Death Comes To All (Book 1) (33 page)

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.

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."

"I
could pose as Roland's betrothed," she suggested. "It would
only be fitting for a bride to keep her face hidden before her
wedding, and few guards would want to break that taboo without a good
reason. As long as the two of you don't give them that reason, I
don't think we need to worry about them looking too closely at my
face."

"That's
not a bad idea," Raiste, now Grant, replied. Now that Roland
knew that his true name was Raiste, he found it difficult to think of
him by any other name, but he was wise enough to know how dangerous
that was. Calling him by the wrong name could get all of them killed,
especially if he called him Raiste in front of guards who were
looking for them.

Don’t
think of him as Raiste. Think of him as Grant, my father. Should I
call him dad?

He
also knew how important it would be to change his own name, just in
case they came across a patrol. They could be looking for a large man
named Roland, if they had gained that much information. He had
already been considering that as they traveled, and had come to a
decision as to what he wanted to be called from then on.

"Roland
is dead for now," he said. "From now on, call me Bane. I
will try my best to be a bane to our enemies, so it seems only
fitting that I be called that as well."

Raiste,
now going by Grant, chuckled, a high, cackling sound that one would
expect from an old man. It reminded Bane of the sound that Sloan had
made, when he thought he had them where he wanted them. He did his
best to suppress the shudder that followed the thought.

"That
does seem fitting," he agreed. "How about you Tara? If they
find out anything about us from our stay at the inn, they might learn
your name as well."

"I'll
just go back to Raine I think," she decided. "No one is
looking for me under that name, and I'm rather fond of it truthfully.
It's common enough that no one should think anything of it."

"Easy
enough to remember too," Grant commented. "You've used it
often enough before. Still, it's as you said; no one has had reason
to search for you under that name. It should be safe enough to use.
If everything goes as planned, we won't have need to tell anyone our
names at all."