Next in the challenge is "D" for disguise. Disguises can be achieved in various ways. Trellier used magic in the Tear Stone Collectors to hide his dragon form. Unless he chose to reveal his true self, all anyone saw was tall, thin man, a scholar who was totally unskilled in the handling of weapons. In reality, his abilities wish a sword were impressive, more so when supplemented by dragon strength.
In Dragon Destiny, Anastasia donned the physical disguise of a teen-age boy so that she could attend the Ceoltier Guild. The disguise was necessary because only men could study there. Both masters and students knew Anastasia's true gender, but didn't care. Anastasia, or Stosh, her cover identity, was one of them.
From Windmaster,another type of disguise, misdirection both physical and mental. Captain Ellspeth and Lord Dal are out of supplies. The storekeep couldn't get their order ready until morning and a decision had to be made whether to spend the night or continue on. The inn meant shelter for the night, a hot meal, and respite from the frantic run across the countryside. As part of their disguise, Dal dressed in the armor of his mercenary days, while Ellspeth wore the clothes and slave chain of his captured concubine. Dal's physical presence precluded any of the tavern's patrons from asking too many questions. Until the fanatic cleric who wanted to kill them strode into the room and arrogantly demanded to hire Dal. And have the services of his woman for the night.
But Ellspeth's disguise was more than pretending to be a concubine. There was a persona, a projection of what the world expected to see. She didn't rely on her own skills, or those she learned from her mother. Dal's mother helped with the outfit and physical appearance.In between sips of caffa, Ellspeth continued her inspection of the tavern’s other patrons. The sense of being stared at was overwhelming. Eyes seemed to claw at her clothes. She steeled herself to endure it. Despite the fact the low-cut blue dress she had changed into at their last meal break did not reveal much more than her usual garb of breeches and vest, she could not fight the feeling of being exposed. Her skin crawled at a sudden realization. As Dal’s slave, she could not refuse any man’s advances.
I hope Dal’s right, that no sane person would test the mercenary he appears to be.
But an armed drunk might, came the insidious answer from her fear.
Her eyes still downcast as appropriate to her station, Ellspeth opened her eyelids just enough to scrutinize the other occupants. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Danger! Instinct drew her eyes to the staircase on the far wall. There! He is the source. A cleric in the long brown robes of the Oracle of Givneh plodded down the steps into her line of vision. Ellspeth’s breath caught in her throat. He was the same man who had tried to take Sea Falcon—to kill her crew.
“Dal,” she hissed, “he’s the one from the dock.”
Ellspeth’s thoughts raced. If she stayed, the cleric would recognize her. If she tried to leave, it would bring his attention to her even faster.
Dal’s strong arms wrapped around her waist. Ellspeth’s squeal as he pulled her onto his lap pierced the buzz of conversation and bounced off the rafters. His strength rendered her struggles useless. One of the men with his arms around a disheveled woman called out encouragement. Before she could object, Dal’s mouth covered hers. His right hand held the back of her head in a steel grip. Before her lungs were depleted of air, he released her just enough to catch a breath. The whiff of oxygen helped clear Ellspeth’s mind—and focus her thoughts. The cleric couldn’t recognize her if he couldn’t see her face.
Ellspeth tightened her leg muscles so her weight was supported by the edge of the bench rather than Dal’s knees. His exhalation was warm on her neck when he whispered, “Good girl,” into her hair.
She entwined her fingers into his thick curls. A pull signaled her cooperation, and she threw herself into the deception. Three quick tugs loosened the laces of his shirt exposing his chest. With a shrug, she inched her gown further down her shoulders. The iron links of Dal’s vest were cold on her skin as her caresses moved down his back.
I hope you enjoyed this visit to the world of Windmaster.Ellspeth calculated how fast she could draw her weapon. Eilidh had showed her how to pull the narrow dagger from its leg sheath. Ellspeth prayed the hilt of the blade would not catch on the seam since she had never actually used the slit hidden in a fold of the gown’s full skirt.
“Go way,” Dal growled, “off duty.”“Do you know who you’re talking to? I am Gille Erim, Third Bishop of the Oracle.
“Don’ care. My orders are to disappear for a month. This woman is mine! Bought and paid for. And I plan on gittin’ what I paid for.”
The bishop’s indignant stutter broke off when the heavy trestle top clunked to the floor mere inches from his toes.
Ellspeth found herself hefted into the air in the same lithe movement Dal used to kick over the table. He rose and stepped around the obstruction. Fists pounded on tables and laughter resounded from the low ceiling as he draped her over his shoulder, her hair hanging down almost to the floor. Swift strides took him to the stairs. “Fearguis,” he yelled in a voice guaranteed to be heard above the clamor of a battlefield, “send our food upstairs.”
Ellspeth peered through tresses, now black at Eilidh’s suggestion, as they swung in time to Dal’s steps. What kind of woman is Dal’s mother? Not even my mother is as skilled in the arts of concealment and disguise.
~till next time, Helen
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