Death Comes To All (Book 1) by Travis Kerr

attempting to take a wagon down
the track. As they walked he considered the background Malik had
fabricated, both for himself and for Drom. Raine, now Tara, didn't
seem to have a new background, however she had changed her looks
enough that anyone who hadn't seen her change wouldn't be able to
recognize her. She acted no differently than she had since he first
joined them; that is to say she rarely talked and when she did what
she had to say was generally short and to the point. Her overall
attitude at least seemed better now that she had eaten the night
before. As long as she had regular meals she was almost pleasant to
be around, if a little blunt.
    From
time to time Drom spotted Trick as he flitted from tree to tree above
them. The little dragonling would be almost impossible to see if he
hadn't known where to look for it. Drom would have thought the
colorful animal would have stood out against the green foliage, like
it had during the hunt the evening before, but it seemed to be quite
capable of blending in when it didn't want to be noticed.
    "You
shouldn't watch him like that," Tara observed. "Should
anyone pass by and see you looking up like that it will naturally
draw their eye in that direction, to see what you are looking at. It
would defeat the purpose if others noticed him."
    "Sorry,"
he replied sheepishly. From that point on he made certain to keep his
eyes firmly at ground level, alternating between scanning the road in
front of him and the trees to either side of him. A guard would be
watching the surroundings, keeping alert for any surprises. If anyone
saw him, he wanted to act his part as best he could. Drom thought for
sure that anyone paying attention would surely see through his
disguise. The sword constantly banged uncomfortably against his thigh
as he walked, and he had to adjust it constantly.
    Nothing
and no one appeared that day, though Drom watched diligently. The
group didn't stop until nearly sundown, by which time he had started
hoping someone would appear, just to break up the monotony of the
day. His two companions barely said a single word.
    The
pace they set was rugged. Not as bad as one they had set the day
before, but certainly more than Drom was used to. Drom suspected that
this was the normal pace for them. The day before they had moved
faster to stay ahead of the guard. Now that they no longer looked
like the people the guards would be looking for, they didn't feel the
need to rush. Still, the pace was difficult for Drom to keep up with.
He could match it, but he knew it would take him a while to get used
to the constant, hard travel.
    When
they finally stopped for the night Drom was already exhausted. His
day, however, was not yet over. While Tara prepared a small fire for
their campsite, Malik left them at their makeshift campsite, looking
for wood of a different kind than the firewood Tara collected. In a
few moments he returned with two stout sticks, perhaps two inches
thick and nearly four feet long. He tossed one of them to Drom.
    "While
Tara gets dinner ready for her and I, I'll begin your instruction.
Tomorrow will be a shorter day, so you’ll have time to gather
wild greens to cook yourself a hot meal. For tonight, you'll have to
deal with a couple of oranges.
    “Now,
before I can teach you how to attack or defend yourself with a sword,
you'll need to learn how to hold one. Hold the stick out in front of
you as if it was a sword. Let it rest between your thumb and your
index finger. Grip mostly with the index finger and your middle
finger, leaving the last two fingers on your hand loose. Like this,"
Malik showed him using his own stick, his little finger putting
almost no pressure at all on the makeshift weapon.
    Drom
tried to copy the grip on the stick he had been handed, though Malik
had to adjust his grip slightly. It felt as if the wood only floated
in his hand.
    Surely
such an insecure grip can't block or attack without me losing my
hold , he thought.
    "Wouldn't
I get a