on a scale, by the nature of his or her declamation. Would frenzied birdsong not sound mocking? And so impugn that poet as shallow and stupid. But heed the other’s song, at the scale’s weighty end, and hear the music and verse of a soul’s moaning sigh.’ Grizzin reached for his tankard, found it empty. Scowling, he thumped it sharply on the table and then held it out.
‘You are drunk, Azathanai,’ observed his companion as a server rushed over with a new, foam-crowned tankard.
‘And for such women,’ Grizzin resumed, ‘it is no shock that they do not consider themselves beautiful, and would take the mocking chirps as deserved, while disbelieving the other’s anguished cry. So, they carry none of the vanity that rides haughty as a naked whore on a white horse, the woman who knows her own beauty as immediate, as stunning and breathtaking. But do not think me unappreciative, I assure you! Even if my admiration bears a touch of pity.’
‘A naked whore on a white horse? No, friend, I would never query your admiration.’
‘Good.’ Grizzin Farl nodded, drinking down a mouthful of ale.
His companion continued. ‘But if you tell a woman her beauty emerges only after considerable contemplation, why, I think she would not sweetly meet the lips of your compliment.’
The Azathanai frowned. ‘You highborn have a way with words. In any case, do you take me for a fool? No, I will tell her the truth as I see it. I will tell her that her beauty entrances me, as it surely does.’
‘And so she wonders at your sanity.’
‘To begin with,’ the Azathanai said, belching and nodding. Then he raised a finger. ‘Until, at last, my words deliver to her the greatest gift I can hope to give her – that she comes to believe in her own beauty.’
‘What happens then? Seduced, swallowed in your embrace, another mysterious maiden conquered?’
The huge Azathanai waved a hand. ‘Why, no. She leaves me, of course. Knowing she can do much better.’
‘If you deem this worthy advice on the ways of love, friend, you will forgive the renewal of my search for wisdom … elsewhere.’
Grizzin Farl shrugged. ‘Bleed to your own lessons, then.’
‘Why do you linger in Kharkanas, Azathanai?’
‘Truth, Silchas Ruin?’
‘Truth.’
Grizzin closed his eyes briefly, as if mustering thoughts. He was silent for another moment, and then, eyes opening and fixing upon Silchas Ruin, he sighed and said, ‘I hold trapped in place those who would come to this contest. I push away, by my presence alone, the wolves among my kin, who would sink fangs into this panting flesh, if only to savour the sweat and blood and fear.’ The Azathanai watched his companion studying him, and then nodded. ‘I hold the gates, friend, and in drunken obstinacy I foul the lock like a bent key.’
Finally, Silchas Ruin looked away, squinting into the gloom. ‘The city has gone deathly quiet. Look at these others, cowed by all that is as yet unknown, and indeed unknowable.’
‘The future is a woman,’ said Grizzin Farl, ‘deserving a second, or third, glance.’
‘Beauty awaits such contemplation?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘And when we find it?’
‘Why, she leaves you, of course.’
‘You are not as drunk as you seem, Azathanai.’
‘I never am, Silchas. But then, who can see the future?’
‘You, it appears. Or is this all a matter of faith?’
‘A faith that entrances,’ Grizzin Farl replied, looking down at his empty tankard.
‘I have a thought,’ Silchas Ruin said, ‘that what you protect is that future.’
‘I am my woman’s favourite eunuch, friend. While I am no poet, I pray she is content with the love she sees in my eyes. Utterly devoid of song is hapless Grizzin Farl, and this music you hear? It is no more than my purr beneath her pity.’ He gestured with the empty tankard. ‘Men such as I will take what we can get.’
‘You have talked yourself out of a night with that serving woman you so
‘You are drunk, Azathanai,’ observed his companion as a server rushed over with a new, foam-crowned tankard.
‘And for such women,’ Grizzin resumed, ‘it is no shock that they do not consider themselves beautiful, and would take the mocking chirps as deserved, while disbelieving the other’s anguished cry. So, they carry none of the vanity that rides haughty as a naked whore on a white horse, the woman who knows her own beauty as immediate, as stunning and breathtaking. But do not think me unappreciative, I assure you! Even if my admiration bears a touch of pity.’
‘A naked whore on a white horse? No, friend, I would never query your admiration.’
‘Good.’ Grizzin Farl nodded, drinking down a mouthful of ale.
His companion continued. ‘But if you tell a woman her beauty emerges only after considerable contemplation, why, I think she would not sweetly meet the lips of your compliment.’
The Azathanai frowned. ‘You highborn have a way with words. In any case, do you take me for a fool? No, I will tell her the truth as I see it. I will tell her that her beauty entrances me, as it surely does.’
‘And so she wonders at your sanity.’
‘To begin with,’ the Azathanai said, belching and nodding. Then he raised a finger. ‘Until, at last, my words deliver to her the greatest gift I can hope to give her – that she comes to believe in her own beauty.’
‘What happens then? Seduced, swallowed in your embrace, another mysterious maiden conquered?’
The huge Azathanai waved a hand. ‘Why, no. She leaves me, of course. Knowing she can do much better.’
‘If you deem this worthy advice on the ways of love, friend, you will forgive the renewal of my search for wisdom … elsewhere.’
Grizzin Farl shrugged. ‘Bleed to your own lessons, then.’
‘Why do you linger in Kharkanas, Azathanai?’
‘Truth, Silchas Ruin?’
‘Truth.’
Grizzin closed his eyes briefly, as if mustering thoughts. He was silent for another moment, and then, eyes opening and fixing upon Silchas Ruin, he sighed and said, ‘I hold trapped in place those who would come to this contest. I push away, by my presence alone, the wolves among my kin, who would sink fangs into this panting flesh, if only to savour the sweat and blood and fear.’ The Azathanai watched his companion studying him, and then nodded. ‘I hold the gates, friend, and in drunken obstinacy I foul the lock like a bent key.’
Finally, Silchas Ruin looked away, squinting into the gloom. ‘The city has gone deathly quiet. Look at these others, cowed by all that is as yet unknown, and indeed unknowable.’
‘The future is a woman,’ said Grizzin Farl, ‘deserving a second, or third, glance.’
‘Beauty awaits such contemplation?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘And when we find it?’
‘Why, she leaves you, of course.’
‘You are not as drunk as you seem, Azathanai.’
‘I never am, Silchas. But then, who can see the future?’
‘You, it appears. Or is this all a matter of faith?’
‘A faith that entrances,’ Grizzin Farl replied, looking down at his empty tankard.
‘I have a thought,’ Silchas Ruin said, ‘that what you protect is that future.’
‘I am my woman’s favourite eunuch, friend. While I am no poet, I pray she is content with the love she sees in my eyes. Utterly devoid of song is hapless Grizzin Farl, and this music you hear? It is no more than my purr beneath her pity.’ He gestured with the empty tankard. ‘Men such as I will take what we can get.’
‘You have talked yourself out of a night with that serving woman you so
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