Thoadrin drew his night-blade-daubed with dull brown stain to keep it from flashing any betraying reflection-laid it across his high saddlehorn, and smiled approvingly at Laranthan's stealthy search. It had been a hard, sore ride from the Two Pools, but it had been worth it. They were well armed again and ahead of the spellfire wench, with time in hand to rest.
The Trade Way looked deserted, with nary a campfire in sight. Barring lurking beasts-and there were always lurking beasts; the trick was to know the deadly and ignore the rest-he'd have plenty of time to ready an attack.
Orthil Voldovan's caravan should reach this spot as the sun was sinking low on the morrow. They'd be tired and in haste to reach Haelhollow, a good way north on up the road, to make camp.
Thoadrin smiled. There'd be no need for blades yet, only bows from amid the rocks. With so many bolts to loose, they could fire freely. Voldovan just might find himself in the Hollow with nary a guard left to fend off night-wolves.
And darkness was the favorite fighting-time of Laranthan and most of the other bold warriors of the Cult.
Ah, but the wolves were bad this year.
Mirt the Moneylender sat back in his chair, hooked his thumbs into the pocket-slits of what could.only be honestly described as his bulging waistcoat, and let out a gusty sigh.
"Paraster, Paraster," he rumbled, "what am I going to do with ye?"
The man sitting across the littered desk from him smiled coldy, lifted his shoulders in the slightest of shrugs, and said, "Nothing. There's nothing you can do."
"Aye, aye, I see the spark and sizzle of thy jaunty little shielding," Mirt said with a wave of one dismissive little finger. "Feeble things to trust in, I feel 'tis only fair to remind ye." He waved a pudgy and graying-haired hand around at the walls of his office and added sadly, "Ye stand-sorry, sit-within my power now, merchant. My magics can overwhelm ye… and if it comes to such open unpleasantness as drawn steel, why-I fear I can overwhelm ye."
"You?" The wine-importer sneered in open incredulity. "With your breath or mountainous fat perhaps, Old Wolf, but I hardly think-"
"Aye, ye've hit upon it, Paraster: Ye hardly think." The moneylender drew himself up behind his desk like a ponderously patient whale, folded his hands together- Paraster Montheir stared at them, having never quite noticed before how age-spotted they'd become, and laced with surface-standing green veins-and added mildly, "Rather than court the drastic violence ye allude to, let us do that very thing: think."
Mirt unfolded his hands, regarded the nails of one of them critically, and continued, "Think of my position: a respected, long-established merchant of Waterdeep, bound close by the laws and taxes and practices of this my chosen city, perhaps the greatest trading center yet known in Faerun, a place justly called the City of Splend-"
"Yes, yes," the Athkatlan across the table said testily, "spare me the grand local pride. My city makes similar claims, remember, and the great ports of Calimshan sneer at the both of us, as does Tharsult, and… ne'er mind."
"Well enough," Mirt agreed mildly. "Setting aside Water-deep's prominence or lack of same, grant me so much: that it is an important trading center, ye and I both sit in it right now, and by trading custom recognized among honest merchants across these Realms of ours, we are thus bound by its local rules."
Finishing his inspection of his nails, the Old Wolf lifted his gaze suddenly and disconcertingly to the Athkatlan's face and added, ''Wherefore, as a moneylender of standing within these city walls, I offend against all my fellow coin-traders and further, against all merchants who trade in anything, if I let ye break a bond and debt to me without penalty. If one may with impunity avoid solemnly contracted obligations and yet still trade within Waterdeep, flouting its laws with every coin spun while thy debt remains unpaid, then no merchant is safe, nor any honest citizen buying a radish, nor the city tax coffers, nor the-"
"Much wind, old man, yet I stand unmoved," Paraster sneered. "We both know that merchants claim to follow all laws and regulations, and yet they swindle, 'forget,' and misrepresent cheerfully and as abundantly as possible. Tis not that I can't repay your loan; 'tis that I've sold all properties of mine you could seize, so there's nothing you can do to harm me now. With the greatest of pleasure, I refuse to repay your loan."
"Paraster, Paraster, is this how men grow rich in Athkatla? And keep heads on their shoulders long enough to enjoy anything? Ye can't have learned such imprudence at home! Why, I've been trading in Athkat-"
"I know, I know, longer than- I've been alive. Old man, spare me your wheezings. The plain truth is you can't harm me right now, with all the shieldings awake around me. You can't hurt me on my way out of Waterdeep from your quaint old mansion because of my magic and all of my guards-not just the ones you see waiting outside your gates, but others who have magic of their own. Even with the influence you shamelessly use by pretending to be a Lord of Waterdeep, you can't seize any city properties from me, because I haven't any! I don't scare, I can't be bluffed, and I don't care. Old Wolf, you're toothless! When all Athkatla, and Water-deep, too, hears of this, it won't be you they'll be cheering or me they'll be laughing at! Do you have any idea how many men have been itching for decades to see old Mirt the Moneylender get his comeuppance? Why, I'll ride into Athkatla a hero!"
The old man behind the desk raised one wintry eyebrow. "Paraster Montheir, importer of sweet wines from Lapaliiya, our hero? Nay, I can't see that on banners fluttering above the Coinheap of Amn."
He stretched, showed his waistcoat some mercy by letting go of it, and continued, "Lad, lad, we both know ye haven't been unburdened of properties at all! Ye've established three new trading companies whose sole staff are servants already in the pay of one Paraster Montheir, and 'sold' no less than three tall-houses-with tenant shops, mind-six warehouses, and two villas (the which ye no doubt hope I know nothing at all about) to these new-minted companies. The coins all three reap flow right back into a purse emblazoned with the name of 'Paraster Montheir.' Have ye forgotten that the bankers in Water-deep are-ahem-moneylenders? Think ye we never talk to each other? I suppose ye also think the tides come not in and the sun may decide not to rise every morn? The rules of our profession are clear: Debts must be repaid in full and on time, arrears attract Palace-set rates of interest, and deliberate or hostile debtors may be flogged by the creditor, who may choose to accept double the interest owing to refrain from cracking a whip over the miscreant who owes him, or not, or seize goods in lieu-purely as he chooses!"
Paraster lifted a hand that glittered with many gem-studded rings, waved it dismissively, and said coolly, "Spit and snarl all you like, Mirt. Three facts remain unchanged for all your blustering: I've torn up my copy of our agreement, you won't dare show yours to any court or guild here or in Athkatla because the last thing you want is for me to tell any city officials what shady and outright illicit activities you've been up to that the bond directly supports and turns upon, and I'm not afraid of the private, outside-the-law muscle you can command."
At that moment the Old Wolf's young strumpet in black leathers hastened into the office through a curtained archway that Montheir had thought led only to an alcove. Had the doxy been listening to all of this? Well, silencing her would prove but a trifling trouble and hurt the old moneylender even more keenly! She knelt before the desk, head bowed.
"Speak, lass," the Old Wolf murmured casually," then depart in all haste. Important trade matters are being discussed."
Asper looked up and gasped timidly, "If it pleases my Lord to know, the Lady Mage of Waterdeep has arrived." Her left eyelid-the one on the far side from Montheir's devouring gaze-dropped just a trifle, in a wink that let Mirt know that Laeral had been with her in the alcove, listening to all of the Athkatlan's words.