Death Comes To All (Book 1)

by Travis Kerr

  Maybe I can convince him to allow me to go back to my natural hair color, he thought.

  He quickly discarded the idea of asking Malik to make him false ears. His own ears were larger than a human’s. Putting something over them would make them look bigger still. There were humans with ears even bigger than what his would look, but it would certainly be unusual. Anything unusual would make him stand out in a crowd, and was best avoided.

  Better to just keep hiding them under a wig for now, like I have been doing, he decided.

  Tara took the first watch, sitting with the shallow pond at her back, so she could see in any direction. The pond was far too shallow to bother trying to catch any fish. There were a few, as Trick had already proven, but Roland could see everything the entire length of the pond, and they were all tiny. Good enough for a hungry dragonling perhaps, but not nearly worth the effort for a feral or a human.

  With her back to the water Tara could see any stranger who might enter the clearing, and if anyone tried wading through the pond it would be easy for the woman to hear them coming. Trick, who had long since finished the small treat he had caught, waddled over her and curled up next to her.

  Possibly the small dragonling would do the same with Raiste during his watch, Roland thought. Of course it was just as likely that he would decide to roost in the branches of one of the trees above them, as he often did.

  He knew that, regardless of how deeply Trick might seem to sleep, he would wake at the slightest sound that was out of place. Should the group find themselves in danger, it was likely that the dragonling would know of it before whoever they had on watch possibly could.

  Roland had noticed that sort of behavior in the dragonling before. While it was obvious that the small creature belonged to Raiste, and saw him as his master, he still looked to the others in the group as friends or family members. Roland had even woke once or twice to find the creature sleeping next to him, however it was more likely that he would see the animal sleeping in a tree on its own, taking comfort in a moment of solitude perhaps.

  Roland found he envied the colorful animal in some ways.

  How free it must feel to be able to soar the skies, to glide through the air and let the breeze carry you where it may, whenever the whim might take you, he thought.

  Raiste loosened the tethers on the horses, giving them a longer reach so that they might graze a bit while they had the chance. It would be rather easy going for the animals for the first few miles, but once they had put enough distance between themselves and the current patrols that were looking for them, they would be taking the road again.

  There they would be keeping as fast a pace as they safely could. They would ride until nightfall if the horses could bear it, and do the same the following night. It was impossible to know how many patrols Bloodheart had set along this road to watch for them, but certainly the further from the city they were the less likely it would be that they would run into one of them.

  Once satisfied that the horses had enough space to graze to their content, Raiste pulled out one of his packs, one of the new leather bags, filled with various articles of clothing. Roland had already put aside his own clothing bag and was using it as a pillow for himself. Quietly, he settled himself in for the night.

  Tara would wake him when it was time for him to take his watch, he knew. Before then he needed to get some rest.

  Though Raiste hadn't used any magic during their battle that day, he was still quite fatigued from the day's exertions. He hadn't been lying when he had said that the magic that Roland had used that day should have left him almost completely drained. How the boy had managed to keep going all during the day amazed him.

  Once Roland learns how to truly control his power he will be almost unstoppable, he thought.

  Unfortunately, he had no idea whatsoever how he could help train Roland in controlling his magic. He had read books on it as a child, and several more books on magic theory and practice since then. He had retained a remarkable amount of that information.

  Too bad I don’t have my sister’s photographic memory. She never forgot a word from any book she had read, he recalled.

  Still, the best that those books could have hoped to have done was to give him a basic idea as to the nature of the magic, and the basic theory of how it should work. It couldn’t teach a battle mage to use his magic. There wasn’t any book that could do that.

  In the end it would be up to Roland to figure out how to use it on his own. He considered his own magic, but dismissed it out of hand.

  No, showing Roland how my magic works won't do anything to help the boy. We’re simply too different.

  He heard a loud rumbling sound, and stole a glance in Roland's direction. The poor boy was already sleeping soundly.

  Or loudly anyway, he thought. It's probably for the best.

  Even if Roland wasn't able to use his magic at all right now, his blade might be needed again once they returned to the road. As it was he would have to wake the young man early, at least an hour before they had to leave. They would need to change Roland's appearance greatly; most likely it was being passed around to the guards even more than his own.

  He set himself down on the hard ground, shifting his weight back and forth to find a comfortable position. He was glad that he had decided to go with purchasing regular leather travel bags instead of the magically enhanced variation. Even as expensive as those bags were they could have afforded them, and the increased capacity would have removed the need for purchasing a horse to carry their supplies.

  Those magic packs far exceeded the budget of most traders, however, and would have been difficult to explain to passing guards, should the bags be recognized. Both Tara and himself had magically enhanced bags that they normally wore when traveling, but unlike most magical bags they had been carefully disguised so that anything but a close, careful inspection of them would fail to reveal that fact.

  Even if a guard did look closely enough to realize what they were, those packs were small enough that he felt certain he would be able to explain them away. Explaining several of the high priced articles, enough for all of their gear, would not have been so easy.

  And unfortunately, I have yet to find a single one that makes a decent pillow, he thought with only a small hint of irritation. Comfort was not ever something he concerned himself with.

  Finally coming to the conclusion that he was as comfortable as he was likely to get, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, the steady sound of chirping crickets composing a strangely soothing lullaby.

  It seemed to Raiste that he had no more than gotten to sleep when Tara woke him for his shift. Trick had apparently flown off on his own again during the night, likely sleeping on a branch nearby, barely hidden from his view.

  It hardly mattered, he thought.

  He had several things to take care of before morning, and Trick would have bored of his company quite quickly when his attention was elsewhere. Instead of worrying about his friend, he considered what he should do to reinvent himself.

  With the amount of heat that’s on us now, my normal disguises might not be enough, he decided.

  It might be wiser to use something new; something that he hadn't used before, and was drastically different from the way he looked now.

  Hm.....wiser, he thought to himself. Suddenly a thought came to him, and he knew at once what he was going to do.

  He gathered water from the pond into a small dish he brought out of his disguise pack, and pulled out various pigments of different liquids he used sometimes to change hair color. He placed each one on the ground in front of him, taking pains to be certain of the color and shade, going by his memory of the results as opposed to the way it looked to him by the firelight.

  He had colors made from several sources. There was shades of red, mostly created by crushing certain berries, that he put aside at once, instead deciding on a dull black made from charcoal and a faded white color made from the juice of a certain weed he was familiar
with. Tara tended to use these particular pigments from time to time to change the color of her fur, but he had never considered a use for them for himself until now. He also pulled out several tufts of cotton, which he could separate to resemble facial hair. Certain that he had everything he needed, he went to work.

  Just as the light from the morning sun began to brighten the eastern horizon, Roland was awoken by an elderly man, with thin grey hair, slightly balding at the top, and a long grey goatee, which extended perhaps four inches passed his chin. His wrinkled face hung only a foot above Roland's own, startling him out of his sleep. He nearly screamed out loud before he noticed the old man's eyes, which twinkled merrily from underneath his thick white brows. Those were eyes Roland recognized.

  "Good morning Raiste," He stated flatly, stifling a yawn. "What should I be calling you now, anyway?"

  "I haven't thought up a name yet actually. I'll let you know before we go. It will be somewhat harder to change your looks as dramatically. You're not really old enough to pull off an elderly person like this, at least not without a great amount of difficulty. You don't have any natural age lines yet to enhance, which is what most of this really is. The hair was easy to do in comparison. As big as you are you’ll stand out a bit no matter what we do, but we can at least change the color of the wig you’re wearing and add a bit of facial hair."

  "Do you think we can go with the natural brown color my hair normally has?" he asked, remembering his thought from the night before. "It's certainly different enough from the red color it is now that it should be alright."

  "I can do that easily enough," Raiste said politely, in a strangely good mood compared to the night before. Roland suspected that the man was simply pleased with the job he had already done on himself, though he wasn't going to ask. "I have a wig that would be the right color, with long, straight hair that will hang passed your shoulders. Far different from the tangled curls of the one you’re wearing now. Add a long beard to that, and no one will be able to recognize you."

  It took Raiste only a few moments to find the things he was looking for. He carefully fixed the wig to his head, tucking his ears underneath the cloth backing. The wig fit snugly over Roland's short cropped hair, held carefully in place with pins from underneath. Raiste had Roland shake his head a few times to make certain that it fit into place properly, just in case Roland had to move quickly. Once satisfied with its placement he went about working on the fake beard that Roland would be wearing.

  Like his own false goatee, he fashioned the beard out of small balls of cotton, pulled apart and carefully colored with the proper pigment, in this case the same light brown color of the wig. These pieces he attached to Roland's face with a sticky tan substance that smelled faintly like molasses. The false beard in place, he carefully studied the result, moving the fake hair around slightly until it fit properly. He finished off the look by coloring Roland's eyebrows the same color as the rest.

  "Be careful not to touch it for at least a half hour," Raiste warned when he saw Roland's hand go up to scratch at an itch. "It's going to feel a little strange at first, and it will itch like crazy as the sap sets, but you can't touch it. If you accidentally push it out of place and it sets in the wrong place, we'll have to start over."

  Roland dropped his hand immediately. Once Raiste indicated he was completely finished, he walked over to the pond and peered at his reflection in the still water. He still looked human, he noticed with relief, though he looked nothing like what he had before. As long as his ears stayed underneath the wig where Raiste had fixed them, no one would ever know that he was anything other than the man he appeared to be. Amazingly enough, the false facial hair even helped to hide the worst of his generally repulsive features.

  Tammie won't recognize me at all if I return to the inn looking like this.

  Right now he couldn't even think about that. Returning to the city now would put not only himself in danger, but would put everyone around him in danger as well, including Tammie. She wouldn't be able to protect herself against the dangers he could put in her path. He only hoped that the small contact he had already had with her didn't cause her strife.

  Raiste had already changed his clothing to fit his new look. He now wore dull grey breeches and a matching tunic, with a sleeveless vest of a slightly darker shade over-top of the whole. He looked every bit the part of an old, poor peddler, though not so poor perhaps that he couldn't afford a single guard. Most merchants had more than one, four or more seemed to be the average, but for the poor merchant that Raiste was portraying one guard would have been all he could get.

  Roland decided that he would once again take on the look of a merchant's guard, this time that of a mercenary. Knowing that he couldn't carry Ocean's Hand, which was far too recognizable, he instead cut himself a thick, heavy staff, just a hair taller than he was. To complete the disguise he pulled on a thick, dark green tunic with matching breeches underneath.

  Good thing Raiste had me buy so much clothing, he thought, wondering how many more times he would have to change his looks.

  Their disguises in place for their new identities, the two men began to repack, this time putting all of their gear on a single horse save for a few small packs they could keep on their mounts. The other three horses they fit with saddles. They wouldn't be riding the animals for several hours at least, but it was better to be prepared ahead of time.

  Raiste wanted the horses prepared in case they had to mount and ride quickly, though if everything went as planned that wouldn't be necessary. Raiste had gotten caught off-guard once already, and he had no intention of making that mistake a second time. He would be prepared for anything he could think of, and would just have to hope that nothing else caught him by surprise. Roland made certain that Ocean's Hand could be pulled out from underneath the packs without too much difficulty, and still remain hidden from prying eyes.

  If he needed the weapon they would likely be in grave danger, he knew. He felt safer knowing he could take it up quickly should they need it. Raiste buried his own sword in a similar manner, knowing that it would hardly fit the disguise he had created for himself. Instead he cut a much smaller stick than the one Roland had made, leaning heavily on it and bending over it deeply, as if he could not walk without its aid.

  Once finished they didn't have long to wait before Raiste deemed it bright enough to safely lead the horses, and quietly woke Tara, who had been sleeping since the end of her shift. The feral woman stood, gave a single long, luxurious stretch, and wordlessly took the rope of the horse she was to lead. She had slept the least of all of them, but somehow she seemed to have benefited the most from it.

  Roland had slept almost the entire night, and yet he still felt as if he had lead weights in his boots, pulling him to the ground with each step. As the group prepared to head out, Tara noticed the wooden weapons that the two men had cut for themselves. Without a word she removed her sword belt, carefully concealing her jeweled blade underneath the saddlebags of her mount.

  The trio headed due south through the woods, moving as silently as possible without sacrificing too much of their speed. Roland knew that they didn't need to wait for Trick, who would catch up with them in his own time. He had little doubt that the dragonling already knew they were leaving, but it might be another hour or more before he bothered to stir himself and catch up with them.

  He had once wondered how the animal was able to find them so unfailingly; he had even wondered if they might have left Trick behind the first time the creature failed to leave with them. Now no longer questioned it. He knew that Trick would find them. With the skies as his ally he never needed a trail to know where they would be.

  The group kept to the woods for over three hours, moving slowly through the thick vegetation, always mindful of snakes or other small hazards that could harm them or spook the horses. Trick had joined them as the first rays of the morning sun slipped through the canopy to fall on them, flying high above them in slow, lazy circles.

&n
bsp; The day warmed quickly. After the first hour Roland was forced to remove the heavy tunic he was wearing in favor of a lighter one, with shorter sleeves and a light brown color. The day felt like mid-summer, despite the fact that it was already late in the year.

  They were far enough to the south that it was unlikely they would see much cold weather for some time. If it arrived at all it wouldn't last long. Roland was thankful for that at least. Though he could feel the faint tickle of sweat running freely down his back, he far preferred it to traveling in freezing cold weather.

  As they came into another small clearing, Trick ordered a stop by flying down in front of the group and baring their way. Raiste gave a little laugh. Like the rest of them, the dragonling had skipped breakfast, but unlike the others he was not so willing to go without. Roland was glad for the break. Even with the sleep he had gotten the night before he still felt tired, and it was barely mid-day.

  Raiste tossed his companion two apples from their supplies, which Roland gratefully ate while Raiste fed Trick strips of jerky he had purchased at the market. Roland was certain that he would have fed the dragonling while they walked, however an old man like Raiste now appeared to be would have had trouble trying to walk with the weight of a full grown dragonling around his neck. Even when there was no other soul around them, Raiste tried to stay in character.

  "We should be far enough south now to take the road," Raiste announced. "I'll be calling myself Grant for now. Just an old peddler passing on my business to my son and showing him the ropes. Needless to say Roland, you will be that son. I would suggest you change your name as well. It's unlikely that they would have learned anything about us yet, but within a few days they might discover where we had been staying. I don't think that the owner or the bartender would give much information about us, and certainly wouldn't mention Tammie, but they could learn our names or learn about Tara from other patrons. Tara, you should keep your face hidden, just in case they learn that we were traveling with a feral. It's likely that you're the only feral woman within a hundred miles of here."