Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [20]
Erlandar thought he'd espied an opening in Storm's observation, however, and was roaring, "Do you dare insult the collective honor of the entire nobility of Cormyr, Lady-ah, whatever your name is? Do you actually have the gall to hold yourself in judgment of all the Forest Kingdom?" His words were echoed by hisses of contempt from the two maiden aunts, Margort and Nalanna Summerstar. "By the gods, you lowborn women push us far, sheltered in your immunity from challenges of honor by the sword!"
Storm laughed easily. "Do I understand you correctly, Erlandar Summerstar? Are you… challenging me?"
"Bah!" he snarled, flicking his fingers in her direction. "I don't make war on women!"
"Ah," Storm informed her goblet, "but I've heard from many lasses in Suzail that you do-and very energetically, at that!"
Down the row of war wizards, someone sputtered as mirth overmastered him. The Dowager Lady Pheirauze immediately leaned forward to try to see who it was, and said sharply, "Oh, Erlandar, don't be tiresome. She only makes you seem ridiculous; waste no more words on coarse country wenches."
A momentary silence followed these words. Another male voice drawled into it. "There is something I'd like to know, Lady Silverhand-and I mean no impertinence."
The speaker was the young and handsome Summerstar male who sat between Pheirauze and Erlandar. This would have to be Thalance, the cousin of Shayna… and, of course, to the dead Athlan.
"Yes, Sir Thalance?" Storm asked, her words a warm, musical invitation.
"I've heard many legends about you and your sisters. Is it true that you're hundreds of years old, and serve the goddess Mystra?"
"Yes, to both of your queries," Storm replied, setting down her empty sipping-bowl of soup.
"So you really have gone all over the Realms and been at many important battles and known famous folk and… all?"
"Yes," Storm said simply.
"Why is it, then, that you aren't ruling a realm somewhere? Why do you live on a farm and go about harping to earn a few coppers now and again? And why do the Harpers you belong to meddle in all sorts of lands, and not rule openly?"
"Good questions, all," Storm told him, and then counted off her replies on her fingers. "I don't want to rule anyone, so I don't. I do love growing things and being able to walk among forests and gardens, so I do. I love music, and meeting people, so I harp. And the Harpers want to help people and fight evil by turning out secrets before they become bigger, darker things- they don't want to rule, either, and so don't."
"I've heard that the Harpers serve a dark and evil god, Erlandar cut in, "and that you and your sisters are immortal because you drink the blood of men you entice." His eyes were dark with anger.
"My, people do say a lot of silly things, don't they?" Storm replied lightly. "I often hear that the nobles of Cormyr summon fiends to build their castels, and breed slaves until the offspring look to make promising heirs-and that King Azoun sleeps with every woman over the age of sixteen between Baldur's Gate and Telflamm… but of course such tales are ridiculous."
More than a few eyes flickered along the tables; Azoun's courting was a matter of vivid legend in the realm.
Erlandar half-rose in his seat, glaring in challenge across the open space, and said, "Now you insult our king! Truly, wench, you go too far!"
Storm saw the seneschal, the Lady Shayna, and one of the war wizards wince at the word wench. Storm kept her easy smile and said, "Is it to be a duel between us, then, Uncle? Wet trout in the pigs' mud wallow, at dawn?"
"I'm not your uncle," Erlandar snapped, "and I don't duel women or anyone of lesser rank. Is that the only response you know when someone objects to your wild words?"
Storm shrugged, spreading her hands. Her goblet flashed in the firelight. "Perhaps I misjudge you. Lord Summerstar," she said mildly. "I assumed it was the only response you'd understand."
Someone muttered something grimly affirmative under his