The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [31]
"Indeed," the High Blade answered. "Rickman, I am holding you personally responsible for cleaning up after this mess. There must be no evidence left that the prisoner ever existed."
"At least he is not in Thayan hands, sire."
"That is small consolation. Evidence of their seditious plan was all I needed to castrate my bitch of a wife. Now things are just back to status quo."
A Thayan courtier appeared out of nowhere.
"Your majesty," the courtier said, "the First Princess is waiting for you in her boudoir. She saw you coming across the courtyard from her window, and was troubled by what was possibly detaining you. Is everything all right?"
"Everything is fine," the High Blade announced with a roll of his eyes that only Rickman noticed. "Tell my dearest bride that I will be there directly."
The courtier gave one final message.
"Sire, the First Princess said to tell you that she would be counting the minutes," the Thayan said, and returned to his post.
As am I, the High Blade thought, to your death!
Selfaril turned back to Rickman, delaying his trip back to his wife even further. A thought had just crossed his mind, and he was grinning in fiendish glee.
"Have your men returned from the Retreat with the bloodstained wand yet?" he inquired.
"No, your majesty," Rickman replied.
"Notify me immediately when they do," Selfaril instructed. "The Retreat was under Mulmaster's protection, and I would hate to see the unfortunate slaughter of those wizards turn into a diplomatic hot potato, if you know what I mean."
"Yes, your majesty," Rickman replied, understanding what the High Blade was planning. "It wouldn't be the same as a plot against the throne."
"No," Selfaril agreed, "but sometimes we have to settle for the next best thing."
* * * * *
At the Retreat:
"Where did you find that?" Volo asked the lovely Chesslyn.
"Over by the ugly monk's body, out by the gate," she replied. "It's obviously Thayan in origin. That's why I checked your head for tattoos. I thought you might be one of those Red Wizard murderers."
"So you believe that this mass slaughter was the product of a Thayan invasion?"
"That's what it looks like to me," she replied.
Volo fingered his beard and thought for a moment. The master traveler was no stranger to matters of bloodshed and the like, having survived numerous deadly altercations on his journeys around Toril. Pteramen, murderous Mazticans, and deadly dopplegangers-he had survived them all.
"That still doesn't explain why there was no sign of a struggle," he asserted, suspicious of the circumstances at hand. "Though the elders of the Retreat welcomed all refugees, I see little reason that they would open their gates to an armed contingent of Red Wizards. I-"
"Quiet!" she hushed with great urgency. "I hear horses. We'd better hide."
Volo looked from side to side, and then at his trusty steed.
"What should I do with him?" he inquired in a whisper.
"In here," she instructed, quickly leading him to a shed, then explaining, "It's where I put my horse when I heard you coming."
"If you heard me coming, why didn't you respond to my whistle?"
"Later," she answered.
When they had stowed the master traveler's horse next to that of the secret Harper agent, they closed the doors, and took a ladder up to the shed's roof.
"This gives us a perfect vantage point to see and hear our new arrivals without being seen or heard ourselves," Chesslyn explained.
"Are you sure?" the master traveler asked.
"Well, it worked when I was watching you," she replied.
They had no sooner reached their vantage point when the Hawks named Wattrous and Jembahb entered the courtyard.
"Look at this mess!" Wattrous said. The older weasel-like Hawk was barely able to control the gorge that was working its way up his throat.
"What are we supposed to be looking for?" the younger and taller Hawk inquired, apparently oblivious to the stench of the rapidly rotting bodies.
"Captain Rickman said there should be something by the body of the bald guy at the gate," the shorter and senior Hawk instructed,