"Now get a hold of yourself," Honor told Rassendyll. "Mulmaster needs you."
"But I am not High Blade material," the former mage-in-training insisted. "A week ago I was just another scholastic at the Retreat, learning the wizardly craft."
Mason approached the surviving twin from the other side, and put his arm around him. "Those days are gone. You have taken up your father's sword, and must live up to his legacy, rather than stain it like your brother."
"But all of my studies," Rassendyll insisted. "I was to be a mage just like you."
"Is that what you chose?" Honor inquired. "As I recall, that was a fate that was thrust upon you. Now, as fate would have it, a different future awaits you."
"You have already proven yourself as heir to the sword mastery of your father, with a little help from the weapon's own memory of course. Soon that training will become as much a second nature to you as the wizardly arts once were," Mason assured. "It was due to the treachery of others that your own father was killed, let alone your brethren at the Retreat, and my own brother. Their deaths must be avenged, against all who dare to defile our beloved Mulmaster."
Rassendyll looked at the two old men in whom he now had to place his trust. Both had been friends of his father, and both put Mulmaster and its glory above all else. He had to admit that neither quality was anything less than admirable, and that their sole objective was just.
Mulmaster needed a High Blade, and he was the only one who would be capable of pulling off the masquerade.
"I know what you are thinking," Mason said, "and you are right except in one respect. This will no longer be a masquerade. You are the High Blade, the son of Merch Voumdolphin, and Lord Protector of Mulmaster. The masquerade took place while your brother held the throne. Your father would have wanted you to succeed him; why else were you sent to be schooled in secrecy if not to one day return and succeed him?"
"What about the Tharchioness?" Rassendyll asked, absently cooperating with Mason as he began to undress the surviving twin. One of the High Blade's robes and a basin of water had been readied while they were talking.
"She is to all outward appearances your wife," Honor admitted, "but such matters of diplomacy as your marriage must be dealt with gently."
"I hate her, and all that her Red Wizards stand for!"
Honor and Mason looked at each other and smiled. "That is good," Honor admitted, "and it will be my job, with Mason's help, of course, to make sure that you continue to think so clearly, for the good and solidarity of Mulmaster, let alone the entire Moonsea."
Rassendyll nodded in agreement, but repeated his question. "But what about the Tharchioness?"
"I am sure you will be able to deal with her," Honor assured. "After all you are the High Blade, aren't you?"
"Indeed, it appears so."
Honor smiled. "Let us call your valet," Honor instructed. "You should be well cleaned up by the time he arrives. The two assailants can be turned over to him, and you can launch your new life."
Mason put his hand up to the surviving twin's head, and muttered a few words. Instantaneously, Rassendyll felt the onrush of a cacophony of unrelated messages.
"There," Mason said, "just a little background to help you along. I'm sure you can pick up the rest in medias res."
Rassendyll reached across the desk, and felt for a stud that was hidden between the drawers. He pressed it to summon his valet.
"And so it begins," the High Blade said, already beginning to feel the weight and responsibilities of office that had not been shouldered for a very long time.
Then a new thought crossed his mind.
"What about Volo and Passepout?" he asked evenly.
"They will not be a threat, I assure you," Honor replied.
"I don't want them harmed," Rassendyll ordered, "unless it can't possibly be avoided, and then only if the security of Mulmaster is in jeopardy."
"Agreed," the two elder men said in unison, neither wishing to clarify their answer.
Beneath the city of Mulmaster:
The normally indefatigable Volo began to tire of carrying Selfaril's corpse and opted to drag it after several wrong choices in the darkness had caused them to backtrack several times.
"Maybe I should be the navigator," Volo offered to Passepout. "I am the master traveler after all."
Passepout considered the offer for a moment. The slight bit of appetite that he felt back in the High Blade's study had metamorphosed into a ravenous hunger, and he had no desire to delay its satiation any longer than he had to, nor did he want to carry the body either.
"Why don't we just leave it here?" the pudgy thespian suggested. "No one will find it. We don't even know where we are."
"That's the exact reason why we can't leave it here," Volo answered. "That light in your hand is programmed to lead us on a certain path. Do you want to risk running afoul of a powerful mage's magics?"
Passepout didn't have to answer and returned his focus to choosing yet another underground corridor, hoping desperately that the orb would not begin to dim once again.
The two travelers and their deceased burden finally found their way back to the room in which Mason had removed the iron mask from Rassendyll's head. The two halves of the magically insulating/leeching metal were still right where they left them.
"Well, we certainly took a roundabout way to get here this time," Volo concluded. "That which took us bare minutes before, seems to have taken hours now."
"My stomach feels like it has been days," Passepout said, as he went to fetch the halves of the mask.
"Careful," Volo advised sharply.
"I know, I know," Passepout said with a pout. "I have to keep the two halves of the mask apart until we have them in position around the stiff's head."
"That's not what I was referring to."
The exasperated Passepout turned around and placed his hands on his ample hips, and said in his most long-suffering voice, "Well, what then?"
"The luminescent orb," Volo replied. "Keep it away from the mask. We don't want our only source of light to go out on us do we?"
"I didn't think of that," the thespian admitted, and carefully placed it on the ground between them. As Volo unwrapped the head of the corpse, Passepout brought the iron mask's two halves over to him, one at a time.
"Would you like to do the honors?" Volo asked, already knowing the answer.
"No," the thespian replied with a shudder.
"Well, I'll need your help anyway," Volo countered. "I'll lift the stiff's head off the ground. You set the mask half underneath it. Then I'll lower its head back down, and place the other half on top. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Passepout said reluctantly.
Like clockwork the two went through the procedure as outlined by Volo. Though Mason had clearly told them what would happen when the two parts were placed in contact with each other, both of the travelers were awed by the magical glow that began to permeate the metal and fuse the two halves together.
Once the glow had dissipated, Volo lifted the corpse into a sitting position to observe their handiwork.
It was then that the two travelers noticed that they had put the iron mask on backwards with the sight and breathing holes affording them three clear little windows to the back of the dead High Blade's head.
Volo looked at Passepout, who returned his scathing look.
"Well, it's not like he's going to need to do much seeing or breathing," the thespian offered, "given his current condition and all."
The master traveler chuckled. His friend did indeed have a point. Taking a deep breath, he heaved the now heavier corpse back onto his back, and the two travelers set off through the door that they had not used to enter the chamber.
As luck would have it, the traveling twosome made the right choices in the dark, and in a matter of minutes they had located the open hole to the sewer.