Brian Thomsen - The Mage In The Iron Mask

The two servants bowed as was their routine. They were as practiced at Fullstaff's mid-morning workout as the master swordsman was himself. Neither said a word throughout all the maneuvers, realizing that a single distraction, mistake or slip could cause either their own injury or death or that of the master they loved dearly.

Fullstaff slipped out of his robe, and toweled off his bare and glistening chest. Poins was in place with a heavier robe, while Hal set a pair of sandals at his feet.

Robe-clad and belted, feet shod in sandals, the master swordsman stretched again.

"I think I'll sit outside while Hotspur finishes his breakfast preparations," he bellowed in a friendly tone.

"As you wish, milord," they said in unison.

Poins quickly made his escape to aid Hotspur in the kitchen, while Hal led their blind master to his favorite seat, out by the villa's gate.

The sun's rays were warm and glorious as it neared its peak above the horizon. The master swordsman took his place as if on guard duty for his morning vigil of solar absorption, the warm rays reflecting on his still glistening body.

The Tharchioness's Boudoir in the Tower of the Wyvern:

The First Princess had risen in solitude hours after the First Blade had stolen from their chambers like a thief in the night. She was glad that he was gone, and hoped that her labors of the previous evening had not been for naught.

The High Blade was always under the mistaken impression that she never rose before the noon hour, and she had no intention of disabusing him of this notion. She had always asked not to be disturbed until then, and he had naturally assumed that it was the sanctity of her slumbers that she wished to preserve.

Such was not the case.

Her mornings in Mulmaster betwixt the hour of her husband's departure and her own appearance at the midday meal were important, as they were the hours that she set aside for planning and consultation with her own advisors.

The High Blade's courtiers gossiped among themselves about the many frequent visitors to the First Princess's boudoir, and she did little to discourage them. Their assumptions of promiscuity shielded her from their possible detection of her seditious plans, and did little to elevate their opinions of the High Blade who they now saw as just another simple cuckold toyed with by his opportunistic wife.

A cautious series of knocks at the door indicated that her advisors had arrived. Slipping into her sheer silk robe, she went to the door and bade them enter.

The ambassador that she referred to as a corpse worm (and who she assumed would be executed at her whim sometime prior to her return to Eltabbar) led the group of three into her boudoir.

The three males did their best to avert their eyes from the partially open silken robe that did little to hide the beauty of the form that resided beneath it. Mischa Tam, the only female among the advisors, noticed their discomfort and made subtle eye contact with her superior and shared a silent laugh with the Tharchioness who considered such silly prudishness to be hypocritical at best.

The First Princess rearranged her silken wrap cinching it at her waste. She had no desire to provide any of her advisors with an excuse for not devoting their full attention to the matters at hand, even when such things did provide the Tharchioness and her female companion with much amusement.

"Reports," she commanded.

"Perhaps you would prefer to wait for the arrival of breakfast…" the wormlike ambassador began to suggest, but quickly changed gears in response to the Tharchioness's withering stare. "As you wish, your majesty. It would appear that the High Blade's men have been unsuccessful on three charged accounts and men have been executed as a result."

The Tharchioness licked her lips as if savoring some rare delicacy. "I can always count on my husband being just as demanding as I am," she replied to no one in particular.

"Yes, your majesty," the ambassador continued. "Their continued search for the body of the prisoner has turned up naught, and they have accepted that it will never be recovered."

"Thus we are back to square one."

"Yes, your majesty," the worm continued quickly, "though the High Blade has also ordered a search for a certain thespian named Passepout and a travel writer named Volothamp Geddarm. There have been vague suspicions that these two might be related to the prisoner in some way."

"Hmmmn," the Tharchioness muse. "Find out more. I want them located and apprehended before my husband gets his sweaty hands on them."

"Wh…" the ambassador began to question, then thought better of it. "Yes, your majesty."

"You may leave," the Tharchioness instructed.

The ambassador became flustered, and said, "But there is more to report."

"The others will see to it."

The ambassador understood now that he was the only one being sent away, and almost asked for permission to stay for breakfast, but thought better of it.

"Yes, your majesty," the worm acknowledged, backing out of the boudoir in an almost ludicrous series of bows and abasements.

When he had left, the Tharchioness broke into peals of derisive laughter that was soon augmented by that of her advisors. The sheer grossness of the overt cowardice of the ambassador had set the rest of the group at ease, and they were now prepared to get down to work.

"Now that we're alone, we can proceed," the Tharchioness announced.

"What about our new ambassador?" Minister Konoch inquired. "I fear that he is no more capable than his predecessors."

"Exactly," the Tharchioness replied, "and he will therefore be the perfect scapegoat, should my beloved husband become suspicious."

"Or if we fail," added Mischa Tam, with a grin that suggested the cat who had just swallowed the canary. "Szass Tam is even more an enemy of failure and incompetence than you are, First Princess."

"Indeed," the Tharchioness replied, now slightly ill-at-ease.

On the Road Back to Mulmaster from the Retreat:

Upon completing a thorough examination of the Retreat's grounds, Volo and Chesslyn had decided to pass the night together before heading back to Mulmaster in order to allow the Hawks Jembahb and Wattrous a wide berth on the road, thus assuring their own safety and anonymity. Both the master traveler and the Harper agent had ample experience doing things that would hedge their bets in order to maintain their secrets. In their respective lines of work their continued survival often depended on it.

With the first rays of dawn, the two packed their kits and prepared to set off for Mulmaster. As Chesslyn swung herself into her saddle she asked her new found riding partner, "Did you encounter anyone on the way here?"

"Just a felon named James who thought me an easy mark," the master traveler replied.

"Well, we can't be too careful," the Harper agent instructed. "We'd better not retrace your steps. Let's take the long way back. I know a place just outside the city where we can hole up for the night."

"Sounds good to me," the wily gazetteer agreed, relishing the continued company of the attractive woman.

"I'm due back at the temple by tomorrow midday," Chesslyn continued as they rode out of the Retreat's gate, "so it would probably be better if we left separately tomorrow."

"Why?" Volo asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"It wouldn't look right for a guard at the Gate of Good Fortune, in service of Tymora, to be seen traveling in close company with an outsider, particularly given the circumstances at hand."

The master traveler, realizing that she was right, nevertheless countered with an argument.

"But surely being seen with the legendary travel writer Volothamp Geddarm is not that out of character for one of Tymora's minions."