The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [84]
In less than an hour the two travelers were sharing a dark and damp cell in the bowels of the dungeon of Southroad Keep.
* * * * *
In the Villa of Sir Honor Fullstaff, Swordmaster, retired:
Mason worked his magics on the iron mask that encased Rassendyll's head. When the spellcasting was complete, a mirror was brought out of storage so that the masked man could admire the handiwork that had been performed.
Gazing into the mirror, Rassendyll couldn't believe his eyes. He immediately raised his hand to the mask, to feel whether it had tactually changed as well.
It hadn't, but to all outward appearances the flat, stark, blank face of the mask's surface had been transformed into an ornately engraved faceplate on an even more elaborately emblazoned helmet.
Honor approached the still bewildered former mage, ran his fingers over the mask's surface, and turned toward the direction of Mason McKern.
"You're slipping," the blind swordmaster commented, "it feels the same."
"True," the senior Cloak replied, "but to the naked eye, it is now a work of art. The glamour surrounds the surface of the metal, without ever making contact with it."
"Then it will do," Honor acknowledged, and called to Poins. "Are his tabard and leggings ready?"
"Indeed, milord," Poins replied, and began assisting Rassendyll in the donning of the uniform of a Knight of the Order of the Hard Day.
Moments later, Rassendyll was completely masked in his knightly disguise.
"Only one last touch remains," Honor said aloud, turning slowly to accept a locked case from the arms of Mason.
Honor held the case out flat, and placed it into the outstretched arms of Hal who acted as a podium stand for the heavy box, his hands and arms stiff and unwavering under its oaken weight.
Carefully and gently, Honor opened the case and withdrew a samite-draped object which, with the gentle assistance of Mason, he began to unwrap.
"This was your father's sword," the blind sword-master explained. "No one else has used it since the day he died. It has been waiting for you. Hold it, use it, and it will remember."
Rassendyll gripped the sword, gently swinging it through the air in a wide arc as the memories, abilities and skills of its former owner coursed through his body.
Rassendyll was still absorbed in his gentle practice when Mason turned to Honor and whispered, "We should be getting changed for the reception. Let's leave them alone to get acquainted."
15
Guards, Guards, Custodians
In the Dungeon of Southroad Keep:
"So these are the two aliens that we have been looking for," stated Rickman as he looked into the dark and dank cell that housed Volo and Passepout.
"Yes, Captain," the guard replied. "The fat one has been here before."
"Then he must be the vagrant Passepout," Rickman said. "Are they alone in there?"
"I believe so, captain," the guard answered.
"You believe so?" Rickman replied, on the verge of rage. "What do you mean 'you believe so?'"
"Well you see, captain," the guard explained, "the cell has been vacant for a few weeks, but the last prisoner we left in it was never found."
"Did he escape?"
"No, captain, we believe an unusual fungus ate him. There is something growing in the back darkness and, as best we can determine, it is carnivorous. The last we heard from the previous inhabitant was a scream in the darkness. By the time we got some torches to investigate, all that was left in the cell were his boots… and that fungus."
"How amusing," Rickman commented.
"Captain," the guard inquired as the captain of the Hawks turned to leave, "should I warn them to stay away from the dark parts of the cell?"
"Don't bother," Rickman instructed, not even bothering to turn around. "It will just mean less work for the torturer tomorrow, that's all."
* * * * *
"Did you hear that?" Passepout whispered frantically to his friend.
"Indeed I did," Volo replied, apparently unperturbed by the fungoid threat that lurked in the darkness.