'I wonder at what tolls I'll have to pay,' Oburglan said sullenly, 'if I wait for the Black Gauntlet to finish this trade route. I heard there was a Zhent takeover in Loudwater-and some dealings in Saerloon, too… something about a lady sorceress.' He looked across the table. 'What do you know of this, Lady Storm-as a sorceress yourself?'
Thael turned a look of reproof on his nephew, brows bristling, but Storm smiled across the table at the resentful young man. 'I'm hardly a sorceress, Oburglan, though I can cast a spell or two. I leave that to my more capable sisters. As to what befell in Saerloon, the sorceress who seduced those merchants and turned them to stone statues was an agent of Zhentil Keep. Over the years I've never found such tactics to have lasting success.'
Someone chuckled, well down the table, and Oburglan's eyes were murderous as he raised his flagon to cover his mouth.
'Stone statues do furnish a garden, though-as Burgusk of Selgaunt found,' Loth Shentle joked.
'Not this garden,' Lord Thael rumbled. 'I'd be too afraid of the spell wearing off and discovering I've got some mad Netherese sorceress at the far end of my pond-and more: that she's furious and happens to have a spell or two that can level mountains! What would I say to her, eh?'
'Care to dance, my lady?' Dathtor suggested. There were roars of mirth.
'How about: my name is… and my ransom is forty thousand pieces of gold?' Loth Shentle suggested.
'No, rather: my name is… and my next of kin are…' Thorlor put in.
Lord Thael looked at the only woman at his table, and his chuckles died away. 'I forget that you have freed folk from stone, Lady Storm. What did you say to them?'
Storm looked into her glass, and answered, 'I usually told them where they were, that I meant no harm, and what year it was. They always wanted to visit the privy after that.'
That innocent and truthful observation brought a general shout of laughter.
When it started to die Storm added, a twinkle in her eyes, 'But if I met the Netherese lady you mention, I'd probably say: I've had mornings like you're having!'
Everyone hooted, even Oburglan. Storm mused briefly to herself about the effects of too much wine on folk-it made them laugh, or cry, or rage all too easily. She plunged the table into awed silence by adding, 'The only memorable Netherese mage I did meet was a man, and his body had withered away to almost nothing… so he tried to take mine.'
'Gods,' Hawklan mumbled after a very long moment had passed. 'How did you escape?'
Storm shook her head. 'I'm sorry,' she said gently, 'but that's a trade secret I keep as close about as any merchant guards his own. Ask Mystra to tell you-it is hers to reveal.'
Oburglan sputtered. 'That's right!' he protested. 'Say something like that, then turn all mysterious!'
'Oburglan!' Thael rapped out. 'You speak to a great lady; do so civilly, or leave this board.'
His nephew's face flamed, and he brought his goblet crashing down. 'Right, then-' he began, placing both palms on the table to shove himself upright.
'Oburglan,' Storm said softly, catching his angry gaze, 'please stay. You are right to be angry…'tis a maddening tactic we old wielders of sorcery use, to tell half a story and then fall silent when you want to know all. I would say more if I could, and I apologize for mentioning the Netherese at all.'
Oburglan stared at her for a moment. He fumbled for his goblet. 'How old are you, then?' he mumbled, eyes surveying Storm's curves. 'I mean…' he looked away and scratched at the lip of his goblet in some confusion, 'I don't see any wrinkles.'
Down the table, someone sighed, someone else loudly stifled laughter, and Lord Thael covered his eyes.
'I apologize for this wild-tongued kin of mine,' he rumbled. 'Pray, forgiveness, Lady Storm!'
He turned blazing eyes to Oburglan. 'Lad, lad, one never asks a lady her age, unless perhaps you're her suitor and must needs know what ground you walk upon! And even then,'tis best to ask her brother, or father, or anyone else!'
'Your advice is good, Lord, and should be followed by all men of breeding,' Storm agreed cheerfully, 'and yet there are exceptions to every rule… and I am one of them.'
She caught Oburglan's eyes again, and gave him the easy grin of a sister. 'Never trust a minstrel or bard who speaks of times and ages, for they're always stretching a year here and a year there, speaking of long-ago battles or fair ladies as if they'd witnessed them themselves. But this once, and before all this table, I'll tell you truth: I am half a dozen years shy of my six hundredth summer.'
Oburglan gulped, stared at her, started to sneer… then gaped. 'You're serious,' he whispered.
Storm nodded. With one slim hand she indicated the shoulder that her gown left bare. 'Not bad, eh?' she said in perfect mimicry of Lord Thael's gruff tones.
The table erupted again, and this time Oburglan joined in the general mirth. Lord Thael was practically weeping with laughter, his head nodding almost into his platter.
At the other end of the table, Hawklan saluted her with his goblet and said, 'Remind me never to say anything before you, Lady, that I would not want to hear parodied!'
'A good rule for every man, Sir Hawklan, when dealing with any man or maid,' she returned, raising her own glass. Did his eyes rest on it just a trifle too long?
Ah-no. They were fixed a little lower down. This gown hadn't been such a bright idea after all. But then, sophistication has its price. Moreover, if all of us change what we are and what we do because of the threat of Malaugrym attack, shapeshiflers have won the victory without ever having to fight the battle!
'In that time, I have seen Hillsfar governed in many ways,' Storm said, turning to the envoy as the laughter started to die. 'I'd be interested to hear what you can tell us of Lord Maalthur's publicly stated aims and intentions.'
Thorlor Drynn inclined his head. 'I thank you for your diplomacy and understanding, Lady Storm, in the wording you just employed. In reply, I can say only: very little. Lord Maalthur has often promised to make Hillsfar great and to cleanse it of all hardship, suffering, and corruption. Laudable goals that none, I daresay, could seriously contest. By his actions, I think you can safely add to those general aims his intent not to let Zhentil Keep have possession of Yulash, nor to suffer Mulmaster or Zhentil Keep to have control of the river Lis, or Moonsea shipping in general. For what it is worth-my words as a mouthpiece of Hillsfar being, of course, suspect by definition-I see no great preparations for armies to march, nor intentions on my lord's part to seize any other city or territory of Faerun.'
'I'm relieved to hear it,' Loth Shentle said dryly, 'as should be all neighbors of Hillsfar. Two cities of rampaging warlords are more than enough hereabouts.'
'You speak overcautiously, Sir!' the priest of Tymora told him, refilling his own goblet for perhaps the fortieth time, his face flushed with its effects. 'Strife brings change, and change is the natural order of things. It makes men and maids able, and quick, and alert! Bold, and-'
'Forced to rely on Lady Luck,' the seneschal put in from the end of the table. 'I've heard the litany a time or two before you were born, good Dathtor!'
The priest turned his red face around slowly to fix Hawklan with a bright-eyed gaze. 'Then you should know e'en better than I that 'tis true!'
'I know no such thing,' Hawklan said firmly. 'I am a simple soldier; I swing my sword, obey orders to the letter, and let others worry about causes and outcomes and grand strategies.'
'And on your off days, you drink too much and wench too much-beg pardon, Lady-and let life carry you on, on to the grave without disruption or excitement,' Loth Shentle said.
'A summation that sounds familiar, Nephew?' Lord Thael said meaningfully. Oburglan flushed.
'No, Uncle! I mean-' his eyes darted to Storm, then back to Thael with an almost pleading look.
'Don't embarrass me in front of the lady, Uncle?' Storm asked the youth. 'Is that what you want to say, but dare not find the words?'
Oburglan stared at her, opened his mouth, and shut it again, turning ruby to the tips of his ears.
'Oburglan,' Storm said, setting down her goblet to lean forward, 'never be embarrassed to admit truth, or think and talk about life, in front of anyone. I'd be more embarrassed to lie about my life or refuse to admit that things are as they are. I'm not upset to learn that you're drifting the days away here-it's not my life wasting away. If you're upset talking about it, that shows you're not satisfied in doing so, and that's gods-be-damned good.'
Heads turned along the table at her language, but Storm kept her eyes locked on Oburglan's. 'What you'd
