The Mage In The Iron Mask

17

Selfaril raced through the subterranean tunnels deep beneath Mulmaster until he reached a side passageway leading upward. A few steps inside, he felt against the cavern wall until he touched what to the naked eye would have been a long-abandoned sconce. Gripping it firmly, the High Blade turned it to the left. The sound of a pulley creaked into reluctant compliance, opening a hidden door that revealed a ladder hanging from above. Turning the iron sconce back to its original position, Selfaril hurried inside and began to climb upward in the darkness, not even noticing that the secret door behind was still slightly ajar, held open by some inward mechanism of the pulleys that had jammed after years of limited use and zero maintenance.

When some previous High Blade had this passage installed, he probably intended to use it as a possible escape route from the sanctity of his study, Selfaril thought. Isn't it ironic that my first use of it is for the exact reverse?

The murderous High Blade climbed further onward and upward through the secret space that existed between the walls that separated the rooms within the Tower of the Wyvern, occasionally scuffing his boots against the tunnel wall.

Anyone on the other side of this wall, he thought, will probably complain of hearing rats or vermin scurrying in the night. I'll assure them that they will not be bothered again.

The ladder was anchored to a ledge upon which the High Blade hoisted himself. Not pausing to rest for even a second, he crawled forward through a curtain obscured from view by the tunnel's darkness, and entered his study on hands and knees through a false wall inside the hearth that was used to heat his inner sanctum.

It's a good thing I didn't order Slater to have a fire set before the reception, he thought with a chuckle, then set his mind to the matters at hand. I'd better summon Rickman and his Hawks to rid the tunnels of my verminous brother and his cohorts before anymore mayhem is started.

Standing up, and stretching for just a moment, Selfaril closed his eyes and took a breath.

Just a little out of shape, Selfaril realized, but then again even my best Hawk would be out of breath after such a workout.

The High Blade relaxed for a moment and pulled the bell rope that would send a signal to Rickman's quarters (which, unbeknownst to the High Blade, were quite vacant), then plopped himself into his chair to await the arrival of his right-hand man.

No sooner did Selfaril issue a sigh of relief at having finally arrived in the safety of his sanctuary, than he was greeted with a shock. The wormlike Thayan ambassador stepped from behind a set of curtains and reached forward, thrusting a crystal wand into the High Blade's chest that severed his heart in twain.

The last thing he remembered in his life was the distinct taste of the blood filling his windpipe and mouth, and a feeling of dampness on his breast as his silken tunic failed to absorb the onrushing blood from the pump within his chest that had not yet realized it should stop beating.

Rassendyll raced after his murderous brother in the darkness, relying only on his hearing to guide him in the proper directions. The cool air from the tunnel felt good against the skin of his face, luxuriating in the absence of the metal second skin that it had become accustomed to.

The formerly iron-masked man stopped short. He no longer heard the skit-skat of running steps in front of him.

Remaining absolutely silent, even holding his own breath, Rassendyll listened carefully for any new sounds.

A new noise had been added to the subterranean cacophony of plips, plops, and echoes… an irregular scuffling sound like a spoon scraping against the inside of a jug, or a muffled striker making occasional contact with the inside of a bell. As he listened, the sound seemed to be getting farther and farther away in a seemingly upward direction.

Silently and carefully as possible, so as not to lose the trace of the new sound, Rassendyll backtracked along the passageway, his hands searching and sweeping along the wall for some variance in the tunnel's make up.

He stubbed his finger on the still unrighted sconce, and noticed the barest of crevices in the wall. Reaching inside he forced the door open further, and feeling around, immediately discovered the ladder.

He quickly pulled back his hand as the ladder continued to dance back and forth for a few seconds, before coming to a hanging rest.

Whoever was just using this seems to have arrived at his chosen destination, Rassendyll thought.

Still in hot pursuit, the High Blade's twin brother paused for a few seconds more, listening for new movements on the ladder, then proceeded to climb upward to where he now knew his brother had fled.

Rickman watched the assassination of High Blade Selfaril from his safe haven of the closet through which he normally entered the High Blade's sanctuary when the utmost secrecy was required. The ambassador had hidden himself behind Selfaril's chair, barely obscuring himself from view with the help of a hanging tapestry that provided a barrier of insulation between the seated High Blade and the cold and drafty stone walls of his chambers.

The stupid ninny, the captain of the Hawks thought. Selfaril will certainly notice the unusual tumor that seems to have grown on the wall behind the tapestry. If he sees that worm, I may have to lend a hand in his disposal.

Rickman thought that he knew all of the secret passages in and out of Selfaril's study until he saw the High Blade make his entrance on hands and knees through some passage within the hearth.

I will have to have the local engineers make up a floor plan for all of the entrances and exits to this room once I become High Blade, he noted mentally, adding as an afterthought that they would have to be executed when it was completed.

Selfaril was out of breath and distracted as if he had been in a chase and was only now able to take a rest. As a result he failed to see the tumorous bulge against the wall that was the more-or-less concealed assassin.

A feeling of warmth and joy entered the captain of the Hawks' heart when he saw the wormlike ambassador plunge the crystal wand into the High Blade's heart, recognizing it as the twin of the one that had been left at the Retreat barely a week ago.

The High Blade is dead! Long live the High Blade! he thought, his own dagger ready to silence Selfaril's assassin. Next he would sound the alarm, alerting Mulmaster to the tragedy that had occurred; that an agent of the First Princess has killed her husband.

Just as he was ready to make his grand entrance, the sound of scuffling came from the hearth, and a second figure entered the secret chamber.

Rassendyll felt the slickness of sweat on his face as the exertion of the past few hours began to take its toll. All of my training in the Retreat never prepared me for this, the High Blade's twin thought, pausing for only a moment to get his breath. Holding the ladder firmly with one hand he wiped the perspiration from his brow and face with the other, simultaneously slicking down his recently unshorn whiskers with the discarded sweat before resuming his climb.

Another few steps upward, he felt the end of the ladder and carefully pulled himself up onto the ledge to which it was anchored.

Fighting the desire to stop and rest again, Rassendyll frantically scanned the darkness for some indication of where to go next. A hint of a crack of light to the left provided the only clue so, carefully feeling forward on hands and knees, he crawled to it until he felt the fabric of a curtain, which he lifted up just enough to slip under it.

Rassendyll crawled forward, momentarily blinding himself with the light of the High Blade's study. Withdrawing back slightly into the shade of the hearth, he allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment before once again penetrating the room.

When he opened his eyes he saw the feet of a robed individual standing by a great desk. Carefully and silently he took to his feet, ready to do battle if necessary.

The wormlike ambassador turned when he heard the noise from the direction of the hearth-only to confront the man he thought he had just killed bearing down on him with a sword.

The ambassador looked at the figure slumped in the chair, the crystal wand still embedded in its chest, and then back at the apparition approaching from the hearth.

They are one and the same! the Red Wizard realized. He has already come back from the dead to acquit his honor!

Frantically, the portly and soft Thayan civil servant retreated to the place on the wall against which he had previously hidden, but was unable to slip back behind the tapestry. He thought for a moment that perhaps he could extract the wand from the corpse's chest, but quickly realized that it would do no good against one who had already been killed; and besides that, the corpse's double was already upon him.

The wormlike ambassador embraced the darkness of fear and panic and fainted dead away, falling to the floor inches from the feet of the approaching twin of the High Blade.

Rassendyll glanced down at the pathetic heap of flesh that was his brother's assassin, and then looked to the corpse of his brother, the stain of blood slowing in its spread across his chest.

"I only wish that it had been my own hands that had the honor of taking your life," Rassendyll said out loud to his unhearing twin.

A voice from behind the nearly exhausted Rassendyll replied, "I am sure you do, and, I assure you, you aren't alone in that wish."

Rassendyll spun around, careful not to become entangled in the mass of flesh that was the Thayan ambassador's unconscious body, and immediately recognized the figure stepping out of his closet hiding place as the man who had accompanied the High Blade on the night upon which the events that would forever change his life had begun.

"We meet again," Rickman said acidly, "and might I say the beard becomes you much more than the mask your brother insisted upon."

Far below the High Blade's sanctuary, four figures pressed onward through the darkness, trying to catch up with the twins. Without the benefit of a torch, or even the fleeting traces of sound left by the one being pursued, the party was unable to keep up given the lead and pace that the younger men possessed. The four hastened guardedly through the black of subterranean night.

Honor led the group, who linked hands in order to stay close together. The blind swordmaster used his acute senses of hearing and touch, and his excellent memory of years earlier to retrace the route he took along these paths many years ago.

"Merch was always fond of these tunnels as a means of getting around Mulmaster without being seen. If I know his damned son Selfaril, and I believe I do, he will no doubt be heading to the High Blade's study," Honor asserted, his voice echoing through the underground chambers.

"Don't you think you should lower your voice?" Passepout said in a hushed tone.

"No," the blind swordmaster replied, "I am using it to help keep my course. Given the shape and width of the tunnel around us, I am fairly certain that we are going in the right direction as the echo of my voice is traveling further to our rear than it is in front of us."

Volo thought he understood the principle that the aged Fullstaff was using and decided to make a mental note that he should study and experiment with it before undertaking his Guide to the Underdark.

"Now if memory serves," Honor instructed, "there should be a ladder hanging against the wall to my left."

"Here it is," Passepout announced proudly.

"Good," Honor replied. "Now up we go."

"Up?" asked the stunned thespian.

"Indeed," the blind swordmaster confirmed. "Now scoot. The High Blade's study awaits at the top of this ladder, and Rassendyll may need our help."

Passepout paused for a moment to look up. The fact that he couldn't see the top of the ladder frightened him to death.

"Now!" Honor insisted. "We're burning daylight!"

Passepout shot up the first few steps of the ladder at a speed that surprised the rest of the group, causing Volo to chuckle at both Honor's jibe, and the panic that had urged the thespian into action.

"I'll go next," McKern replied, pausing only long enough for a body length to separate him from Passepout before joining the climb upward.

"Now you," Honor told Volo, "and don't look down. I'll see you upstairs."

Volo waited for the prescribed body length to separate himself from the old mage, and joined the climb, proceeding accordingly.

The progress upward continued slowly, with the older mage and the corpulent thespian stopping every few steps to take a breath. On one of these intervals Volo paused for a moment to look down at Fullstaff, who he was sure would be climbing right behind him.

The ladder below the master traveler was completely empty.

The wave of exhaustion Rassendyll felt from his ordeal thus far threatened to envelope him, as he fought to remain alert and conscious in the presence of this new threat. With false bravado, he brandished his father's sword.

Rickman laughed.

"That's funny," the captain of the Hawks retorted. "I always thought that mages were forbidden to handle such vulgar and impure weapons as a saber-oh, that's right… your brother already took care of that little detail. You are a mage no more."

Rassendyll took a step forward, careful to disentangle his feet from the body of the Thayan coward, his saber ready to strike.

The captain of the Hawks laughed again.

"Oh dearie me!" Rickman exclaimed sarcastically. "A simpleton new to the sword is coming at me. I must defend myself."

Faster than the weary Rassendyll's eyes could follow, Rickman leaped and pivoted at the same time, and proceeded to hurl himself against the wall of the study. In the blink of an eye the human projectile had landed on the edge of the hearth, grabbed a pair of crossed swords from the wall, and propelled himself back in the direction of the High Blade's twin.

Rassendyll ducked barely in time to avoid being skewered as part of the villainous Rickman's acrobatic act.

"Well done!" the knave hailed. "I don't want this to be too easy. After all it isn't every day that I get to kill the two assassins who plotted against and killed my liege."

Within a second, Rickman launched himself back at Rassendyll. The High Blade's twin raised his father's saber to deflect both blades, parrying the first while blocking the second with the hilt.

"Not bad for one so new to the artistry of the blade," Rickman jeered. "If you weren't so obviously tired you might actually make a worthy opponent."

Rassendyll shook his head quickly, trying to clear the cloud of exhaustion that pressed down upon his entire being.

"Come, come," Rickman offered sarcastically. "Why don't you attack this time? Maybe I should mention that your beloved Retreat is no more. All of your brethren were slaughtered. And shall I mention that I was the one who ordered their deaths?"

Rage gripped Rassendyll as a new rush of adrenaline sent a lightning bolt of energy through his entire body. With all the fury of a berserker in a blood rage, he leaped forward, blade slashing through the air that separated him from the object of his fury.

Rickman was prepared for the attack and sandwiched the saber's slicing strike between his own two blades, deflecting the efforts of the novice swordsman, and sending him spinning to the side. The captain of the Hawks could not resist further toying with his prey, and booted him in the rear as he spun by, sending the brother of the High Blade sprawling, Rassendyll barely held on to the sword of his father.

"So sorry you tripped," Rickman mocked. "Killing well takes practice. Now let me see. Over the past few days I have killed a Thayan traitor…"

Rassendyll scrambled to his feet.

"Ordered the deaths of the entire inhabitants of a monastery…"

The High Blade's twin thought he detected a sound from the hearth through which he had entered the room, but kept his eyes focused on the purveyor of bladed destruction in front of him.

"Ordered the deaths of some of my own men, just to keep a few things secret…"

Rickman sprang forward again, slashing at his prey, the tip of his blade nicking Rassendyll at the edge of his scalp.

"How clumsy of me!" he taunted. "I bet you wish you had that iron mask on now."

The captain of the Hawks hesitated for a moment as a new thought just crossed his mind.

"Oh dear!" Rickman mocked. "I seem to have lost count. Did I mention that I also killed another of your kind? The blind wizard smith who fashioned that mask for you!"

"No!"

The shout from the hearth startled both of the duelists, as McKern tried to race into the room having just climbed up the ladder moments in time to hear the taunting admission of Rickman to murdering his only brother.

Rickman spun toward the hearth, ready to slice and dice the Cloak who was frantically trying to enter the room and extract his own vengeance. The captain of the Hawks was focused on this latest intruder, but failed to observe the now-prostrate form of Passepout, who had fallen forward at the mage's scream. The thespian had had the misfortune of being in front of the now enraged wizard and had belly-flopped out of the hearth and onto the carpet directly in front of the rampaging swordsman, catching Rickman's foot in his wake.

Rickman realized this latest obstacle too late to stop himself from pitching forward. His frantic attempts at regaining his balance only succeeded in making his head come into contact with the hearth ledge, knocking him out. Both of his swords fell point first beneath him, skewering the prostrate form of the helpless Passepout as Volo peeked out from the secret entrance to observe the unfortunate proceedings.

"No!"

The master traveler now cried in vain. He could not stop the body already in motion.