
The old halfling burst into a fit of cackling, laughing so hard that he was forced to dab his eyes with his sleeve. When he finished, his eyes still glistened. He looked up at Seren seriously.
“Did my grandson really do what you said?” he asked hoarsely. “Was he as brave as you said?”
“My words don’t do it justice,” she said. “Pherris named the new ship after him.”
“The Lunatic?” Mannis asked hopefully.
“The Reckless,” she said with a laugh.
“Eh, close enough,” he said. “Thank you, Miss Morisse. I proclaim my grandson’s quest a success.” The old halfling rubbed his nose with the same sleeve, sniffling a little. “I think I need some time alone to write all of this down.”
“Of course,” she said softly.
Seren stepped out of the tent and back into Snowshale village. The sun shone brightly over the plains. The people went about their lives happily, with no worries for the future. She could hear some of them already trading their favorite bits of Gerith’s story.
“How did it go, Seren?” Tristam asked.
The young artificer wore a new coat, slick black with red trim. His sandy hair was tied back in a ponytail and he carried a new sword at his hip. The ring on his hand bore the Cannith house seal.
He smiled at her hopefully. Behind Tristam, in the plains beyond the village, the airship’s green elemental ring hovered peacefully.
“They liked it,” Seren said.
Tristam’s grin broadened. He reached out and clasped her hand in his.
“Let’s go home,” he whispered.