The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [48]
"Rathbone was found dead in the Tower of Arcane Might. He had hung himself. Soon thereafter Thurndan Tallwand was appointed Senior Cloak, and he immediately pledged his support to the new High Blade Selfaril, and thus the transition of power was complete, at least as far as the citizens of Mulmaster were concerned."
"They didn't mind that there was a murderer on the throne?" Volo asked incredulously.
"Well," Chesslyn explained, "Merch himself was far from an angel, and the fact that Selfaril was his son was looked upon as just a slight deviation from the normal rules of ascendancy."
"That slight deviation being patricide," the master traveler commented.
"Wasn't the first time, and probably won't be the last," the Harper agent conceded.
"So the old swordsman, now blind, went into retirement, living out the rest of his days in peaceful isolation and seclusion?" Volo ventured.
"Not bloody likely," Chesslyn corrected. "One might say that he set himself up as a martial alternative to the Retreat."
"Come again?" Volo queried.
"He bought himself a villa, and set himself up clandestinely as a master teacher of the bladed arts. Usually no more than one student at a time, tenure of stay to be determined solely at Honor's discretion. His students have included kings and thieves, and their tuition has varied from debts of gratitude to villas in Cormyr."
"Not bad," Volo said. "Those who can no longer do, can at least teach. Not bad for a former master swordsman."
"I never said former," Chesslyn corrected. "He still is more than a match for anyone, with choice of bladed weapons, and as a teacher he is the best."
"That's a rousing endorsement from a master of the long sword such as yourself."
"Honor taught me everything I know," Chesslyn said reverentially, "and I'm sure he will have no problem with us stopping by for the night. He has plenty of spare rooms, and is always amenable to offer hospitality to friends of friends who can be trusted."
Chesslyn delivered her last remark with such a withering degree of seriousness that the master traveler began to think better of featuring the legendary swordsman in his upcoming guide book. Perhaps confidentiality should be preserved in some cases.
Chesslyn reined in her horse, shaded her eyes from the midafternoon glare, and scanned the horizon.
"We should be there right about sundown," she said. "Knowing Honor, he'll be out front catching the last few rays of the setting sun before sitting down to a sumptuous dinner feast. We'll be just in time to join him."
"Can't wait," the master traveler said, eager to meet the teacher who had instilled such admiration in one of his students.
8
Mates, Masks, Musk, & Meals
In the High Blade's Study in the Tower of the Wyvern:
The conspiracy of the moment over, both threat and advantage now neutralized, Selfaril felt a palatable taste of normalcy as things returned to the status quo.
He still hated his wife, and she him.
Eltabbar and Thay were still distant opportunities and menaces for the glory of Mulmaster and the High Blade himself.
He had grown used to the game of cat and mouse that he and his bride played. It excited him more than he liked to admit, and he was sure that she felt the same way. Why else did he always feel an adrenal rush whenever she was around? What else could account for the mixed feelings of excitement and revulsion he experienced whenever she entered the room?
For him, love was an abstract concept, not at all alien, just different from that normally felt by others. It required respect; yet did not the best of enemies command respect? It caused a physical attraction, yet did not the flame attract the moth to its death?
Love and death: they were intricately tied in his mind.
Looking back he remembered wanting to be like his father, the great leader who taught him by example and was revered by all his subjects; Selfaril had accomplished this goal by killing his father and taking his place.
Family was the greatest threat of all, yet he felt a certain emptiness within, almost as