Black Hart Black Hart
Gradsul by Twilight
Chapter 20 - New Face for a New Day
He wanted to laugh and shout and cry with joy, but Veshper had
told him to be quiet for now.
It was only five minutes after his friends had left that the
Mareschal returned to the room, but Kyros was never happier to
see him.
"You look fine for a dead man," he said to Kyros as he
entered.
Kyros wanted to thank him until his mouth dried, but instead he
found himself grinning inanely and unable to speak. He was within
another cell, this one more plush than another, but that no
longer mattered to him - at least he wasn't dead. This cell
seemed like the kind they would hold an important political
prisoner in - more like a refugee in his case, but it would do
for now.
"Well," Veshper continued, "We couldn't really
just let you die. But things are delicate with Nyrond right now -
we need to keep in their favour if we are to birth a new alliance
for the Flanaess. Kyros 'Sablefist' Telliran had to die."
Kyros nodded - he knew what the Mareschal meant. Halstus wanted
him dead, Halstus got him dead and now he had to stay dead.
"So no more one-glove 'Sablefist' adventuring, Kyros,"
he said. "And come to think of it, you had best choose a new
name. A permanent one, and never utter the K-word again. Learn a
new weapon, trade your magic items for new ones, change your
clothes and style of hair."
The Mareschal went to leave.
"Think about it," he said. "We will help oyu as
much as we can - I'm sure we can find you a good trade in magic,
and some clothes and all. Hair dye would be a good idea, for the
near future and until you are out of Gradsul anyway. And we'll
have to break the news to your friends gently - they took it very
badly, to the point they almost tried a rescue attempt."
Beofre you go," Kyros said, " I know it was an
illusion, but how exactly did you do it so convincingly?"
"He was a murderer," Veshper said in a very serious
tone. "He was going to be executed tomorrow, and we offered
him a deal. Follow our plan, co-operate, and his wife
'mysteriously' inherits a small fortune - a few hundred Merkke,
but a small fortune to them, enough to keep her well for the rest
of her days. After that, a minor illusion, a nod and a smile from
the dying man, and his last act was a noble one."
Kyros was again speechless at the thought of what had happened.
"Thank you," Kyros finally spluttered to the Mareschal,
with as much sincerity as he could muster. "I'm in your
debt. Please call on me if ever you need the assistance of a
one-time priest."
Kyros sat back in a posture of relief. "I'll need to get to
my friends, but not immediately, not quite yet. Give me a day or
two to fix myself up. We'll start with the hair." Kyros
toyed with the idea for a while - yes, baldness would be quite
appealing.
"Rest," the Mareschal said as he went out the room.
"We'll talk later."
Veshper returned an hour later, bringing with him a tray of
fine food - now that he no longer faced execution, Kyros found
that he was ravenous and wolfed into his dinner while they
talked.
"I owe you my existence to you, since no one apart from you
knows I exist." Kyros acknowledged his debt to Veshper.
"Send this news to the Lord High Mareschalor not, I leave
that to you."
Turning to his own predicament, it was not the first time Kyros
had to start anew. It was an almost familiar feeling, one he had
when he defected to Nyrond nearly nine years ago. It seemed that
he needed a new identity for each country he went to. How ironic,
he thought to himself, but whispered a prayer to the Laughing
Rogue all the same.
"I had a good friend, Helden Graveleaf," Kyros
announced, "now presumed dead, lost in the Abor-Alz for many
years. I have a debt of friendship to his wife and baby, and I
believe it would honour him to take his name. He was a ranger of
some skill. I know him well enough, and trust in my own
verisimilitude, to make a new identity."
Kyros looked at his personal effects the Mareschal had so
considerately retrieved for him. "The staff I shall
keep," grasping hold of it, Kyros spoke a word, and its tip
extended a razor-sharp blade, faintly shimmering with impressive
magical energy as it did so. "I am proficient with a spear,
although that skill has been neglected since my infantryman days
in... Aerdy." Here he stumbled over the last word. "The
elfin chain hides well under cloth, so I have naught to worry,
unless you have trustworthy magical leather lying around."
"This glove," Kyros picked it up. The other pair had
been lost, ages ago, to black dragon acid. " It is yours
Mareschal, if you want it. It enables two handeddueling with no
impediment to style or skill whatsoever." Kyros palmed the
last item, the amulet of Asr'adin, quietly, without a word. It
wouldn't do to wear it - it was a unique item, Halstus, and many
others, would recognise it at first sight. Yet he couldn't bear
to destroy it or give it away. He slipped the amulet in his
pocket, ready to put it away forever.
"I need some forest browns and greens, some leather and fur
trimming." Kyros fingered the growth on his chin and above
his lip. "A beard and moustache will do nicely dyed."
Kyros remembered his own specialised disguise kit and wondered if
the Mareschal had some of the same. "And a woodsman longbow
and a dagger-like short sword if you can spare one."
"Accomplished rangers possess priestly powers of a sort, and
Olidammara is well revered even in the rural and pastoral
communities, so I shall not appear too out of place. I shall
displace my holy symbol to a more discreet position though - may
the Rogue himself smile kindly on this facade."
The Mareschal graciously accepted Kyros' gift, seeming slightly
embarrassed.
He then appeared to think of something and excused himself,
returning just under an hour later with a sack in his hands.
"A good guise to go in, Helden my friend," he said,
with a smile, looking him in the eye as he beckoned him over to
the table.
Kyros thought little of the name change, but then he had gone by
so many names and appearances in his years on Oerth that he could
not truly be sure that he was Kyros Sablefist any more. Perhaps
now he could be sure that he was not him any longer for, as he
had seen with his own eyes, Kyros Sablefist had been hanged to
death that day. The Mareschal emptied the sack's contents onto
the table with a flourish.
"I do not make it so obvious," Veshper said, "But
I too am a ranger, so I can help you in your change. These
clothes should fit you, you are about my size, and this bow will
serve you well."
Veshper handed him over a fine longbow, of dark wood, and a
quiver of arrows with red flights and a pouch where he found two
spare bowstrings.
"These books will help you also," he said, piling three
tomes onto the table. "Some woodcraft knowledge to help you,
although I would not declare myself to be a ranger if I were you
- let people guess as much. If you run into another of my brother
rangers he would soon sniff you out, for we are an inquisitive
bunch. And I am sure your deity will forgive you if you keep your
holy symbol hidden when you are not using it - after all, are we
not carrying out the most roguish prank on the Nyrondese."
"I will have a shortsword and some henna brought to you
tonight - I think a fine head of red hair might throw even the
closest of your companions at a distance. Until you can grow your
own I will get hold of a disguise beard for you. And finally,
this..."
Veshper slid a ring off the middle finger of his left hand. He
handed the white-metal band to Kyros, who saw three small clear
stones which sparkled set into it, though not visible from
anything but a close inspection.
"This is in exchange for your glove, which I hope to put to
good use, once Halstus leaves this city anyway. The ring turns
magic, and I have found it saved my life a couple of times in the
past. I hope it will do the same for you."
"Thank you once again." Kyros took the items from
Veshper, and when he slipped the ring on his finger, he seemed
once again at a loss for words, and nodded in an awkwardly
grateful manner as the Mareschal made to leave. "I wear this
with much gratitude." Here was another to whom he owed a
life debt to, like others before - Fearran Wolff, Alenna Lwern.
It affirmed his notion of what was good and right to do, and how
best he could aid others the same way.
"So, I had better be off home for the night, Helden."
Veshper seemd to take delight in his new name. "We will see
to arranging a meeting wiht your companions as soon as Major
Halstus and his troop have left, which should be some time
tomorrow for they are keen to return home. It would seem they had
been tracking this Kyros for over a year and wish to return to
see how Nyrond fairs in their absence."
With that Veshper grasped Helden's hand firmly and bade him
goodnight.
Kyros spent the rest of the night deep in the books, but he
felt excited and it was difficult to concentrate. He was familiar
with general survial techniques, but the abilities of woodcraft
were newer to him. And when a jar of red henna was brought him,
it was Kyros who set about trimming his locks and colouring his
hair, and Helden who looked back at him from a bronze mirror.
Kyros ... Helden felt slightly different this time.
This was a disguise he would never remove, not at the end of the
day, not ever. Helden stared at himself for a while into the
night, to get used to the new face, as if he was looking at
himself for the very first time.
In his meditation time, he seemed to sense Olidammara's approval
- was he not a god who granted his followers the special ability
to change their own appearance? He contemplated whether he should
reveal the truth to his present companions: would they be feel
hurt and betrayed if they finally discover the truth, seeing as
they had only last night discovered his ugly past?Or would they
understand the necessity of the situation? In the end, he
decided, it would be inmpossible to hide it now that his magical
hat was gone, and they needed to know anyway. The time for
keeping such secrets from his friends, as Kyros had done, was
over - that was not Helden's way!