“Cormidthal?”
“The last ruler of Mikhalin—which, in case your history’s as poor as your manners, was a great empire on the southern landmass, before it was fragmented in an apocalyptic war, oh, perhaps a thousand years ago. The Greatest War, some call it. Surely you learnt something of this from your tutors.”
“What I learnt from my tutors wasn’t what they were trying to teach me.”
Ishwarin’s gaunt features became more stern as they reflected his disappointment. “You’ve wasted your time, Tashnark. You always were disrespectful.”
Tashnark held up his hand. “No lectures.”
Ishwarin shrugged.
“Is that all you can tell me about Hanin?”
“I could look it up. Why? What’s your interest in him? Has this to do with Bellarroth?”
“Just something I heard.” Tashnark waved him away. “It doesn’t matter. Hadn’t you better get going? You’re late for work.”
“The Court sitting doesn’t start till mid-morning.” He walked toward Tashnark, a gaunt shadow in the dimness of the hallway. “You look like you could use a drink. Want to visit the Refectory?”
“I drank quite enough last night.”
“Something non-alcoholic then?”
Dream-residue struck Tashnark suddenly and he staggered, leaning against the wall so that Ishwarin wouldn’t notice. Heat and tempest around him. The corpse of Hanin a bloody skeleton, little flesh remaining on the bones. Even as he watched he could see that the mesh in which Hanin was trapped sucked the moisture from what remained of his body. Too late! Too late!
“Are you still drunk?” asked his brother.
The image of dead Hanin was replaced by that of a living woman. The woman from the tavern last night. She reached out and beckoned to him.
Tashnark shook the visions aside. Damn it! “No, just a bit dizzy. Listen, there’s something I want to talk to you about anyway. Maybe you can give me some advice.”
“Me? Advise you?” Ishwarin raised an elegantly curved eyebrow. “This is a turnaround.”
“Don’t get cocky. The world’s aging and so am I. Come on!” He grabbed his brother’s bony arm and bustled him toward the front door.
* * * *
The Refectory—originally established by the Shaa-Derthperrit Temple as an eating place for magic-workers who, for one reason or another, had fallen on hard times, but long since having become a fashionable secular meeting-place for locals—wasn’t very busy at this time of the day. Its high roof and compartmentalized architecture, however, created complex patterns of light and shadow that always gave the impression of quiet occupancy. Ishwarin never objected to coming here, even though the richness of his purse predisposed him to more upmarket venues. On the other hand, it had always been a favorite of Tashnark’s. It suited him when the louder egotism of the district’s innumerable taverns didn’t appeal, or when he felt like talking. He liked the way its internal skeleton of wooden pillars and carved ribbing evoked a living presence. Even when there were musicians playing, it was a quiet, contemplative place.
Ishwarin called for hot drinks made of crushed ocar beans and nuts—to Tashnark it was an anemic scholar’s drink, but he accepted the gesture. Suddenly hungry, he added bread, cheese and crispy bacon to the order.
“So what’s on your mind?” Ishwarin started right in, once the attendant was gone. His curiosity was patent. “Is this something serious?”
“Serious? Have you ever known me not to be serious?”
“It’s about our mother, is it?”
Ishwarin had always had a profound love for Eresteyin that he never offered to his real mother, their father’s current wife. Strictly speaking, Tashnark and he were only half-brothers, though they didn’t think of themselves that way. Ishwarin’s actual home was far across the City, in the Old Gorim district—the historic center of Koerpel-Na—but he spent most of his time in Eresteyin’s house. It was always plain where his loyalties lay.
“No, she’s fine,” Tashnark said. “This is about a…different woman.”
Ishwarin laughed. “What? You’re asking me about your love life?”
Tashnark frowned. “I don’t have a love life.”
“I noticed.”
“For god’s sake, just listen.”
“Sorry.”
“I want to find a woman, a particular woman, and I don’t know how to go about it. You’re good at all that bureaucratic horseshit. You got any ideas?”
Ishwarin grinned at him stupidly. It irritated Tashnark.
“Well?”
“I’m amazed, that’s all.” Ishwarin swiveled his eyes in a dismissive gesture. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know. She was at The Binge last night. I watched her, on and off, for maybe half an hour. Now I can’t get her out of my mind.”
“Love at first sight, eh? I didn’t think you had it in you.”
An old woman in a long brown robe materialized with their drinks. Tashnark took a heavy gulp and let the smooth bland liquid course down his throat. Was it love at first sight? Or perhaps lust? No doubt there was a sexual side to it, but that wasn’t what it was about. He met many women, felt drawn toward their shapeliness or their long, inviting legs. Yet he rarely pursued them. What was different with this one?
“I don’t know,” he said. “I felt.…” He shrugged. “Actually I don’t know what I felt, but she got in my mind and now worries at its edges like a damn cat with a mouse.”
Ishwarin stared into his eyes thoughtfully for a moment. It was a disconcerting habit and one that normally irritated the hell out of Tashnark. Today, however, it unsettled him instead. He glanced away.
“What is it you want, brother?” Ishwarin almost whispered.
“Want? You mean, from this woman?”
“From your life. You have to admit, it’s not in the best shape.”
Confusion flowed through Tashnark, numbing his arms, hollowing out his chest. Something he recognized as a sob ballooned into his throat, but he cut it off before it could be expelled into the air and give him away.
“I want to find this particular woman at the moment, that’s all. Is it too much to ask you for simple help, without a cross-examination?”
Ishwarin would have recognized this response as evasion, but he let it pass. He nodded. “Seriously, though, this is just what you need, Tashnark. An obsession.”
“Can you give me any useful advice?”
Ishwarin let his broad mouth smile knowingly. “Her name? That’d be a start.”
“I didn’t talk to her.” When Ishwarin’s face produced a look that contained both amazement and scorn, Tashnark added: “I was drunk at the time. I kept my distance.”
Ishwarin gazed at him with an amused smirk.
“She was dressed well but in clothes that were slightly out of fashion. Too much pattern.” Tashnark frowned, concentrating. “And she moved her hands when she talked in a very studied way, but beautifully, like it was a dance.”
The bread, cheese and bacon arrived and Tashnark ate it while he told Ishwarin what he could remember of the encounter, such as it was. Thinking of it must have distracted his stomach from its earlier disquiet, for the food stayed down.
“Maybe