"Yours are not the only set of ears in service to the High Blade," Selfaril commented. "So you don't attach any significance to the event."

"None, sire," Rickman said confidently. "I have in the past, and probably always will, attract my fair share of enemies, in bars as well as on the battlefield. I can take care of myself."

"I'm glad to hear that," the High Blade replied. "Many of the Blades and the Cloaks fear for my well-being, particularly due to the presence of so many Thayans in town. Tomorrow night, the First Princess and I will be hosting a public reception, for soon she must return to Eltabbar for something to do with that earthquake. I would hate to have to postpone the reception and her departure for security reasons."

"I really don't think that will be necessary," Rickman replied. "This was only an isolated and personal matter, nothing that should concern a High Blade."

"Well then, you may go," Selfaril said. "It would appear that the unpleasantries and worries of the past few days have fairly faded away, and I can get back to the more personal matters of state."

"That is the High Blade's duty," Rickman said deferentially, adding silently, and you won't be troubled by it much longer.

In the Dining Hall of the Villa of Sir Honor Fullstaff, Swordsman, retired:

As Poins and Hal began to clear the table, and Hotspur the dwarf began the neverending task of preparing the next meal, Honor Fullstaff leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach vigorously as if to outwardly encourage the inward savoring of the breakfast feast that he had just devoured.

The group had been strangely quiet since the unannounced exhibition of Rassendyll's swordsmanship. Even Passepout seemed cowed into silence, managing to avoid any embarrassing remarks that might get him in trouble, or, even worse, make him the object of some other previously unannounced test from the swordmaster. Once, during the end of the meal, he stole an encouraging look at his former companion Rassendyll, but gave up trying to make contact as the presence of the mask seemed to make such contact impossible.

Volo continued to take in the entire scene. Throughout the meal Honor and Mason occasionally exchanged some meaningless banter on the good old days, and the good lives that they had led up to this point. The master traveler looked at Chesslyn as if to ask, what are we waiting for, which was only met with a shrug by the secret Harper. He was about to ask that same question of their host when the awkwardness was interrupted by the arrival of a fourth heretofore unseen servant who arrived in the dining hall out of breath, and hastened to deliver a folded piece of parchment to the master swordsman.

"Thank you, Bardolph," the blind host said as he accepted the message. "You may rest now. You've had a busy night."

"Thank you, milord," Bardolph said, bowing slightly and hastening out of the hall to his quarters for a well-deserved slumber.

Honor Fullstaff unfolded the note, and gently passed his fingers over its surface as if trying to detect any imperfections in the grain with his fingertips. "Yes, yes," he said aloud as his fingertips did their slow-paced dance on the parchment's surface. "It is as we discussed, Mason. Though Bardolph was unable to locate your brother, my friends in the Company of the Blind have indeed confirmed the matters at hand."

Volo looked to Chesslyn as if ready to ask a question.

The secret Harper beat him to it.

"Who are the Company of the Blind, Honor?" Chesslyn asked her former teacher.

"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?