The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [52]
"No one has ever questioned your ability to do that, dear sister," Mischa confirmed. "Yet, you still have not been able to complete the mission that you have been sent on, and I have been thinking…"
"About what?" the First Princess demanded.
"If, indeed, even in times of great ardor the High Blade is on his guard…"
"Yes?"
"Perhaps he needs to have that guard lowered."
"By what means?"
"An enchanted charm perhaps."
The First Princess threw her head back and gave forth a derisive laugh, the likes of which she usually reserved for the mentally defective, freaks, and idiots who were brought forth for her amusement (or for particularly wormlike ministers).
"Of course," the Tharchioness said in mock-naive revelation. "Oh, wait a minute, maybe I did. That's right, I did, and then I dismissed it because it wouldn't work, but thanks anyway dear sister. I'll remember to summon you if I have a need for someone with an acute grasp of the extremely obvious."
"But, dear sister, why do you dismiss my suggestion so lightly?"
"Because it is doomed to failure."
"How so?" Mischa asked in a sincere tone that masked the contempt that she felt for her half sister's deprecating manner.
"Because of the damned Cloaks who have sworn their allegiances to protecting the High Blade, that's why. They would detect such a charm the minute it was brought into the city. Even though our people are exempt from searches, we are nonetheless closely watched, and even our most sophisticated mages would be noticed bearing the necessary amulets when they entered the city gate."
Mischa tapped her bald temple with the lacquered fingernail of her index finger, as if pausing to think deeply. After a practiced pause, she feigned revelation, and said, "That is true, but what if nothing was brought into the city? What if the charmed object was constructed here, married with a personal piece of the High Blade himself within these walls, and cast in the privacy of your own bedroom. Surely the Cloaks are not watching you there too, and the High Blade does not exactly strike me as the type who has spent a great deal of time being schooled in the matters of high magic."
The Tharchioness braced again, followed by a slow, ecstatic chill that went through her body as if the recognition and anticipation of the action to come was as good as the experience itself. The pink serpent of her tongue moistened her dewy lips in anticipation.
"Once charmed, he would disregard his armor," the First Princess said softly, almost as if she were voicing her thoughts to herself.
"Possibly, dear sister," Mischa said in encouragement.
"And then he will be mine!"
* * * * *
At the Villa of Honor Fullstaff,
Somewhere between the Retreat and Mulmaster:
Fullstaff was enjoying the pale warmth of the day's last rays of the sun. McKern, his guest for the evening, had arrived at the expected hour, and was now busily cleaning away the road dust in preparation for the sumptuous meal that he knew would be ready at sunset. As this was not the first time that he had joined the old swordmaster for dinner, he was more than aware that Fullstaff was a creature of habit who expected his meals on the same schedule each day. A late arrival might be welcomed to join in the feast, but usually Fullstaff would extend the invitation with a full mouth and gesture to enjoy that which remained of the leavings. Time, tide, and dinner at Fullstaff's waited for no man.
The blind swordsman stood up from his chair and approached the veranda's edge. As always, he wished to absorb every sensation possible as the day drew to a close. Behind him wafted the sweet aroma of the meal to come, and in front of him the clean scent of the deserted countryside. Behind him was the cacophony of pots and pans as Hotspur, Poins, and Hal prepared the table, and in front of him the gentle sweeping brush of the wind relocating granules of the road outside of his home.
Honor took a step farther out. An unaccustomed observer might have feared that the blind man might fall off the veranda's edge, but those who knew "old