She walked out on the deck to find Pherris still at the helm. Gerith sat on the deck nearby, eating a small meal while his glidewing watched with intense interest.
“Gerith,” Seren called out.
“The Boneyard, I know,” Gerith said. “I was eavesdropping.” He threw the last bit of his food in the air; Blizzard snatched it faster than Seren could even see. The halfling stood, wiped his hands on his pants, and walked past her into Dalan’s cabin with a strangely morose expression.
Seren walked toward the deck ladder, pausing only briefly to greet the captain. Pherris did not answer. His eyes were intent on the sky ahead as he struggled to control the wounded airship. Not wanting to distract him, she mumbled a quiet greeting and headed to the ladder.
“Thank you, Seren,” Pherris said.
Seren looked back at the captain in surprise.
“The ship,” Pherris said. “Thank you for saving her.”
“Captain, who is Aeven?” Seren asked impulsively. “I’ve heard you mention the name. Tristam and Gerith mentioned it too.”
“Aeven?” Pherris asked with a chuckle. “She’s the only member of the crew you haven’t met. Don’t worry, Seren. She’s just shy.”
Seren smiled, not sure how to react to the captain’s reply. She left him to his work and made her way below deck. Omax was meditating in the cargo bay again. She wondered which of the cabins the paladin was locked in. Seren continued to Tristam’s door and knocked lightly. There was no answer. She moved on to her own cabin, leaving him in peace.
“Seren,” Tristam said, opening the door and peering out. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be Dalan.” He had changed out of his ruined and bloody clothing and was wearing a somewhat somber gray shirt.
“No need to apologize,” she said.
He looked back down the hall, beckoned to her, and stepped back inside. With a pensive frown, she followed him. He closed the door and sat at the desk. She sat at the edge of the bed, watching him curiously. The homunculus immediately leapt off the desk into her lap.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I have to tell you something, but you can’t tell Dalan,” Tristam said.
“What is it?” she said.
“I recognized that Cyran ship,” he said. He reached into his pocket and took out a small glass sphere. He tapped the side and whispered the words, “Kenshi Zhann.” The sphere immediately illuminated with swirling blue lights, displaying a model of a tiny airship.
“That’s the ship that chased us,” Seren said, recognizing it.
Tristam nodded. “I made this model for Ashrem, but I never gave it to him,” he said. “It’s the Kenshi Zhann, the Seventh Moon. Dalan didn’t see her, but he would have recognized her too.”
“Oh?” Seren asked.
“She was Ashrem’s flagship.”
“The ship he flew into Cyre?” Seren asked.
“Yes,” Tristam said. “Ashrem flew her into Cyre just before the Day of Mourning. Orren Thardis flew his other ship, the Albena Tors, into Cyre after him. Neither ship was ever seen again.”
“But now Moon is back,” Seren said, “and Kiris Overwood is still alive.”
“What?” Tristam asked, surprised. “Kiris is alive?”
“That’s what Zed thinks,” Seren said.
“Strange,” Tristam said. “Zed should have recognized Moon.”
“Maybe he did,” Seren said. “He avoided describing the ship to Dalan. Why would he do that?”
Tristam didn’t answer for a long moment. He just looked at her, his eyes lost and afraid. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know who to trust, Dalan or Zed, maybe neither. But I trust you.”
“Me?” she said, surprised. “I thought you said you couldn’t trust me.”
“I say stupid things all the time,” Tristam said. “If you hold that against me, we’ll never get anywhere. The point is, I trust you now, and I want you to know what’s going on here.”
She leaned closer to him to listen more intently. “Tell me about Moon, then.”
“She was Ashrem’s oldest ship,” Tristam continued. “He commissioned her back when he still designed and sold weapons. The Cannith sometimes sold to both sides of the same conflict, so they weren’t always welcome when they showed up. With that in mind, Ashrem outfitted Moon as a warship, designed to survive on the harshest battlefields of the Five Kingdoms. If her weapons are still intact, what she unleashed on us back there was only a taste. They’ll come after us again, Seren. Karia Naille is faster, but we can’t run forever.”
“What are you getting at, Tristam?” she asked.
“You aren’t really a part of this,” he said. “I don’t mean that as an insult. Cragwar isn’t such a bad place. It’s much nicer than Wroat and safer than Black Pit. Stay there, Seren. Maybe Eraina will even help you find a safe place to start a new life.”
“Why would I want to do that?” she asked stiffly, leaning away from him again.
“Because I’m not so sure we’re going to survive this,” he said. “I’m not so sure that I’m doing this for the right reasons.”
Seren watched him quietly, waiting for him to explain.
“When I first met Dalan, I was Ashrem’s apprentice,” he said. “I knew Dalan by reputation. He was one of the only people in House Cannith that Ashrem still trusted. Dalan came to me privately. He offered me a work, to create some infusions for House Cannith. Ashrem didn’t seem to be interested in helping me join the house, but Dalan was. He offered me contracts on the side, things Ashrem wouldn’t accept, so I took them. Ashrem found out about it eventually, of course. He also found out that the camouflage enchantments I thought were being used to help scouts remain undetected in the field were being used by Brelish soldiers to ambush Thrane border patrols. He was outraged that I had used his teachings and his facilities to create weapons. We argued about it, I called him a hypocrite and a few other things. I told him the war would never end if we stood by and did nothing. The old man didn’t take that well at all.”
“And that’s why he ended your apprenticeship?” Seren asked.
“That’s right,” Tristam said with a sigh. “I never told Ashrem that Dalan was the one to give me the contracts, and Dalan didn’t tell him either. When Dalan came back to me, asking me to help him find the Legacy, he said he appreciated my ‘discretion,’ whatever that means.” Tristam laughed bitterly.
“Not that I don’t appreciate your sharing something like this,” Seren said, “but what does this have to do with my staying or leaving?”
“We’re not doing anything noble here, Seren,” he said. “Don’t stay because you think we’re heroes or because you think you’re doing some great favor by keeping the Legacy out of Marth’s hands. Dalan isn’t perfect, and neither am I. I might look like I’m fighting to keep my teacher’s work pure, but really that’s not it at all. I’m a failure, Seren. Ashrem didn’t want me. House Cannith doesn’t want me. Now I can tell even Dalan’s getting tired of me. Don’t stay to help me. I’m not worth helping, and anyone with an ounce of sense sees that.”
“Omax doesn’t see that,” she said. “Neither do I.”
Tristam started to voice a reply but found nothing to say. He only lowered his head and clasped his hands over his knees.
“I don’t understand why Omax follows me the way he does,” he said. “I’m no hero, Seren. I’m here because I have nowhere else to go, and because, really, I want to prove them all wrong. I’m fighting to prove myself to a dead man. That’s what you’re risking your life for. That’s why you should leave us in Cragwar, Seren, and forget any of this ever happened.”
Seren set the homunculus on the floor and stood. She looked down at Tristam, arms folded across her breasts. He looked up at her meekly.
“If you want me to pity you,” she said, “you’ll have to do better than that. If you need me, I’ll be in my cabin.”
He blinked in surprise. She turned and left, closing the door behind her.