"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."

All seeing eyes in the room turned to the empty doorway. Ten seconds later Rassendyll and McKern entered.

Volo shook his head in astonishment, and whispered to Chesslyn, "How does he…"

"… do that?" Honor finished. "My hearing is quite acute. The wise men say that when you are deprived of one of your senses, it is easier to develop your others. Let's do an experiment while Poins and Hal bring some more muffins so that the sun-gazers can sustain themselves as well."

Honor quickly stood up and strode to a set of foils that were hanging on a wall fixture in crossed-swords fashion. Taking one in each hand, he called out, "Mason!"

"Over here, old boy," the senior Cloak answered.

Turning slightly, the blind swordmaster said, "Then you must be there," tossing the foil directly to the slightly bewildered Rassendyll whose catching of it was more a tribute to the swordmaster's precise aim, than to any quick thinking on the young man's part.

Mason took a step away from the masked man just as Honor shouted, "On guard!" and rushed toward the surprised Rassendyll.

The iron-masked man held the foil up in front of himself and protested, "No! You don't understand. I've never been trained in swordsmanship or anything."

"Of course, you haven't," the blind swordmaster retorted, using the iron-masked man's voice to zero in on his position, while carefully sensing with the foil as if it was some sort of divining stick. "Up until this point you've been a wizard-in-training, and swordsmanship would be grossly inappropriate."

"I am a mage, not a wizard-in-training," Rassendyll protested loudly, his foil just barely deflecting a shadow thrust from the master, "and wizards and mages don't use swords or foils, not even in jest."

"Who's jesting?" Honor said, in a tone markedly more serious than the one he exhibited while he had been seated at the dinner table on the night previous. "Since your head has been shelled in that cast-iron insulator, you're no longer a mage, if you ever were one, that is. All you are now is a marked man whose brother, and several others, I'm sure, want dead. Defend yourself!"

Honor lunged just slightly to the left of the terrified Rassendyll, the blade of his foil just making slight contact with that of his intended prey.