"Young fellow," McKern hailed before he had reached the subject of his and Fullstaff's private conversation the night before, "mind if I join you in your enjoyment of one of Toril's early morning attractions?"
"Not at all," Rassendyll replied. "Isn't it picturesque?"
McKern recognized the tone the young man had adopted in his admiration for the sun's wonder-the same tone taken by his own brother when he reminisced about his sighted days.
"Indeed," the mage replied, putting his arm around the young mage's shoulders to try to set him at ease. So entranced was Rassendyll with the morning sun, that extra becalming efforts by the mage were completely unnecessary.
"So you were a mage-in-training at the Retreat?" McKern asked.
"More than in training," Rassendyll corrected. "I was more than qualified to leave the Retreat as a full mage, had I so desired."
"Or if such an opportunity had been offered to you?"
Rassendyll closed his eyes in realization. His teachers had never presented him with the option of leaving. Had the events of the past few days not come to pass, he would probably have spent the rest of his days engaged in study at the Retreat.
"Even if it hadn't been," Rassendyll said haughtily, "I was more than a match for other mages of my age."
The iron-masked man immediately became deflated when he realized what he had said. "I was," not "I am." All of his years of study had come to naught, unless…
"Good and gracious sir," Rassendyll beseeched of the senior Cloak, "can you help me to retrieve the spells and powers that I seem to have lost? I studied for so long, and so hard. All I was ever taught was to be a mage, and I would no longer have a reason for living if I have to consider a life as anything else."
McKern chuckled. "No longer have a reason for living?" the senior Cloak repeated. "What about the sunrise and her sister the sunset? Are they not reason enough? The world has much to offer even the simplest of men, let alone someone with your lineage."
Rassendyll did not have a reply for that common sense wisdom.
The senior Cloak put his arm around the masked man and said, "I am afraid that no one can undo what the mask has already done to you. Everything that you have learned through your studies, the proficiencies that you acquired, the spells you learned to cast, the incantations that you had memorized, have all been leeched out of you by the magical conductivity of the iron mask."
"Then all is lost," Rassendyll said in despair and resignation. "I am now useless. I would be better off dead."
Mason McKern gave the young man an encouraging squeeze as one might do with a discouraged brother. "Yes, that which was there before is now lost," the mage conceded, "but look at it this way. Think of a bottle of fine wine, properly aged, and cared for. Imagine that the seal on the cork breaks, and slowly, because of the angle the bottle is stored at of course, the contents of the bottle, the finest wine in the land, is allowed to leak out, and evaporate."
Rassendyll turned his head so that he could look into the mage's eyes through the narrow eye-slits of the mask, as he did not see how this story was supposed to be encouraging.
"Now, the wine steward discovers what has happened," Mason continued. "The wine is gone, the bottle is empty."
"So?" Rassendyll asked still failing to see the point that the mage was trying to make.
"What about the bottle?" the mage asked. "Is it not still a bottle?"
"Well yes, but…"
"Can it be refilled and resealed?"
"Well, yes, but…"
"True, it would take time, more wine of course, and a desire to maintain the usefulness of the bottle, but would it not be possible?"
Rassendyll tilted his head down and looked at the ground, and conceded the mage's point with a slight nod.
"It's your choice," Mason acknowledged. "There is nothing to prevent you from starting again provided you want to, and I advise you to think about that. You never really chose to become a mage; the Retreat made that decision for you. For the first time in your life, the choice will be yours."
Rassendyll kept staring down at the ground, and asked woefully, "But what about the mask?"
"We will see that it is removed," Mason replied. "I recognize the mark that designates it as being the handiwork of my brother. He will remove it quite easily."
Rassendyll brightened slightly, but still did not look up.
Mason continued, "And I guarantee that we will have it off long before your beard causes you more than a minor irritation."
"It already does," Rassendyll pointed out.
Mason chuckled. "Well, at least you're not choking on it, as your brother desired," the senior Cloak countered. "Stop looking at the ground. You are wasting the sight of a beautiful sunrise. Choose to enjoy it now, and afterwards we shall dine."
Rassendyll looked up and enjoyed the rest of the dawn's early light, feeling a bond of closeness with the old senior Cloak that he had never felt with his teachers back at the Retreat.
When Volo awoke he discovered that Passepout was still sound asleep and snoring loudly, while their iron-masked roommate had apparently already risen. Pulling his pack together, he followed the scent of freshly baked muffins, and arrived back at the dining hall where Chesslyn and Fullstaff were just beginning their breakfast.
"Morning," he hailed as he once again took a place at the table right next to that of the secret Harper agent.
"And to you, sir," Honor replied, seemingly oblivious as Chesslyn and Volo exchanged smiles and silent greetings. "I trust you found your accommodations acceptable."
"Better than some," Volo replied, and with a wink to Chesslyn added, "and not as good as others."
"Oh, that's right," the host replied, "you are a travel author after all, and therefore always ready to rate the rooms, so to speak."
Volo thought carefully, and quickly adding, "I meant no disrespect, sir. I apologize if I might have seemed overly critical."
Honor belted forth a hearty laugh that immediately set the gazetteer at ease.
"No offense taken, my boy," Honor boomed. "Chesslyn was right. You are a well-mannered sort."
A groggy Passepout entered the room, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
"And good morning to you, oh master thespian of the heavy-stepped gait," the host haled. "Your breakfast will be here momentarily."
"Uh, yeah," Passepout acknowledged, "thank you." The thespian took a seat across from Chesslyn and Volo and quickly brightening for a moment, added, "and a good morning to you, fair maid."
Chesslyn rolled her eyes, and secretly squeezed Volo's hand under the table.
"I trust you slept well," Volo said to his old friend. "You seemed to be out like a light when I got up."
"Indeed, I was," the thespian replied, "until the booming sounds of good company encouraged my wakefulness."
"Not to mention the roar of a stomach tempted by the aroma of early morning muffins," Honor observed. "Dig in, dig in. The bowls will be replenished as the need arises, my portly friend, and there is more than enough for everyone."
A full mouth and a swallow later, Passepout garbled, "Ufgphmmp."
"Come again?" Volo asked.
"He asked where Rassendyll and McKern were," Honor translated, and then turned in the direction of the young thespian. "They should be here shortly. Mason always was a sucker for an early morning constitutional, and I assure you he's never made a practice of missing breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day you know, provided you don't sleep through it."
"Aghmphlghj."
Volo and Chesslyn once again turned to Honor for the translation while the portly thespian continued to feed his face.
"Well, of course Rassendyll is probably with him," the blind swordmaster replied. "You might not realize it, but they do have a lot in common. Wait! I hear their approach now."