"Surely you don't wish to know all of my secrets, young lady?" the host answered coyly. "They're just a useless bunch of sightless men who provide the ears for certain concerns in Faerun who are willing to pay for their services. Occasionally I broker some information through them, for them, or from them. Those who are deprived of sight must stick together."
Volo was impressed. An entire network of sightless spies and informants that was previously unknown to him, the greatest gazetteer in all Faerun. He could already see his publisher, Justin Tyme, salivating at the exclusive news that would be trumpeted in his next guide book.
Rassendyll stood up and reached across the table to pick up the recently delivered note to scan its contents for himself. Honor offered no objection as the iron-masked man took it from his hand.
"It's blank!" exclaimed the surprised Rassendyll.
"Not really," Honor explained. "The message is imprinted for unseeing eyes alone. Feel the little bumps on the parchment. There is the blind man's message."
Rassendyll ran his fingers over the parchment, his fingertips sensing the irregularities in its surface, yet unable to decipher the subtleties of its message.
"What does it say?" Rassendyll demanded.
"I think that we have kept these youngsters waiting long enough," Mason pointed out.
Passepout, Chesslyn, and Volo all looked at each other, the same thought emblazoned on their minds. Indeed, it had been quite a long time since any of them had considered themselves to be youngsters.
"In a moment," Honor said, delaying just a while longer.
Honor stood up from his place at the table and approached Chesslyn, his hand affectionately seeking out her cheek.
"Chesslyn, my favorite student, I have no desire to set you at risk," the swordmaster stated.
"What do you mean, Honor?" she asked sweetly.
"Unlike the other youngsters here, you are a citizen of Mulmaster."
"So?"
"The penalty for treason, or even conspiracy to commit treason, is death by torture. I will understand it if you feel that your obligations to the state prevent you from taking part in what I am about to propose."
"Treason?" she repeated incredulously.
"Yes," Honor said. "I realize that you are apolitical, and though skilled with the sword, you have chosen to make your way in as quiet a manner as one who lives by the sword can. If you wish to excuse yourself before I bring the conversation at hand to the forbidden subject of treason, I will understand. You have chosen to live in Mulmaster after all."
Chesslyn looked at Volo as if to send a silent message, as if to say, see, he doesn't know everything about me, and then said to her former teacher. "You have taught me well in the past. If the lesson in now treason, then let's make the most of it."
"Good!" Honor exclaimed. "Then treason it is, and as for the rest of you, have no worry. The penalty for conspiring to overthrow the High Blade is merely death, minus the torture. In that regard it is sometimes better not to be a citizen."
Rassendyll, Volo, and Passepout all had one question on their minds, a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and terror (in the case of Passepout) more than evident in their thoughts.
What have we gotten ourselves into?
14
Treason, and Making the Most of It In the Private Quarters of the First Princess of Thay in the Tower of the Wyvern:
The Tharchioness had just begun her day-long preparations for the reception that was being held that evening, and for the very important night that would follow thereafter. The charm with which she intended to enslave her husband and his kingdom was to be assembled in three parts which could then be fused together within the privacy of their bedchamber. She had already obtained the necessary bits of skin and hair that would be used to bind the spell to Selfaril, making it harder for anyone else to detect.
If all went well, after tonight the High Blade himself would be an unnecessary part of the equation as she would already have custody of his heir deep within her own womb.
The Tharchioness heard the door to her boudoir open. From the scent of the perfume that wafted in from the hall, she knew that the visitor was her half sister.
Without turning away from her vanity mirror, the Tharchioness inquired, "Is all in order?"
"Yes, dear sister," Mischa Tam replied. "That worm of an ambassador is ready to carry out your will. My spies within his retinue have told me that he has managed to obtain access to a secret passage to your husband's private study where he will be able to lie in wait for him after tonight's reception. I have also taken the liberty of ascertaining that the captain of the Hawks has the same information, so if by chance the worm should actually pose a threat to dear Selfaril, his right-hand man will be able to intervene. The captain-"
"His name is Rickman," the Tharchioness interrupted.
"Uh, yes, First Princess," Mischa acknowledged, "was attacked himself last night, and will obviously be on the lookout for further attempts."
The Tharchioness turned to face her sister. "I don't recall ordering an attack on him," she said severely.
"We didn't," Mischa explained, "though rumor has it that it was indeed a lower-ranking member of our embassy staff. It would appear that it was merely a personal matter between the two men."
"I see," the Tharchioness replied. "It is nice to see that other members of my retinue share my feelings for my husband's lackeys."
The Tharchioness returned to her cosmetic concerns. "Will all be ready with your part of the piece?" she inquired.
"Of course, First Princess," Mischa replied, the hatred of her sister growing even stronger due to the dismissive manner of her half sister.
"I will send Elijakuk to fetch it after the reception. I will then be ready to help my dear husband relax after his narrow brush with death."
"I await, and serve," Mischa answered.
"You may go."
"Thank you, First Princess," she acknowledged, bowing as she backed out of the apartment, thinking silent curses condemning her half sister to neverending torture.
At the Villa of Sir Honor Fullstaff, Swordmaster, retired:
Honor looked at the expressions of disbelief on the faces of his guests, with the exception of Mason McKern, with whom he had drawn up the plan of action.
"There is to be a reception tonight honoring the High Blade and his bride, and as a distinguished veteran of past defenses of Mulmaster, I have once again been invited to attend, and as has been the case with all previous receptions, so has my dear friend senior Cloak Mason McKern. Unlike those previous occasions, however, this time we will actually attend, and in my company will be my latest star pupil in the ways of the sword," explained Honor, with a tip of the hand to Rassendyll who started to protest only to be silenced by a gesture from the swordmaster.
"Allow me to continue before I entertain questions," the swordmaster instructed, pausing just a moment to clear his throat with a sip of juice from a mug borne by the ever-attentive Poins who appeared out of nowhere to heed his master's wishes.
"My good friend Mason will cast a disguise spell on the iron mask worn by Rassendyll so to all outward appearances it will look like a dress helmet for an obscure order of knights in whose employ I have occasionally served, as a teacher to their squires. I have the rest of the dress uniform available here so that the disguise will be complete."
Fullstaff paused for another drink, and then shifted slightly in his chair so that he was more or less facing Passepout, Volo, and Chesslyn.
"You, Mister Geddarm and Mister Passepout, will be turned in to the city watch as there is a warrant out for your arrest. Miss Onaubra will do the honors, in disguise of course. I have no desire to put her at risk."