forcing her to abdicate to him the throne of Eltabbar… just before her execution for treason; but the High Blade had decided against this pragmatic course of action, and as a result that which had been a winning endgame was left as a fool's stalemate with both sides at the same point they were when the game started.
Eventually, Rickman realized, Selfaril would come to his senses and look for a scapegoat, and no minor functionary like Wattrous or Jembahb would do. The captain of the Hawks knew that his days as the High Blade's right-hand man were numbered, and, therefore, his days among the living were equally numbered. He only hoped that a plan for his own salvation would present itself.
His prayers (perhaps to Cyric, perhaps to Bane) were answered with an unexpected knock on his chamber door.
'Come in,' he responded, his voice gravelly with night congestion.
The door opened and a spineless informant that Rickman recognized as his man in the Thayan embassy entered.
'Sir,' said the man, whose name was Lendel, 'I came by to drop off some recently acquired intelligence of great importance. I was going to drop it off at our usual place, the Warrior's Arena, but decided it couldn't wait. I had hopes of leaving it under your door so that you would see it the first thing tomorrow morn, but when I saw the light flickering under your door. I felt that it was best to deliver it to you personally.'
'What is it?' the captain demanded. 'Even though it is late, I hope you took precautions to avoid being followed. It would serve Mulmaster naught if we were to lose our ear within the enemy's embassy.'
'I took every precaution I could,' Lendel said obsequiously, 'but I felt that this was worth the possibility of blowing my cover. Even so, I am fairly sure that I have managed to arrive here unobserved.'
The captain of the Hawks stood up and said, 'Then what is it?' at the same time noting to himself that perhaps the security around his own office should be increased.
'Here,' Lendel said, taking a step forward and proffering his hand, which held a crumpled up note. 'I found it in one of the ambassadors' trash.'
Rickman read the note with great interest. 'Do you believe it to be authentic?' he demanded.
'Yes, captain,' Lendel answered. 'This particular ambassador is not what anyone would call very bright. His carelessness is Mulmaster's gain.'
'Agreed,' said Rickman, tapping his forehead with the note as a plan began to present itself. 'Remind me, Lendel,' he asked, 'who is your contact within the Hawks?'
'Lieutenant Wattrous, sir,' Lendel replied.
Rickman walked around the desk and put his arm around the spy's shoulder. 'And other than him,' the captain inquired, 'who in Mulmaster knows your true affiliation?'
'Just yourself, sir,' Lendel replied officiously. 'I have been very careful about that.'
'Good,' the captain of the Hawks replied, patting the spy on the back. 'You have done well, and in doing so have made things much easier on me.'
With another pat on the spy's back, Rickman silently withdrew his dagger, and quickly slashed the throat of the surprised and shocked Lendel, who tried to gurgle a protest, a question, then a scream, but to no avail. His throat was already clotted with blood.
'Sorry about that,' the calm captain apologized. 'In another time and in another place you would have gotten a commendation. Unfortunately at this time, and in this place, you are a liability. Rest assured, however, that the new High Blade will look upon your memory fondly… as I take the throne.'
The slain spy slid to the ground, as the captain of the Hawks returned to his desk. Quickly, Rickman took the crumpled note and set it next to one of the candelabrum's flames. When it was aflame, he carefully set it in a dish where it safely converted itself to smoke and ash.
Rickman began to talk to himself out loud as he practiced his explanation. 'Imagine my surprise,' he said. 'When I returned to my office, I found this Thayan lying in wait for me. It was only through sheer luck that I was able to dispatch him before he me. I'm afraid that I have many enemies in the Thayan camp, unlike our High Blade… the High Blade… oh, I see no reason to alarm him. It's not as if his life were in any danger.'
The Thayan bastards would carry out their assassination, and Rickman would be ready with a few trusted men, to seize the throne in the name of Mulmaster, ending this eastern affair once and for all. The First Princess and her lot would be executed for treason, and he would ascend the throne.
'Mulmaster needs a High Blade who will think with his head, the way you used to, Selfaril,' Rickman declared to the empty room. 'Mulmaster needs me, and I will graciously serve.'
Blowing the ashes out the window, Rickman took several short, fast breaths, disheveled his robes, and set off down the hall to alert the night watch about the altercation that had just occurred in his office.
PART THREE
13
Eventually exhaustion had been sated, and the sleeping draught began to wear off. Rassendyll drifted into a lighter mode of sleep that was disturbed every time a movement would upset the center of balance of the heavy mask that encased his head. Despite the fact that he could not recall having ever slept in a more comfortable bed (for his quarters at the Retreat had always been in keeping with the ascetic ways of the older contemplative mages), he was unable to find a position that would allow him to return to the arms of Morpheus.
Realizing that he had received about as much rest as he was going to, he sat up in the bed and waited 'til he heard footsteps in the halls outside, before leaving the room that he had shared with the world-traveling Volo and the snoring Passepout. Making as little noise as possible, he opened the door and made his way down the corridor to the main hall in which dinner had been served.
The hall was empty, though he could hear the clatter of pots and pans in the nearby kitchen, where Hotspur the dwarf was undoubtedly making preparations for breakfast. Most of the torches from the night before had almost burnt down to their holders, which common sense told the masked man meant that sunrise would be upon them at any moment. Having nothing better to do, and not wishing to disturb his slumbering companions, Rassendyll retraced his steps to the foyer where he and Passepout had first entered the villa and stepped outside to watch the golden dawn.
As he walked out to the gate, a blanket held firmly around his shoulders to protect him from the dawn's early chill, he looked off to the horizon where he saw the beginnings of a new day. Odd, he thought to himself, less than two days ago I despaired of ever seeing another sunrise… now here I am, and it is beautiful.
So engaged in the rising of the sun was Rassendyll, that he did not even hear the telltale approach of footsteps coming up behind him. The senior Cloak McKern, aware of the seemingly oblivious state of concentration of the iron-masked man, decided to announce his presence more forcibly.
'Young fellow,' McKern hailed before he had reached the subject of his and Fullstaff's private conversation the night before, 'mind if I join you in your enjoyment of one of Toril's early morning attractions?'
'Not at all,' Rassendyll replied. 'Isn't it picturesque?'
McKern recognized the tone the young man had adopted in his admiration for the sun's wonder-the same tone taken by his own brother when he reminisced about his sighted days.
'Indeed,' the mage replied, putting his arm around the young mage's shoulders to try to set him at ease. So entranced was Rassendyll with the morning sun, that extra becalming efforts by the mage were completely unnecessary.
'So you were a mage-in-training at the Retreat?' McKern asked.
'More than in training,' Rassendyll corrected. 'I was more than qualified to leave the Retreat as a full mage,
