"Honor," the shocked Chesslyn asked, "what is it?"

"Yes, old boy," McKern added, standing up and hastening to his old friend's side. "What is the matter?"

Honor remained braced, and ready to strike. "I thought I was the only one blind here," the swordmaster declared. "Are you all deaf as well?"

"Again, I ask you," McKern repeated, concerned more for the agitation of his old friend than for the danger that loomed over the head of the turbaned guest, "what is the matter?"

Honor Fullstaff laughed out loud. This time however the tone was no longer jovial, and was, in fact, quite sinister.

"Why don't you tell them, Selfaril?" Honor said to the masked man.

"What?" the shocked escapee asked, as the onlookers stood by, puzzled at their host's actions and allegations.

"Surely I am not the only one here to recognize the High Blade through his tawdry disguise," Honor said firmly. "The custom of my people indeed. I'd recognize your voice anywhere. Prepare to die for the murder of your father."

To the shock of the others, Honor drew back the saber once more, and launched into a killing blow.

10

Reports, Instructions, amp; Revelations In the High Blade's Study in the Tower of the Wyvern:

"Permission to speak frankly, your highness," Rickman requested.

"What is it now?" the High Blade demanded.

"My men apprehended a felon by the name of James just before nightfall," the captain of the Hawks explained. "In addition to having claimed to have seen the travel writer named Geddarm when he left the city, he also claimed to have spotted two men who resembled drowned rats walking away from Mulmaster along the Moonsea shoreline. The description of one of them matches that of the itinerant thespian by the name of Passepout."

"Go on."

"At first we suspected that the other drowned rat was Geddarm, but James firmly denied this, saying that it was not the same person he had earlier encountered."

"Did he talk to the two, as you call them, drowned rats?"

"No, sire," Rickman explained. "He was hiding in wait for easier prey. He didn't like the odds of two against one."

"Indeed," Selfaril commented. "Maybe he was mistaken the first time. Perhaps the fellow that he previously encountered was not Geddarm. Maybe he was mistaken then."

"I don't believe so, sire," Rickman replied, reaching into his tunic and withdrawing a throwing dagger. "He claimed to have taken this off the first fellow."

The captain of the Hawks handed the dagger to the High Blade who drew it closer to examine it. Clearly etched into the hilt of the bladed weapon was the monogram VG.

"Two questions," Selfaril petitioned.

"Yes, sire."

"Where do you suppose this Geddarm fellow was heading after he left the city, and where do you suppose he is now?"

The captain was prepared with an answer.

"The felon pinpointed his encounter with the alleged Geddarm as taking place on a remote road that I am not unfamiliar with."

"Oh?" the High Blade said, an eyebrow raised in evidence of peaked interest.

"It's the road to the Retreat," Rickman explained, "and as much as I was able to extract through our various means of persuasion, it was roughly within a few hours of when Wattrous and Jembahb were supposed to be there. I fear that this Geddarm fellow is the reason for their inability to find the bloodstained wand that would have implicated our friends from the east."

"The fools," Selfaril hissed. "The bleeding incompetents."

"Before he died, Jembahb mentioned that he thought the Retreat was haunted. Something about strange noises and such. Obviously this Geddarm fellow was in hiding and managed to trick the two half-wits. I fear that we have underestimated this clever travel writer."

"Do you believe him to be a Harper agent?"

"Perhaps, sire," Rickman answered. "Cyric knows they would love to have an agent in your city."

"You have already mentioned that Jembahb is no longer a risk, due to his incompetence. What about Wattrous?"

"An assassin has been dispatched," Rickman replied. "A reliable one, one of my best. Stiles should have Wattrous… removed by the end of the week. Our spies have already tracked him to Hillsfar where he is seeking an appointment. The only one he will receive is with our discreet executioner."

"Good," Selfaril said with a tone of demanding finality. The High Blade stroked his neatly-trimmed goatee in deep thought, then continued his inquisition.

"Were you able to get anything else out of James the felon?" he demanded.

"No sire," Rickman apologized. "I'm afraid that he lacked the constitution to survive our thorough cross-examination. Ironically, his body was disposed of at the same time as the late Jembahb."

"So we still don't know who the third conspirator is?"

"No, sire," Rickman replied. "I concur that Geddarm and Passepout are obviously in league with each other. The third fellow's identity is still a mystery."

"It would be just my luck for it to turn out to be my brother, back from the grave." The High Blade allowed himself a cruel laugh at his own absurd conjecture.

"Would you like to suggest a course of action, sire?" Rickman inquired.

"I want this Geddarm and Passepout brought into custody, but I don't want them killed until I know their whole plan. Understood?"

"Of course, sire."

"I need to know what they know about your men's visit to the Retreat, my brother, my wife, and anything else that might endanger the security of Mulmaster."

"Of course, sire."

The High Blade shifted in his throne and readjusted the sash of the silken robe that covered his dressing gown and protected him from the draughts of the Tower of the Wyvern. It was getting late and his bride awaited. As with all of the nights they shared together, it was an occasion that he looked upon in mixed proportions comprised of lust, self-loathing, fiendish delight, and suicidal bedevilment.

Readjusting his sash one more time, and without looking up at the captain of the Hawks, whom he regarded as the only person in the entire city that he fully trusted, he said, "You may go. The she-devil awaits."

"Permission to speak frankly, once again, sire," Rickman asked, adding, "just for a moment?"

The High Blade answered without looking up.

"Yes?"

"I sincerely wish that I could remove the threat that exists for as long as you are married to that witch."

Selfaril looked up at his right-hand man, and said, "I appreciate your concern. She will no doubt try another ploy to subjugate me, but it will take time. At the present time we have the theoretical upper hand. In spite of the bungling of those below you, we are no worse off than we were before. At the very least we have foiled their plan, and removed a rival to my throne. For the present time, they are forced to accept the failure of their plans. Our stalemate is their defeat, at least temporarily. I intend to enjoy the respite that exists between plots in hopes of formulating one of my own that will give me Eltabbar, and from there, all Toril."

"Agreed, sire," the captain of the Hawks conceded, "it's just that I fear the danger that you place yourself in whenever you lay with her."

"I know, Rickman," the High Blade agreed, "but it excites me, and there is very little else that does anymore."

In the Apartment in the Tower of the Wyvern that the High Blade shared with his Wife:

In the spare hours since dinner, the First Princess once again sought the counsel of her half sister and Mischa was more than willing to lend her assistance and advice.

"Dear sister," Mischa cooed, the formality of titles ignored in favor of disarming familiarity, "what can I do for you?"