obviously in hiding, but why? Surely he didn't have an inkling that his presence among the living was no longer desired by the Mulmaster powers that be. Where could he be?
'When he arrived in Mulmaster was he alone, or with someone?' the one-eyed Hawk captain inquired.
'According to the city watch officer who was on duty at the gate at that time,' Blough answered, 'he was alone.'
Rickman readjusted his eye-patch once again. Tension usually brought on a certain degree of discomfort in his now vacant eye socket, as if the missing eye had somehow returned with an exceptionally annoying feeling of irritation and itchiness.
No stone must go unturned, the captain of the Hawks thought to himself, or the High Blade will have my head.
'Are there any other aliens who have arrived in Mulmaster within the last three days?' he demanded.
'I assume you mean above and beyond the normal merchants who travel in and out of the city like clockwork, paying the necessary duties as they sign in and out on schedule.'
The captain of the Hawks answered with a quick nod.
'Well, there is the entire entourage of the First Princess of Thay,' Blough answered, adding, 'and because of their diplomatic immunity, none of them had to register…'
Great, Rickman thought to himself, the High Blade will have my head for sure.
'… and there is one other,' the efficient Hawk added, 'a travel writer by the name of Volothamp Geddarm. According to the city watch on duty at the gate, he left Mulmaster early this morning, but has maintained his accommodations of two adjoining rooms at the Traveler's Cloak Inn for at least an additional week, paid in advance.'
Volothamp Geddarm, the captain of the Hawks repeated to himself. Why does that name sound familiar?
4
Volo did exactly as the voice he now recognized as female instructed, dropping the blade from his hand, and moving his arms away from his sides, palms out and empty. All of this was done slowly and carefully, without any sudden movements.
The master traveler of all Faerun (if not all Toril) had no desire to drown in his own blood.
'Spread your legs further apart,' she ordered.
'Glad to,' the master traveler answered, complying. As he felt a slight decrease in the pressure against the blade that was still resting against his throat, he slowly tried to turn his head so as to get a look at the fellow visitor to the slaughterhouse that had been known as the Retreat.
'Eyes forward!' she barked.
'Sorry,' he answered, once again complying, as he felt a deft hand giving him a practiced body frisk.
Volo, in an attempt to ingratiate himself with the overly cautious woman, started to volunteer certain information about what he was holding. 'I have a bando-'
'Quiet!'
'Sorry.'
Her practiced hands undid the bandolier of blades that the master traveler always had concealed under his cloak, dropping it to the ground. She also quickly removed several of his other concealed surprises (though missing a few that the master traveler thought better of volunteering).
The frisking done, the mystery woman made a strange request.
'Remove your hat,' she ordered, 'and do it slowly.'
Volo slowly followed her instructions, eyes still forward, and legs still spread apart. With beret in hand, he felt her hand gently tug at his beard, and run through the flowing locks that covered the top of what he thought to be considered as one of the more handsome heads of Faerun.
'Well, at least I don't have to worry about you being one of those murderous wizards from Thay,' she said. 'You can turn around, but very slowly, hands still away from the sides of your body, and no funny stuff.'
'Gladly, my dear,' Volo answered in his most charming tone, as he slowly turned around to face the woman who had come very close to slitting his throat. 'Your wish is my command.'
She was slightly taller than the master traveler himself, and was attired in a garb more suited to a ranger than the ravishing beauty that she was. Her tight leathers enveloped an obviously well endowed and maintained figure, and her flowing brown hair seemed to reach the base of her back, barely obscuring the long sword that was sheathed behind her.
Drawing on his extensive knowledge of all things public, and most things private and secret in Faerun, Volo hazarded a jibe.
'Is that a long sword,' he asked with a light gesture from his left hand, then added jovially, 'or are you just happy to see me?'
The female ranger ignored the double entendre, and answered simply, 'What if it is?'
'Then Storm Silverhand sends her regards,' the master traveler responded, 'as I assume that I am addressing Chesslyn Onaubra.'
'How do you know the legendary bard of Shadowdale?' she interrogated.
'Know her,' Volo quickly answered, trying appear more at ease than he really was. 'I've stayed at her farm on numerous occasions.' He then quickly changed the subject, shifting focus back to the armed and deadly woman who was standing in front of him. 'Rumor has it that you can hurl that long sword for a distance of up to fifty feet. How much of an exaggeration is that?'
'It isn't an exaggeration,' she replied, letting her guard drop ever so slightly. 'And what is the name of this loquacious friend of Storm Silverhand's who seems to know so much about me?'
Volo quickly replaced his beret, which sat atop his head just long enough so that he could once again remove it with a flourish and a bow saying, 'Volothamp Geddarm, master traveler of all Faerun, at your service.'
The Harper secret agent known as Chesslyn Onaubra shook her brown locks with a guarded laugh and an amused chuckle and said, 'I should have known.' Extending a hand of friendship to the master traveler, she added, 'And what brings the master traveler and scourge of the dopplegangers to the Moonsea?'
'A new book,' he answered, jovially accepting the Harper's proffered hand, 'what else? Though it would appear that more is going on here than would usually be included in one of my travel guides.'
'Agreed,' Chesslyn assented seriously, withdrawing a blood-stained crystal wand from her pack and holding it up for the master gazetteer to examine.
The Office of the High Blade in the Tower of the Blades:
'Sire,' Rickman cautiously interrupted, 'a word with you if I may?'
'What is it Rickman?' the High Blade answered impatiently. The rigors and demands of dealing with the lesser nobles who, in the eyes of the people, really ruled the city, always left him in a bad mood, and he always saw interruptions to his business affairs as merely means to prolong his own bureaucratic misery.
'In private, sire?' the captain of the Hawks whispered with a degree of urgency.
'As you will,' the High Blade assented, and quickly dispersed the nonessential politicians with whom he had been dealing with quick directions. 'Leave me now,' he ordered brusquely, 'and don't return until you have a concrete plan for restoring our navy in half the time you are currently projecting.'
'Yes, sire,' the nobles all said in unison, though the looks on their faces indicated that such a task was almost impossible, and that they would be spending the next few weeks avoiding the High Blade in order to dodge his wrath when he discovered their gross failings. They quickly fled the office of their supreme commander.
'Well, that should keep them out of my hair for a while,' the High Blade said with a fiendish chuckle. 'Now what did you deem to be so important that it was worth incurring my ire by interrupting the second most unpleasant part of my day?'
