All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [89]
"Well met, gracious lady," said Thael's expressionless seneschal, Burldon Hawklan. "Even in this isolated hall, we have heard of the valiant deeds of the Bard of Shadowdale, and Those Who Harp at her command."
Storm smiled back at him. "Minstrels tend to over-flower what they sing of," she responded gently, "but I thank you for your kind words." Hawklan bowed stiffly and took his place at the far end of the table; to Storm's eyes, he was every inch a professional soldier-one who did not consider himself retired.
The other guests were less impressive. One was a smooth-faced, saturnine trader in spices and pelts from Ordulin by the name of Loth Shentle; the second was a young and handsome priest of Tymora from Selgaunt, Dathtor Vaeldeir, who professed to be very excited at the chaos now reigning over the Realms; and the last was a grim and dangerous-looking man, Thorlor Drynn, introduced to her as a trade envoy of Hillsfar.
The dinner was excellent, consisting of roasts of just about everything that could be roasted, smothered in a variety of gravies and sauces, with spiced greens served as garnishes. And wine, of course… much wine.
There was poison in her goblet again. Storm took a certain dark amusement in the fact that she could go on drinking it all night without ill effects because of what Mystra had made her into. She let her eyes wander up and down the table, wondering which of the eyes meeting hers belonged to a shapeshifter-and how soon it would be ere the Malaugrym grew restive and attacked.
The conversation began with talk of trade difficulties in these lawless times, and came around to unreliable magic and priests rendered helpless or mad and the Fall of the Gods. At that point Thael declared he'd heard enough about gods and their doings, and diverted talk to the future of trade in the Moonsea lands and the Dales, and the difficulties Zhentil Keep's aggressive nature was causing to all traders.
The grim envoy of Hillsfar spoke up. "For my part, my lord, we in Hillsfar are resolved to meet force with force. For too long the Zhents have taken advantage of the absence of strong nearby opposition to force their will on other folk and territories not their own-in fact, to behave little better than the brigands we universally detest.
"I do not speak of the times they raise armies and march on one of us-which, by the way, seems to happen at least once a spring, ruining harvests-but of their open attempts to control how and where ore is brought out of Glister, and anything at all out of Daggerdale. They try to dictate where and when ships may sail the Moonsea, on what terms we must all trade in the region… and even if we may trade at all with their rivals Cormyr and Mulmaster."
"Bullies will always be with us, sir-if not one, then another," Loth Shentle said smoothly. "The trick is to anticipate their moves and take trade advantage of the side effects; a shortage of food here, rising prices of scarce items there…"
"As a fur dealer, you profit well out of Zhentil Keep's aggression, aye," Thorlor Drynn said coldly. "It has kept the prices of furs falsely high these ten years or more."
"I deal with the world as it is," Loth Shentle replied easily, "not as others might wish it to be."
"Yes, yes," the priest of Tymora said excitedly. "Deal with what the gods hurl your way, taking chances whenever you strive for something that is not the most obvious or easy!"
"But surely, my lords," Storm said quietly, "one should not accept the world as it is. Deal with it, yes- but strive always in one's dealings to get something in return, to make the world give a little… to nudge it in the direction of one's dreams."
Loth Shentle snorted. "I dream of vaults full of coins, Lady Storm," he said wryly. "Have you any that you can yield unto me?"
"Dreams are just that: dreams. Warriors must deal with the real world, with all its harsh brutalities and