The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [22]
The Tharchioness instantaneously regained her composure.
"He must be our prisoner, or else there can be no reason why my loving husband would be obscuring his identity."
"My spy also observed that the mask seemed to have a magical dampening effect within, as well as without."
The Tharchioness chuckled sinisterly.
"My husband has always been uneasy around magic. It is only to be expected that he would hobble the abilities of the mage-in-training."
With her fingertips, the First Princess gently massaged the tattoos that adorned the left side of her completely bald pate.
"The fact that his identity is concealed from the outside world is a point in our favor. It indicates that my dear husband is uneasy about his presence, and has no desire for his lovely citizens of Mulmaster to be made aware of it. We too must keep the existence of his brother secret." The Tharchioness turned and faced her ambassador who was regaining his composure after the physical interrogation that he had just been put through. "What of your spy?" she inquired calmly.
"I killed him," the ambassador replied, adding, "You stressed that absolute secrecy must be maintained, your majesty."
"Good," the Tharchioness agreed. "For the time being, secrecy must be maintained at all costs. Leave, worm. Your presence nauseates me."
"Yes, your majesty," the ambassador replied obsequiously, as he backed out of her ladyship's private chambers, dreading the day when his own usefulness would no longer outweigh the Tharchioness's desire for secrecy.
* * * * *
In the Dungeon of Southroad Keep:
Rassendyll looked at his strange visitor.
The dwarf seemed inordinately cheerful for a prisoner in a dungeon, or at least so thought the imprisoned young mage. Perhaps he was a spy.
The dwarf spoke again.
"I can't see your eyes with that funny coal bucket on your head, but I still think I can tell what you're thinking. You're probably saying to yourself, 'Self, who is this crazy old coot?' Well, I already answered that question, but I don't mind repeating myself. My name is Hoffman, and I am formerly of the Seventh Dwarven Abbey-of which I was senior abbot and protector of the legendary Seal of Robert, I might add-and I have been a prisoner down here for quite a long time, since before something that someone told me happened, the Time of Tremors, or something."
"You mean the Time of Troubles," the masked prisoner corrected.
"I might do, I might do," the dwarf assented. "You're probably also asking yourself, 'Self, can I trust this crazy old coot? Is he a spy? Is he a madman?' Well the answers to those questions in order are: yes, no, and maybe. The Seventh Dwarven Abbey was attacked by Zhent agents, and I alone survived. Once I had ascertained the safety of the Seal, I came to Mulmaster in search of help. The powers that be claimed I was a spy, threw me in the dungeon, and forgot about me. It is a fate worthy of a sole survivor… in a cosmic sense. Don't you agree?"
"I'm not sure," Rassendyll responded, not realizing the apparent similarity of their situations.
"Now what did a fine young fellow like yourself do to wind up in a place like this?" Hoffman quickly inquired.
"I don't know," Rassendyll replied, "and how do you know if I'm young or not?"
The dwarf started to laugh.
"Heckuba," Hoffman swore between guffaws, "just about everyone around here is young compared to me."
Unexpectedly, the dwarf's laughter was quickly halted and replaced by a racking cough that seemed to shake the former abbot's entire body. Rassendyll immediately came over to him in hopes of casting a spell to help him, but quickly realized he was unable to, and instead settled on putting his arm around the dwarf and helping him into a recline on the floor of the cell.
As soon as the coughing fit seemed to subside, Hoffman cocked his head to the side as if to listen for something, and said in an urgent