All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [90]
Storm turned to look down the table. "I do not see the gulf between dream and reality, Sir Hawklan. We must fight Zhents because they actively pursue their dreams. In Shadowdale, we have fought them army to army, not merely poison in flagons'*-she looked up and down the table, but saw no telling expression in the faces turned to her-"and daggers in the dark. Seven open battles these past ten summers. We should all pay very great attention to dreams."
Thorlor leaned forward. "Well said, Lady. I'd say the lords of Zhentil Keep have done quite well in their dreaming. Voonlar is already their vassal town, the Citadel of the Raven, which was to belong to us all, is firmly in their grasp, and Teshwave and Yulash lie in ruins because of them… to say nothing of the harm done to the once-proud cities of the Moonsea North, Daggerdale, the Border Forest, and west along the trade route to far Waterdeep."
"Aye," their host said gruffly, setting down his heavy flagon. "There's a dream: the trade route from here across half Faerun to the Sword Coast. An awesome undertaking, however base the motives and bloody the doing. What say you, Nephew? You once told me you wanted to see Waterdeep."
"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 Obur-glan's eyes were murderous as he raised his flagon to cover his mouth.
"Stone statues do furnish a garden, though-as Bur-gusk 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