Dedication

Salbadore and one of the imperial soldiers approach the prison wagon. The soldier lowers its gate, grabs a pair of feet, and pulls the –"Ah, sheiss!" Salbadore recoils from the stench coming off from the now-putrid body of the junior mage. Wrapping Orthos' wet cloak around his face, Salbadore laments, "Poor Sinchi!" He sobs, "And to think that you and ol' Faney would have been enemies excepting for Hungred and myself! And now the two of you here in quiet repose, side-by-side. Aw! All but for that bonny fat Mags – all but for the smithy's loose little lass!" His bawling begins to wind down, and he gathers a bit of dignity. "Pardon me, brother," he begs. "It's time to see your things back to the Guild."

A gaping wound in the mage's skull marks the point through which the fatal bolt entered – his toeless foot protrudes from a blown-out boot, marking the bolt's exit. Little more than a topography of blisters, the charred skin on his face retains no readable features, but his purple sash identifies Sinchiran as a mage of the Lebenskraft Guildhouse. Salbadore begins to paw at the corpse in the dim light of the trailer, searching through its cloak and clothing. As he does so, he cannot help but to notice the elderly gnome, dressed in the drab tunic of a prisoner, and locked in the belly of a skraftbiest. The little man worries Salbadore, and this worry consumes him. Lo, Salbadore coaches himself, Stephane and Sinchi died seeing this get off to his destination. Take him in, boy. Lay your eyes on that pip and do not forget.


("Thou imprisoned!" He speaks hushedly through the wet cloak, but not as a matter of privacy for he immediately realizes that he is breaking protocol by communicating with the prisoner through living bars, through fenestrae in the body of an officer in His Excellency's military. Salbadore thinks better of it only after the words have escaped his lips. But they have passed, and the lieutenant has not spoken. Salbadore decides that he will find out the name of the threat that his classmates died fighting. "Old man. Who are you?"
(He mutters something that sounds like, "Traveling, I been going."
("Of what crime are you accused?" Does the mimik shift a little, is it moving?
(The gnome shrugs.
("Two of my friends have died transporting you." Salbadore tries to sound insistent without speaking too loudly. "With all respect, you’ll please see the sincerity of my curiosity, sir, and satisfy it:")


– but what would Salbadore really want to know?

Aye, he thinks, and wants to say (but he cannot bring himself to muster this kindness) to the caged gnome, I ken the pip’s interest in the welfare of his kith. And Salbadore would feel even more understanding towards Nibben if he could believe that the mossback’s imprisonment is a matter of politics - or perhaps for the purpose of extracting information about a greater threat. But, no: no matter what Orthos claims, Salbadore is sure that Nibben was no more responsible for the rescue at Lakewood than he himself was. Nay. We each have been dragged down this path in the name of something else – but, oh, in whose name do you toil so, master gnome? To what end to you seek the company of imperial prisoners?

It will be a whipping for Nibben. Salbadore passes his gaze over the faces of the dead; one-by-one, he takes them in. "Everyone has been on a trip, but no one has yet gotten to where they are going." He winces in sympathy for pitiful, half-crazed Nibben and wonders if the afflicted soul would even be capable of understanding why he was being beaten? And – why, yes, of course – Laurie too had endured a beating at the hands of the lieutenant. What do they want to know? –


("Why are they all so interested in you?" he snaps at the old gnome.
(The frail man leans forward and taps his forehead. "The mindmelters put a bomb in my brain to keep me quiet.
("Anyway, I don't think you're allowed to be talking to me.")


And I won’t dare!, is Salbadore's immediate mental protest, for I know my place! With the auto-indignation of this sudden affirmation, Salbadore returns from his dream and soon locates his friend's genolith. It is nearly encased in the mass of melted metal jewelry around the young corpse’s neck. With some effort, Salbadore bends it free and pulls it over his friend's charred face – Oh no, oh poor Sinchi, Salbadore chants and bites his lip. He tries his best to shear off as little of Sinchi’s flaky skin as possible.

Not entirely happily, but with no small amount of relief, Salbadore succeeds in keeping the melted and burnt face of Sinchiran Balaban Ran mostly intact.