The Mage in the Iron Mask (35 page)

Mischa dropped the orb in a panic.

The fool actually succeeded in killing my sister’s husband!

A knock on her chamber door interrupted her panic.

“Who is it?” she said with mock calm. “It is I, Mischa,” announced the messenger, “Elijakuk.”

Mischa opened the door to allow in the Tharchioness’s chancellor.

“What is it?” she demanded, still trying to hide her own uneasiness.

“The First Princess sent me for your part of the project,” he said gravely. “I believe she desires to use it tonight. She fears that our window of opportunity is rapidly diminishing.”

Mischa stifled a laugh at the inadvertent irony of the chancellor’s last statement, and thanked Szass Tam for the news.

My sister does not yet know of the fate of her husband! she thought in exultation. There may be a chance for me yet.

Maintaining her composure, the Tharchioness’s
half sister went to her vanity table, reached into a secret compartment, and extracted the disk that she had treated with the appropriate oils and herbs to accomplish her part of the spell. She wrapped it in a silk scarf and handed it to the chancellor.

“Her desire is my command,” she said reverently. “My part is now complete.”

“The First Princess will be pleased,” Elijakuk acknowledged her with a bow that included a pause to appreciate the Tharchioness’s sister’s ample cleavage. “Szass Tam be with you.”

Mischa cracked her best seductively serpentine smile.

“And with you,” she said sweetly, “but tarry no longer. We mustn’t keep the First Princess waiting. She knows best. If she believes that time is of the essence, then who are we to dispute it?”

“Indeed!” the chancellor agreed, a satyrlike smile on his lips. “Shall we go?”

“No,” she countered with a touch of mock regret. “You will travel faster and more discreetly, on your own. I will wait here to carry out any further orders from the First Princess should she desire me to do so.”

“I will return with further instructions,” the chancellor said, giving Mischa’s hand a quick kiss accented with a touch of the tip of his tongue, adding, “with great haste.”

“I will await,” she responded with mock eagerness, as she closed the door behind him and let out a sigh of relief.

Collecting her thoughts, her composure regained, the Thayan sorceress set about gathering her things, for she had no intention of being around when the detritus flew from the waterwheel.

“My sister will need a scapegoat and I have no intention of being available for that honor,” she said
aloud.

In a matter of moments she had packed all she needed, and within the hour she had already stolen herself from the city of Mulmaster like a thief in the night, hoping to make the court of Szass Tam in enough time to state her case before the Tharchioness had issued her death warrant.

The chancellor was quite disappointed later in the evening when he returned to her chamber having completed his appointed mission. When she failed to respond to his gentle taps on her door, he increased the force of each of the blows until he became afraid that he would wake up a neighboring minister before arousing the lovely Mischa. He quickly concluded that she must have already fallen into a sound sleep, and that a good night’s rest would do him good as well, so that he would be amply refreshed when they resumed their
tête-à-tête
on the following day.

Unbeknownst to him, he had missed the lovely Mischa by mere moments, and would never have the pleasure of seeing her again.

In the High Blade’s Chambers
in the Tower of the Wyvern:

Honor took Mason aside and exchanged furtive whispers with him as the others looked on, assuming that he was trying to calm his old friend down.

Rickman, who had almost returned to consciousness was encouraged to remain out cold by Passepout, who utilized a firm blow to the captain’s head with a ceramic bust that had been resting on a table near the mantlepiece. The portly thespian, unfortunately misjudged the trajectory of the bust’s blow,
and nearly broke his own toe when its deflected path caused it to impact his foot.

Volo and Rassendyll shared a stifled grin at their friend’s minor misfortune, and then quickly moved to his side to console him and applaud his fast efforts in dealing with the deceitful Rickman. By the time the three had finished ascertaining that Passepout’s foot was not even sprained, nor very badly bruised, McKern and Fullstaff had finished their exchange, and asked for all of their attentions.

“Our paths herewith must diverge,” the blind swordmaster maintained. “With Selfaril dead, we must quickly move to put Rassendyll in his place as the new High Blade of Mulmaster. What better way to do so than by having him assume Selfaril’s identity?”

“But …” Rassendyll began to protest, but quickly hushed when Honor’s upraised hand signaled him to wait a minute.

“Mulmaster without a High Blade in place would be easy prey for all takers in the Moonsea region, let alone the imperialist hungers of Azoun in Cormyr, and the residential threat of the Thayans, who already have exerted undue influence in our fair court.”

Rassendyll nodded in agreement, realizing that the older swordmaster was indeed correct in his assessment of the situation.

“Therefore, we must slip you into his identity as quickly as possible,” Mason added. “Honor and I will be right at your side all the time.”

“What about us?” Passepout interjected with a gesture indicating that he was referring to himself and Volo.

“Indeed,” Mason acknowledged with a nod.

“Indeed,” Honor seconded, and began to relate the second part of his plan. “In order for our plan to work, Mason and myself will have to be at Rassendyll’s side
at all times, in case anyone should question him on some matter of state or of Selfaril’s own business or history that our dear former mage may not be acquainted with. Unfortunately this leaves us with a task that we will be unable to perform. We beg that you please take care of it for us.”

“What is it?” Volo inquired, not sure that he could really trust that Honor had not already triaged his and Passepout’s survival as being detrimental to the future greater glory of Mulmaster, as he so eloquently seemed to term it.

“The body of Selfaril,” Honor instructed, “must be disposed of so that no one ever discovers that the now former High Blade is dead.”

Passepout began to turn green at the thought of having to carry the body of the man who just earlier that evening had tried to kill him and his friends.

“What do you propose?” Volo pressed, certain that Honor had already formulated a very specific plan.

Volo was not disappointed.

In the Tharchioness’s Boudoir in the Tower of the Wyvern:

“As you requested, First Princess,” said a minister by the name of Greenstrit, having received the disk from Elijakuk. He handed the remaining part of the enchanted amulet to the Tharchioness.

“Where is Mischa Tam?” she inquired, as she placed the disk into its proper setting. Separately the parts held little magic beyond the typical glamour spell that was an inherent part of all of the jewelry of Thayan noblewomen. “I thought for sure that
she would want to be present for the total conjugation of all our efforts.”

“Elijakuk said that she awaits your bidding in her chambers,” said the obsequious minister. “After all, we can’t be present for the
full
implementation of the spell.”

The Tharchioness cast a stare at him that could only be described as a death look. The minister embraced silence, and quietly prayed that his life would be spared.

The amulet took on a subtle aura indicating that its empowerment was complete and the Tharchioness smiled, momentarily forgetting the minister’s transgression.

“The plan really was quite inspired,” the Tharchioness admitted. “The fusing of several spell parts together—a glamour aura, a fertility orb, and a will binder, each developed in isolation so as to not attract the undue attentions of the infernal Cloaks … but not even they can secure Selfaril’s own bedchamber from my magics. Since the will binder, anchored to my dear husband by the flakes of his own skin that were obtained during the height of passion at no undue expense of my own, never left our apartment, in its weakened, solitary form, there was no reason for anyone to be suspicious. I assure you no one will have the opportunity to detect it before I have put it to good use, which should be in a matter of minutes if I know my infernal husband.”

“Then I will leave, First Princess,” Greenstrit said, turning to exit before another thought had entered her mind. With an obsequious bow, he hastened from the room.

“Indeed,” the Tharchioness replied absently, then added with a smile, “we can deal with your transgression later.”

The minister was no longer within earshot of the issuing of his death warrant.

Selfaril’s Study

in the Tower of the Wyvern:

Honor spoke with confidence, assurance, and authority. It was obvious to all present that he had no intention of considering anything less than the complete acceptance of his plan.

“As Mason and myself must remain with Rassendyll to assure the success of his masquerade, I am afraid that the task of disposing of the body in question must fall to you two non-sons of Mulmaster.”

“What about them?” Volo asked seriously, nudging the bodies of the wormlike ambassador and weasel-like captain of the Hawks who were both still enjoying the oblivious state of unconsciousness.

“They must remain here,” Honor said emphatically. “Mason will temporarily befuddle their brains with a feeblemind spell. They can then both be turned over to the proper authorities and charged with attacking the High Blade. No one will question the veracity of that story, and no one needs to know that they succeeded, since an attempt at the act itself commands the same sentence as its successful completion.”

Not even Passepout had to question what that sentence would be.

“Okay,” said Passepout agreeably, “we need to get rid of the body. I’m sure that Volo can manage that with no problem on his own. He is very resourceful after all. He and I can meet up later at some tavern or other. Yes, indeed, that sounds like a good plan, so I guess I can be off and running. This entire ordeal
has increased my already ample appetite.”

Volo chuckled. He knew that Honor had other, more definitive plans in mind.

“Surely you will not leave your friend on his own to complete this task?” Honor said sternly.

“He doesn’t mind,” Passepout answered quickly, turning quickly to Volo. “Do you?”

“Well …” the master traveler began to answer.

“See,” said the corpulent thespian. “Now if you will excuse me—”

“Enough!”
ordered the blind swordmaster. “Precautions must be taken. Both of you are to ferret the body back through the tunnels from whence we came, to the room in which we removed the iron mask from Rassendyll’s head. You are then to carefully place the halves together around the head of our now deceased High Blade. It will weld itself back together, and this well-known face will be permanently obscured until normal decomposition takes its toll.”