"Well, it's about bloody time," the High Blade hissed to the captain of the Hawks, who was stationed at his side. "She knows I hate to be kept waiting, particularly in my own home."

"Unfortunately, your majesty, it is her home as well," Rickman whispered in return. "The fact that it annoys you is probably why she does it."

The doors to the suite flew open with a slight push of mystical wind, and Selfaril and Rickman stood up to receive the Tharchioness, who entered flanked by her lady-in-waiting, Mischa Tam.

"Darling," the Tharchioness cooed, her arms open to receive her husband. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting."

"You, my dear," Selfaril replied with all the sincerity of a polygamist professing his chastity, "are always worth waiting for."

The two met, once again in the room's center, and exchanged their requisite kisses that never involved their lips actually touching each other.

Selfaril was the first to resume insincere spousal blandishments. "If all women looked like you after sleeping in all morning," he expounded, "all of the men of Faerun would gladly forego having their breakfast made for them."

"A simple woman such as myself," the Tharchioness replied, "has few duties more important than maintaining her desirability in the eyes of her husband. I only regret that it denies me the pleasure of your company when I awake. An empty bed is a poor follow-up to a sleep of dreams."

"I am sorry, dear, but you know that duty demands that I attend to affairs of state even before the cock crows."

"And after, and during," the Tharchioness replied, adding, "With all of your duties, one might think you could do with a respite… or perhaps a retreat?"

"If only I could spare the time," Selfaril countered shrewdly, then, with an expansive gesture toward the her lovely half sister, added, "You are blessed with the lovely Mischa Tam as a sister. I, alas have no one to substitute for me. After all, it's not as if I had a brother to call my own."

"Such an idea," the Tharchioness replied. "I don't think I would be able to stand it. One of you is heaven. Two of you would be…"

"Interesting?" he interrupted.

"A challenge," she replied, her hand beginning to play with a Thayan pendant that hung around her neck, thus drawing her husband's attention yet again to her desirably ample cleavage.

"Well met," he replied.

The two spouses stared into each other's eyes, both conveying their animal attraction, and cunningly trying to read the other's mind. Their desires were so similar, and they both knew it. It was a pity that their ultimate goals were mutually exclusive.

A courtier approached Rickman and whispered in his ear.

"Your majesty," the captain interrupted, "various envoys await your and the princess's arrival in the antechamber. They bear gifts and petitions from far-off lands and important companies."

"Must we?" the Princess asked her husband with a pout.

"We must," he replied with a restrained leer.

"Than we shall," she answered, and arm-in-arm they entered the antechamber, doors forced open by the gentle yet powerful breezes that were conjured by the Tharchioness.

Out of routine and protocol, the captain of the Hawks and the lady-in-waiting also joined arms and followed them inside, neither realizing that they were sharing similar impressed thoughts about the exceptional acting ability of their respective lord and lady.

Along the Back Roads Twixt the Retreat and Mulmaster:

Volo and Chesslyn had been riding for hours, exchanging the idle conversation that strangers sometimes engaged in when they wanted to appear more at ease with one another than they really were. Conversation of the slaughter at the retreat, and the mysterious goings on in the Mulmaster area, soon gave way to tales of youth and adventure far from current shores.

The route that Chesslyn had chosen lengthened their journey by at least half a day, and as the sun began to make its descent towards the horizon the master traveler decided it was time to query his traveling companion about their possible accommodations for the night.

"Well, I must thank you for this marvelous impromptu tour of the Mulmaster area back roads and byways," the master traveler said. "I'd label it the scenic route, but unfortunately there's not much to look at."

"We agreed that it wasn't worth the risk being seen together, given where we were coming from, and all that has happened," the Harper agent admonished.

"Yes, yes," the master traveler agreed amiably, then added with a leer. "I'll call it the 'Lover's Route.'"

"The Lover's Route?" she asked, giggling with an air of incredulity.

"Sure," the master traveler replied, "the route one takes when wants to be alone… or perhaps when one wants the circumstances to dictate an unexpected extra night on the road. Which reminds me, you mentioned that you knew a place that would provide us with discreet overnight accommodations."

"Indeed, I did," she answered assuredly, "and discretion is guaranteed."

"My! A place out here in the middle of nowhere, where we don't have to worry about being seen together," Volo answered, taking his own turn at mock incredulity.

"Not by the lord of the manor, at least," she added.

"What's that?"

Chesslyn smiled, and explained. The road had leveled off slightly, and she seemed to be able to trust her steed to lead itself along the intended route.

"Have you ever heard of Blind Honor?" she asked.

"Sure," the master gazetteer replied, then paused for a moment, and ventured an explanation. "It's when something is so sacred between two people that both are bound by honor never to reveal their-"

"It's a person," she interrupted.

"Never heard of him," he conceded.

Chesslyn threw her head back and laughed.

"Imagine that," she declared. "I've stumped the master gazetteer of all Faerun."

"Of all Toril," Volo corrected. "Here, let me get out my notebook. I can ride and write at the same time."

"I don't think so," Chesslyn ordered, reining her horse around so that she was once again confronting the master traveler with direct eye contact. "Our discretion is mandatory. If I find a listing for the home of Honor Fullstaff in your upcoming guide to Mulmaster, I'll…"

"Cleave me in twain," the master traveler offered, immediately replacing his notebook in his pack before he had even finished extricating it.

"Something like that," Chesslyn affirmed with a smile that did not undercut the seriousness of her message. The Harper agent once again righted her horse, and proceeded along a parallel path to that of the master traveler.

"Well, between just you and me, and not for publication, under any circumstances, who is this Blind Honor guy?" Volo asked, a slight bit of impatience evident in his tone.

Eyes set ahead on the trail yet to be traveled, Chesslyn began her explanation. "Simply put, Honor Fullstaff is the master swordsman of all Faerun," she asserted.

"So why have I never heard of him?"

"He's been retired since before you began your illustrious career of belles lettres."

The master gazetteer made a mental note to try to remember as many specific details about the sword wielder as possible. With any luck, he imagined, he would be able to gather corroborating information from other sources. After all, a tale told a second time nullifies a promise of silence to a former source.

"He began his illustrious career in the gladiatorial arenas of Hillsfar where coming in second leaves one with a very short career."

"And life," Volo added.

"I forgot that the master traveler has already been there, as well as everywhere else," she acknowledged.

"With no clue to his true parentage," she continued, "who probably either died in the arena before he came of age, or on some oppressive slave plantation, Honor realized at an early age that he had a natural propensity toward the mastery of all things bladed. He was on his way to an undefeated career in the arena when he led a slave revolt, thus instigating the escape of over half of Hillsfar's gladiators."