Letter Fifteen

Dear Sneffles,

The next day the men returned. Their shock and rage at the carnage greeting them threatened to escalate into a fight with us but Ready-Klar and Krojan the Eater talked them down, explaining that but for us there would no one left alive. This calmed them somewhat until one smart-ass remarked that if we hadn’t been there in the first place the Red Mantis would have had no reason to attack them, and the grumbling renewed. Thankfully, the diversion had bought just enough time for Ready-Klar to get his lieutenants deployed. Soon everyone was too busy cleaning up and preparing the dead for the funeral to pay attention to us. Ready-Klar asked us to stay until the next evening when we would take part in the grand funeral’s closing ceremony—the "Blessing of Ancestors." Until then, “stay the fuck outta the way.”

So we hung out in the shade of a huge pile of dried up old bones. Szechuan went off to help his pals clean up while the rest of us got a card game going. That’s when a young barbarian shambled into our encampment, looking about with distracted air. Trinia quickly went over to him to find out what he wanted. Finally she turned to us to translate as the youth asked haltingly which one of us was “Phan-arf-faine?”

Finarfin looked up at him disdainfully. “Who wants to know?”

The guy scratched his dirty blond head, looking as abashed as a mule at Marshmallow Park, stammering, “They told me you were with Toska at the end—when she died.” The boy was too miserable to be angry and when he said her name his voice cracked a little. Finarfin didn’t know what to do, so he stood there diddling with his electrical thingamajiggy, just in case he had to fry the lad.

A tear crept down the boy’s cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I just want to know that she died bravely . . . and that she didn’t suffer.”

Finarfin visibly gulped. He stared blankly into the distance for a moment before gathering himself. “She saved my life,” he lied, surprisingly humble. And maybe she did—that blade was meant for him. “She took on those Red Mantis fuckers wearing nothing but . . . well, uh, anyway she was tearing them a new asshole when that Cinderlander dog shot her down from behind. She died whispering a name . . .”

“Was it Klogg?” the boy interrupted hopefully.

“Yeah, sure, I think so,” Finarfin shrugged. “It was kind of noisy out there.”

Finarfin stepped back warily as the young man pulled out a very large knife and opened a vein in his arm, bidding Finarfin do the same. The halfling wasn’t enthusiastic so I quickly put a nick in him, using the silver knife—he barely felt it. Then the two clasped arms, bleeding on each other profusely. There were more tears and hugs and Trinia told me that Klogg had called him, “Brother of the womb,” which seems to mean that they’d fucked the same woman.

I guess that makes me brother to half of Korvosa.

That night they started their mourning. We sat by our pile of bones listening to the ceremony unfolding down by their fire-circle. Each stanza of the shaman’s steady cadence of ancient verse was answered by the clan’s hearty response. I fell asleep to the gentle sound of Trinia’s rhythmic translation, somewhat after the recitation of their “Trail of Tears,” which happened  during the time they call the "Cheliax Scourging."

As dawn approached they finally lit up the pyre, consigning their loved-ones to the afterlife. That took the rest of the day to accomplish as a choking pall of smoke reeking of oily flesh enfolded our hilltop. They fed the Red Mantis corpses to the dogs, after dissecting the big Mantis for spare parts. They also kept the Cinderlander’s head as a souvenir, proof that he really was dead. To his face they’d glued a beard. When I asked why, they told me it was fashioned from Toska’s “private hair.” A jape, I suppose. I admit that it smelled of her.

By late afternoon the village was sleeping in the acrid heat. I tried to rest, too, but ended up at the cliff’s edge staring out over the rusty plain in the direction of Korvosa, where everything I hold dear awaits me. I’m getting a very bad feeling about our adventure and can only beg you to visit the Count’s summer retreat on the coast until I return. I know, you’ll say, “I can take better care of myself than you can yourself but, unless you’ve suddenly acquired a taste for violence, I guarantee you won’t like what’s coming.

“Hey pinhead,” I heard Finarfin call. “We need your help.” I quickly returned to the “Boneyard” (which I learned was where they compost their "middens") to find my compatriots hurrying about, dividing our Mantis loot. Finarfin had magically acquired the ability to teleport great distances and decided we should revamp our weaponry. I couldn’t argue with that and put dibs on the Cinderlander’s own mithral shirt! It’s light, looks sharp, and is as strong as an m-word fucker. If only I’d gotten it autographed!

I also got Szechuan’s spare Gauntlets of Power to augment my noodle arms.

Trinia, who had been distracted and haunted all afternoon, suddenly announced she was returning to Janderdhoff with Finarfin to stay at Orisini's and Adriel's bachelor pad. I held him by the shoulders, looking deeply into his beautiful green eyes. So that’s how it plays! “It will be comforting for all of you there,” I agreed. “You’ll be able to help the old boys with whatever they're doing.” I opened a small pint of ale we’d rousted from some Dead Mantis’ belt, toasting her.

With a guilty look, she confided that the night of the attack she’d sent a succubus to Finarfin in her place, just to shut him up, and now he's got some kind of sex-jones for her. She knew she shouldn't have done it but the guy was way too obnoxious. She's afraid that if he finds out the truth his berserker-revenge fetish will kick in—she knows the type—making her life a living hell. So it’s fare-thee-well, young sailor. When this is finally over, my sweet girl, I’ll introduce you to him, and we’ll all take a long vacation together along the coast, in your winter-boyfriend’s yacht.

[I’m giving these letters to Trinia to post when she arrives in Janderhoff. I asked her to give Vencarlo and Jasan a kiss for me when she arrives. She blushed prettily and said with a crooked grin that she intends to do more than that!]

Much love,
Cordobles

Followed by Dear Sneffles Letter Sixteen