The Mage in the Iron Mask (26 page)

“The Retreat,” Volo inadvertently blurted aloud.

“That’s right,” the senior Cloak acknowledged, adding, “and you need not fear a ‘fat lip’ from me. If nothing else, old age has at least given me tolerance.”

Honor harumphed.

“That said,” Mason segued. “I shall continue. Over the years of his employment in the household, the younger of the brothers, the sighted one as he was known, had also become the confidant of the young lady of the household.”

Honor took this opportunity to take up the tale. “Merch decided that duty demanded that he rescue
his sons from the futile doom of being raised in the slave pits of Hillsfar where eventual death in the arena was considered to be one of the more favorable options. He told his pregnant bride about his sons, and she approved of his desire to return with his old comrade-in-arms to retrieve them. But she feared that he was ill-prepared to return to the life of a warrior after having spent several months without the practice of a blade at hand.” McKern again took over.

“So, she asked the two mage brothers to forge an enchanted weapon that would imbue its bearer with great facility and lethal mastery of the bladed arts. The brothers complied, forging a weapon whose blade was combined from the melted-down blades of several of Mulmaster’s veteran swordsmen, including that of the bride’s father, whose title of Blade bespoke more of his own experience with one than such a title conveys today.”

“When your father took the blade in hand,” Honor interrupted, directing his words at the iron-masked man, “he became a swordmaster the likes of which Mulmaster had never seen. Together with his old comrade-in-arms, Honor Fullstaff, he returned to Hillsfar, raided the slave compound, and rescued his infant sons, who at the time were still less than two months old. Triumphantly, he and his comrade returned with the babes in hand to a prearranged spot where they could meet up with his bride and her trusted confidant.”

McKern resumed his telling of the tale.

“The rendezvous took place as planned and Merch was reunited with his bride who accepted the twins with open arms. Honor and myself decided to leave the happy little family some time to get acquainted. Unfortunately, the young mother-to-be fatally miscarried
while we were absent, leaving the soon-to-be High Blade grief stricken, but with two small sons from a previous affair.”

Honor picked up the chronology from there.

“On that very night a plan was hatched. Merch remained in the safe house for another month. Mason was dispatched back to Mulmaster with news of the premature birth of a son. We considered it to be too risky to pass both the twins off as her issue, so you were sent into hiding. A trusted ally was sent to bring you to the safety of the Retreat where you would be cared for in secret until your father cemented his position in Mulmaster. Later, the body of our ally, your guardian, was discovered on the shore of the Moonsea. We assumed that you were borne off by outlaws, and never conceived of the possibility that you made it safely to the Retreat.”

“Loyola was always closemouthed about arrivals, or at least so we later learned,” Mason amended. “Honor and I now believe that he planned on keeping your existence a secret until such a fortuitous time that he needed more leverage in Mulmaster. Apparently he died with his ace in the hole still a secret.”

“Selfaril,” Honor continued, “was assumed by his father’s in-laws to be the son of their daughter’s union, and he was raised with all of the privileges of an heir to a Blade. I remained at your father’s side, as his second in command, and trained the army that he raised to lay siege, unsuccessfully of course, to the Zhentarim and other less than cooperative Moonsea states. I was even your brother’s tutor in the way of the sword, though I now curse the day I first laid eyes on him.”

The tale had come to an end, and silence pervaded the room, until the opening of the door signaled the return of Poins and Hal, who came to inquire if another
keg was going to be necessary.

Honor broke the awkward silence.

“It is late,” the blind swordmaster said, “and we all have much to digest. Poins and Hal will escort you to your rooms. Mason and myself still have some matters to discuss. We will see you all at breakfast.”

Rassendyll raised his hand, as if requesting permission to proffer a question. Realizing that the blind man was unable to see him, he said loud and clear, “Sir, if I may.…”

Honor strode over to the source of the question while it was still in progress and, putting his arm around the iron-masked man, interrupted, “I realize that I have probably just set your mind reeling in all sorts of directions. Poins and Hal will provide you with a sleep draught so that you may rest.” Turning his attention to the rest of the group, he added, “All of you … we will have much to discuss tomorrow. Rest now, while you can.”

Volo looked at Chesslyn, then at Passepout and Rassendyll, and shrugged.

Chesslyn smiled, took the master traveler’s arm, and set off down the hall to the room she usually stayed in. She knew that Poins, Hal, and the others would be following shortly.

In the Thayan Embassy in Mulmaster:

From her hiding place down the hall, Mischa Tam patiently waited for the maggot-like ambassador to begin carrying out the instructions detailed in the note.

Her patience was soon rewarded. She spotted the quivering and shivering gelatinous mass of a wizard
leave his apartment and set off down the hall, the fear of damnation and torture in his eyes. His lips were moving as he muttered some incomprehensible prayers to save his miserable excuse for a life.

When he was well out of sight, Mischa slinked back to the door of his apartment, and carefully let herself in. The door was unlocked, which was no surprise given the man’s incompetence.

A quick look around the rooms immediately drew her back to the place he had been standing when she had left. Casting her eyes down to the carpeted floor, she found what she was looking for—the pile of ashes from the note she had brought. Extracting a small brush and a sheet of paper from a pocket in her gown, she proceeded to bend over and carefully brush up the ashes onto the sheet of paper. When she was positive that she had indeed recovered every single ash, she set them onto a bare spot on a nearby desk. Muttering the words of a spell of reconstitution over the ashes, she stood back and watched the note reform.

The original note now intact, she placed the other sheet of paper on top of it, passed her hand over it, and once again removed the paper. The note appeared as before with one minor alteration: the signature at the bottom having changed from that of her half sister to that of the ambassador’s predecessor. As the High Blade’s men were unaware of his recent demise, no questions would be asked of its validity.

Mischa Tam smiled and licked her lips as she examined her handiwork. The note contained clearly written plans for the ambassador to assassinate the High Blade. The discovery of this would clearly obfuscate their more subtle plans of the gentle sorcerous coopting of Selfaril.

Mischa laughed softly. ’Tis a pity, she thought, that my sister’s name has been removed, but it would not suit Szass Tam’s goals at this time to point fingers at her. It is important that this plan be attributed to a splinter faction led by intransigent ambassadors who are opposed to the coming together of the two great powers. My sister will get her just desserts eventually.

Mischa looked around the room for another moment, and softly said aloud to herself, “Now, where would a great master of deceit like that worm dispose of confidential papers.”

Laughing one more time, she crumpled the reconstituted and altered note, and threw it into the wastepaper basket, then, after peeking through the peephole of the door to make sure that the coast was clear, she picked up the trash basket and left the apartment, setting the container with its crumpled evidence in its appointed place for pickup.

A fast look in both directions assured her that she was alone, and once again licking her lips in anticipation of the rewards for a job well done, she hastened back to her own apartment.

An Evening’s Just Rewards

At the Villa of Sir Honor Fullstaff
,

Swordmaster, retired:

“Hey, Volo,” Passepout called after his friend, “wait for us.”

“Damn!” the master traveler cursed under his breath, thinking, just inches from a clean getaway!

“Your friend seems eager to talk to you,” Chesslyn
said, unentangling her arm from that of the master traveler.

The roly-poly thespian caught up to them, quite out of breath, and was followed closely by the iron-masked man named Rassendyll.

“We were just on our way to bed,” Volo said, trying to give his former companion of the road a subtle wink.

“How did you know the way to the bedrooms?” asked the very dense Passepout.

“Oh,” Chesslyn explained, “I’ve been here before, and I was showing Volo the way.”

“Oh,” answered Passepout, the stars of infatuation beginning to twinkle in his eyes.

Rassendyll put his arm around the thespian. “I’m sure that Poins and Hal will be along shortly. We can wait for them to show us the way.”

“Here they are, now!” Passepout exclaimed, “just in the nick of time.”

Poins approached Chesslyn, saying officiously, “Miss Chesslyn, the master has instructed that you should enjoy the comforts of your usual room. Mister Geddarm and the others will share the students’ quarters.”

“But …” Volo began to protest, but was cut off by the secret Harper agent.

“It’s all right,” she said softly. “It’s late, and Honor was quite specific that we should all get a good night’s rest, because tomorrow will be quite busy. It’s for the best.”

“I guess,” Volo said, unsure.

“ ’Til morning,” Chesslyn replied, giving Volo a light peck on the cheek.

“What about me?” the thespian asked moonily.

“Of course,” Chesslyn said, giving him a quick peck as well, and offering the masked man a quick
handshake in lieu of a kiss against the metal barrier that obscured his cheek. With a quick wave, she disappeared down the hall.

“This way gentlemen,” Poins said, starting down the hall in the opposite direction in which the young lady had gone.

The threesome followed the servant of Honor Fullstaff, eager to get started on a well-earned rest.

The room they arrived at resembled the typical barracks quarters of a young students’ hall. The three quickly found suitable accommodations on beds that were only slightly smaller than their adult-sized bulks. Passepout accomplished this by putting two of the cots together.

Poins gave each the promised sleeping draught, and turned the light off as he left.

Volo was just about to pass into slumber when he heard his friend whisper his name.

“What?” the master traveler answered, trying not to be too terse.

“You know that Chesslyn?”

“Yes,” Volo answered, not really wishing to be reminded of the company that he would have preferred to be sharing at this very moment.

“I think she likes me,” the clueless thespian said.

Volo just rolled his eyes, and replied, “How could she not?”

After less than a moment’s pause, and in the middle of a yawn, the thespian concurred, “I guess you’re right.”

Passepout didn’t see Volo shaking his head in disbelief, as he turned over and embraced a deep slumber.