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hostility between the owners caused the inn staff to fall silent.
             “No, you idiot...at...at least I don’t
think so,” Selric said.
             “What do you mean, you don’t think so?”
Mendric asked, releasing Selric with a shove.
             “I’m pretty sure,” Selric said
confidently.  “I cleared everything up before I left.  I was gone two years: 
why wait this long if I was involved?  It couldn’t have been anything that I
did.  Besides, if it were because of me, they would have gotten someone I
associated with in those parts of town.  I never took Sonya to that kind of
stuff.  Just dinner and...and you know.”
             “Yeah, I know,” Mendric said looking
down, upset yet understanding.  Like their grandfather, he disapproved of
Selric’s behavior.  He also trusted his brother’s integrity if not his judgment,
and if Selric said it was not his fault then Mendric believed him.  “It’s a big
city: a lot of weird people.  Sometimes we lose those we care about.  I am
sorry.  Sorry for her.  And...and sorry for you too.”  One of the serving girls
silently brought the owners four drinks, two each, and removed the empty mugs. 
The brothers grasped their beer and drank in unison, Mendric looking down,
Selric absently watching one of the new girls as she was bent over wiping a
table clean.
             “Hey, you know, you were pretty good with
that sword,” Mendric said, trying to move on from the dark topic, “even though
it is a little odd.”  Selric listened, still watching the new wench perform her
duty enticingly; casting her eyes back at him to make sure she was holding his
gaze.  Mendric’s last words snapped Selric’s attention back to his brother.
             “Odd!  What do you mean?  That’s what the
warlords of the East use, you know?  There’s nothing odd about it.”
             “It was effective,” Mendric forced
himself to admit, but still finding it hard to disagree with Stormweather
doctrine.  The long curved blade of the Eastern weapon was very much different—and
used differently—than the heavy broad swords of the west coast, favorite
weapons of the gentry for hundreds of years.
             “Effective?” Selric argued.  “I mangled
those dummies.”
             “Yes, I guess you did,” Mendric agreed
with little emotion.  They drained their first mugs and Mendric started his
second.  Selric, however, rose and moved toward the new girl, who, being
finished at the table she had been cleaning was heading to the back room.  Just
as Selric reached out to touch her tender waist, his own was grabbed, by the
belt.
             “Not so fast,” said Mendric, reeling him
in.  “There is a party in your honor tonight.  You will be on time.”  He
guzzled his second draught with one hand, holding Selric with the other. 
Mendric wiped his mouth, grabbed Selric by the back of his shirt and, along
with the grip on his belt, started hauling his brother to the door.  Selric
snatched his drink on the way past the table and set it, half-empty, on a table
near the door as he passed it, wiping his own mouth.
             “Good-bye all,” Mendric said to the
crowd; employees preparing for the always busy night ahead.
             “Good-bye,” came the jovial reply,
followed by laughter as Selric tried to wave, but was restricted by the bulk of
his half-brother as he shoved him out the door.
     
             Cinder sat upon the stairs, the house now
empty and quiet.  Her dark hair lay across her shoulder and spilt down, curling
up in her lap while she slowly ran her brush through it.  With a sigh, she
swung her locks back behind her and they slowly came to rest upon the step
where she sat.  Wasting no more time on memories she never really had, emotions
she had only pretended to feel, Cinder stood and walked down the last few steps
and across the foyer to