The Prelate's War Chapter Six b

AN: Eh heh heh heh....gomen nasai, long time no update. But...um...this chapter is REALLY long, in my standards...it's like a story in itself, which it is...Midii/Trowa/Odin's background. You'll see the reason for Midii's somewhat hostile greeting towards Trowa...*crooked grin* God this took such a long time...blech. Stupid flashbacks...God!! Not again!!! (well...not for a long time, anyway)

Light lime, you have been warned!

Midii was mildly surprised as she saw the long, twisting line of hire-swords that waited in the courtyard, milling about restlessly as the sun beat upon the open courtyard. There were men of all walks and vocation: men in assassin's black, blood-sworn crimson, and even kan'ju priests' rippling gold. Then there were plainly dressed mercenaries such as herself, clothed in a simple cape and cured leather armor with a sword sheathed at the waist and probably a few dozen daggers secured in various places on the body. There were a few women too, she noted, thin, spare of flesh, and most almost as sexless as the blade they carried. They had the look of an acrobat's starved body and hawk-like features and for a moment, Midii felt a twinge of self-consciousness. She was as out of place here as a wildflower amongst a field of crabgrass.

Then the moment passed and she shrugged mentally, leaning against one of the sun-baked walls. If she stood out, more the better. Amongst these fierce warriors, any small advantage was to her benefit. Besides, beneath the delicate bloom of the rose always lay the thorns; she was trained to do this, so do this she would.

A heavy metal gong silenced the murmur of the crowd and all eyes turned up to the slightly raised pedestal, anticipation filling the air with heady expectancy. Midii also raised her head, silver eyes impassive as she gazed into the face of the hated military leader of the Mid-Lands, the High Commanding officer of the Imperial Army: Kale'el Barton. He had the characteristic ice green eyes and proud, molded face that was cold with intelligence and cruelty. His mahogany brown hair was pulled away from his face, falling down his back in one neat sheen with glass beads woven intermittently into the strands so that they sparkled and blazed like molten gold when the sunlight hit them.

Beautiful man, Midii noted objectively, But then, the crystal snake is beautiful too, until you feel the bite of its poison fangs.

Slowly, almost as if he was already judging every mercenary's worth then and there, he looked over the assembled swordsmen, his lips thin and humorless, eyes searching. It seemed as if those around her hardly breathed when his gaze passed over them, as if they were all held in thrall by this man and even Midii stood up a little straighter under his scrutiny. A powerful man, no doubt. She understood now why so many men died so eagerly for him.

The Barton charm, she thought sardonically, waiting for him to begin speaking.

"Sword-children." His voice was low, mesmerizing and almost against her will, Midii looked up with more interest in her eyes, "Children of blood and tears; from the far districts of the Isengard Lair to the natives of Vala'kai itself; I welcome you!" There was a sea of murmurs that rose and peaked before dying into silence again. "You have come for the glory, the honor of becoming a warrior in the Imperial Army. Today, and the days to come for a week, you will be tested beyond whatever you have possibly known, pitted against each other to fight for that honor. Some will die. The battlefield shall spill with a crimson tide from the wounded, the dead. That is war. Prepare yourself for it! Those of you that survive...you will be judged."

His serpentine eyes lit briefly over the assemblage once again and his voice bolder, harsher, "The tests shall begin tomorrow. You will fight your peers in singles and in packs; in this trial, there are two things you may trust: your sword, yourself. Anything that breathes, they are potential enemies. Trust no one! There are no rules in this game. Live and you will stay alive. Die and no one will mourn you. There can be only the best!" He smiled with brittle satisfaction and with a flick of his robe, turned neatly on his heel and walked back through the door in which he came. Slowly, the mercenaries glanced at each other warily, suspiciously, as if they already expected each other of foul play.

Not an unfounded suspicion to be sure; there would be more than one assassination tonight. The pressure at her back increased slightly and a warning tingle that had often served her well traced her spine. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a young man leaning at the wall not far from her. His long bangs cast a rippling shadow over a large portion of his face and from this angle, Midii couldn't see him well. He was tall, very tall, but it seemed as if he had yet to grow into his lanky frame although he moved with a sort of odd grace. She glanced at him curiously; there was an aura of competency about him. He seemed a shadow-like wraith that moved with all the power and silence of a panther and watched all about him with cool, diffident arrogance.

As if he felt her scrutiny, he turned his head slightly, and she saw that he had the brightest, pure emerald eyes. Her heart gave a lurch as he stood up and began walking towards her but she didn't move, merely watched his approach with bold, unafraid silver eyes. He stopped several paces from her, his gaze moving over her face carefully before he held out a long-fingered hand in greeting.

"Hello."

Midii raised her eyebrow but inclined her head in acknowledgement. Her hands remained folded across her chest.

Undaunted, he continued quietly, "I am called Trowa. And you?" He had the richest baritone that she had ever heard. It seemed as inviting as warm velvet against her senses, sending pleasant tingles down her back.

"Shibai," She replied huskily. "Shibai Hitori."

"You are of the outer districts then." When he saw the suspicious glance that she gave him, a faint smile drifted across his impassive features. "Your accent and your name."

She compressed her lips, then glanced as the rest of the group slowly filtered into a large pastureland where they would be required to tent. Ignoring the tall man (damn him for making her so uneasy!) she slipped around his larger form and made for the camping grounds when she felt the touch of fingers against her shoulders.

"I meant no offense."

She looked back at him levelly, "None did I take."

"Sa." Silence stretched between them until finally, Trowa shrugged once, dropping his hand from her shoulder and jerked his chin towards the pasture. "We should go. They are setting up camp."

Midii nodded casually but her gray eyes were slightly narrowed and her fingers twitched lightly before stilling at her side. A sliver of warning swept through her senses, cautioning her not to get involved with this man; no matter his courteous, friendly manner, this unknown Trowa was dangerous. She knew this as firmly as she knew her own name.

"Agreed." She slid her eyes briefly to a relatively secluded section at the edge of the bustling camp, a place shrouded by the gray-green of deep foliage and wild growth that would be ample protection against unwary lurkers. "Bed down, I will there. Trust them," she couldn't keep the contempt from flashing over her features. "I do not."

She smiled once in a brittle, perfunctory way and he inclined his head thoughtfully, lifting his fingers to signal that she proceed him. Her smile, never genuine to begin with, faltered, then faded entirely from her face. "Ask I did not for company."

"Company unasked for is perhaps the best company," He quoted softly, then lifted a shoulder in a simple shrug. "I have no great love for our comrades-in-arms either. I do not wish a knife down my throat in my sleep."

"And if my knife it is you find against your throat?"

He smiled, a slight, mocking lift of his lips. "Then I will be well justified in my death."

She gritted her teeth at his arrogance, clamping her lips shut until her jaws ached before wheeling on her foot and walking away from him, leaving him to follow her swift steps. Her hands were fisted tightly at her sides and she barely kept from stomping her feet, making a decided effort to move silently as she had always done. Too hot, Midii...you're working yourself up too much. Let him underestimate you...let them all underestimate you. That will lead to arrogance and arrogance leads to defeat.

Still...

It was a while before she was able to rid the tension that made her stiff with resentment, wrestling the limbs of the trees into a protective bower until the muscles of her arms and shoulders spasmed in protest and splinters dug through her callused finger pads. Hands grasped the branches above her own, helping her pull them into the proper shape until the makeshift shelter was hidden mostly from sight by the willowy trees.

Once finished, Midii dropped to her knees, digging out some earth for a pitfire. Ringing the circle with small stones, she struck a spark, carefully feeding the blaze until a small fire snapped hungrily at the dried leaves and twigs, then eagerly went to consume the larger logs. When she finished, she found a small earthen bowl of something by her side and raised her brow in askance, glancing warily at her companion.

"Food," He replied shortly, then when she said nothing, he added, "From the central hearth. Should be safe." She saw that he held a similar bowl in his own hands, and relaxing slightly, picked up the dish. The gray porridge was unappetizing at best, some sort of fungus bits floating amidst a film of yellow oil. Midii grimaced.

"My thank but not necessary." Digging into her pack, she produced half a loaf of stale bread and a block of salted pork as well. Sitting at the opposite side of the fire, she began calmly carving a fifth of the rations away, before packing it back into her sack. She ate neatly but quickly, then settled down to wait for the morning's dawning, all the while keeping an eye out for Trowa.

He noticed her wary glance but said nothing, the fire snapping between them like hungry dragons. She dozed uneasily, lulled by the crackling of the fire, arms laid across her stomach, her knees propped up and pulled against her body to preserve any extra warmth that came her way. When something heavy and warm draped across her, she started fully awake, hand moving swiftly to the knife at her elbow as she jerked up.

Suspicious gray eyes clashed with vibrant jade green, both eyes riveted on each other's face, judging, measuring. Then he shrugged, dropping his hands from the blanket that now lay haphazardly around her as he sat back down a ways from her.

He made no explanation and no comment either when come morning, he saw the blanket folded neatly beside him, breakfast warmed in the dying embers of the fire, and Midii nowhere to be seen.

***

The days were endless flurries of combat and battle and after the first day, all of Midii's concentration narrowed only into three commands: attack, parry, disarm. She hardly remembered how many men she went up against, only knew that at the end, she remained alive, swaying slightly on her feet, her arms aching abominably. It was a grueling experience, but no worse than her training...except that it never ended.

Day after day after day, there was only the same and as more people were eliminated or judged unworthy, the testing period became longer and longer, stretching on the fifth day from pre-dawn to after the midnight bell had tolled. Her arms were runneled with spatters of blood and long, thin slices; some that went from the back of her wrists to above her shoulderblade. Luckily most were merely scratch wounds, hardly deep enough to matter. Her face now sported a clean cut that ran from her forehead to her temple where she had dodged a hairsbreadth too slow from the edge of a lancet, but even that pain had dulled for the most part.

Midii rolled her shoulders wearily until she felt her bone joints crack, releasing some of the tension in her back, then settled against a tree, not even bothering to get out her trail rations; she felt too tired to eat. She laid out her weapons in the order that she would need them, sword at her elbow, then heavy dagger, all the way to her throwing knives last near her knees. Tripwires were staked across the camp, to alert her of any unwelcome visitors, but she wasn't going to take any chances; the last time had been too close a shave for comfort. The assassin had been almost on top of her before she had woken. Trowa had been warned of them, so there was no reason he would be accidentally snared in one of the traps.

He was a strange one, Trowa, but she had slowly become used to his presence in her camp. He spoke little and when he did, never for any great length of time, and only on mundane topics. That was fine; Midii did not wish to talk either. Instead, he seemed content to watch her, lending a helping hand, albeit unasked for, when the situation permitted it.

Sometimes in the middle of combat, she saw Trowa watching behind the judges before disappearing when she had finished. Sometimes she did not, but that didn't penetrate much into her mind either. Dimly from time to time, she thought it strange to think that she had never heard his name called for combat arena but always before she could dwell too much on that thought, she found herself stepping into the encircled sand-pit, saluting the judges with her blood encrusted sword. Her whole focus was on staying away from the sharp edged daggers and poison-tipped stilettos; the rest was secondary in importance. Every night when she went back to their campsite, he made no comment about the day's work; possibly because he was equally tired. But somehow, that didn't seem the case. More like that he was politely avoiding an unsavory topic...or perhaps because by the time she came back, she was ready to collapse from fatigue and in no mood for petty conversation.

As a matter of fact, she noted that he had not come back to camp that night and concluded that he had probably found her reticence unnerving and had left for better company. That was not a bad thing. She still didn't know whether she could trust the quiet, contemplative warrior. But it was unsettling, perhaps disappointing, that he had so little courage to face her; especially since this was the night before the last day of combat. He had been there since their first meeting and she was somewhat surprised to see that the fire had not been lit when she had come back.

Ah well. There was little time enough to think of aught else but the next battle and she had sensed that he was not one easily killed by an opponent. Whatever the reason he was not here, it was not hers to worry of.

Glancing at the sky, she murmured, "One more day; Inshala take mercy on my soul. One more day and all this will be over." She chuckled, a little sourly as she rested her head against the rough pillow of the tree bark, "That is, if I make it that long."

***

Absently, she tied on the last of her bandages, making sure her leather armor was well-fit and mended. Her sleek blonde hair, once past shoulder-length, was hacked off just beneath her earlobes, a precaution she had decided to take the night before. Long hair was a massive nuisance and almost a fatal one when the hairband she wore had broken in the middle of one of her battles, tumbling free to swing into her eyes and blind her. Today, she would take no chances. She would not jeopardize her mission on a case of vanity.

She sighed, her knee joints cracking as she stood fully on her feet. She was as ready as she could make herself. For a second, she considered taking the crushed ril in her pack to keep her andrenaline flow and spirit up but just as quickly rejected the idea. She would win this on her own strength on not that of some drug! Midii Une was stronger than that.

The sound of quiet steps was muffled against the dewy grass and somehow, she wasn't surprised to see her tall, green-eyed stranger standing before her, watching her final preparations.

"Warrior." She greeted, barely sparing him a glance. There was her knife to be checked, her dagger sheathes were a bit worn but still fine, her sword she would hold bare today, the leather wrap would only hamper her movements.

"Mercenary," was the rejoinder. There was a pause. "You are still alive," The faintly surprised note in his voice made Midii glance up sharply, tensing, hands dropping instinctively towards her hidden blades.

"Ah." She acknowledged warily. "Seems so." For the moment.

A smile of amusement. "I wish you luck facing your next opponent." He held a long-fingered hand toward her, much as he had done the first time they had met.

Midii's glance wavered between the outstretched hand and the inscrutable expression he wore on his face as the suspicion that she thought was gone rose into her heart again. Sheka! What is the damned man up to? Contact poison on his fingers? No...he has no gloves on...I don't believe he would be willing to kill himself in order to get rid of me. Perhaps a resistant to it? His eyebrows raised challengingly as he saw her hesitation and she narrowed her eyes in response, her lips tightening into a single white line.

Damn the man...Grudgingly, she accepted his salute, letting his fingers lock loosely about her wrist, palm touching hers. His hand was warm and pleasantly rough against her own callus-striped fingers and he held the traditional handshake a few seconds more than he needed to. She felt a tingle go up her spine, not unpleasing; more like the feeling of crystal resonating through her veins until her whole body vibrated with awareness. Midii's breath caught sharply in her throat; she had never had a reaction to anyone else like this before...

His sharp eyes seemed to stare through her, catching her unspoken thoughts for suddenly, before she had a chance to react, his arms shot forward and she found herself embraced fully against his lean length, his face pressed into her neck. He held her like that for a moment before releasing her so abruptly that she wanted to stagger against the embrace of the willow tree.

"Fight well," He added diffidently, and almost as if he was carried away on the wings of the wind, he turned on his heel and was gone before she had a chance to respond. "You have my favor."

What in the Seven Circles of Istall's Shadow Lands was that!? Midii's mind worked under delayed reaction, exploding in indignant fury, demanding recompense in the form of a certain tall warrior's head. Unfortunately, he had already left, and her body was still in a state of melted nerves so it took her a while to realize vaguely that her mouth was still hanging open in an 'o' of dazed surprise.

She clenched her jaw shut, color flaming through her fair cheeks. How dare he?! Her mood considerably soured, she tightened her knife sheath, expression turning downright black. Whoever her opponent was today, he had better be prepared to face her...she had just acquired some major frustration that needed a new outlet.

***

Midii stalked onto the sidelines, her brows drawn as she glanced at the remaining warriors, their numbers considerably lessened than when she had arrived on the first day. There was a stillness about the scene, as if no one dared to move from their rooted position, all eyes fixed stoically on the raised dais where High Commander Kale'el stood motionless, his cold gaze hovering over the assembled men and women. The wind blew from the south and west seemed only to agitate the tense silence into a fevered pitch; even the soft murmur was reminiscent of the muted growl of a lioness bunching its hind legs to spring.

"You have done well." Midii's eyes widened imperceptibly at the cool approval she heard in Kale'el's cutting voice. "You who have passed this trial, are worthy of becoming the Sixteenth Unit of the Imperial Army, designated by its Captain as Kas'even-ra, the RavenWing-Guard." He gestured curtly towards the man at his back and Midii shifted her gaze slightly, her eyes cold and calculating. He was swathed completely in midnight, from the loose silk of his tunic and pants to the hardened leather armor that he wore. Tiny black diamond studs dotted the seams of his clothes and held the fastenings close on his gurka, a hooded vestment that hung low across his forehead and swathed across his high cheekbones.

He didn't seem to acknowledge Kale'el's gesture towards him, or anything in fact, only stared forward with an almost arrogant disdain. Prob'ly he's young enough to think he's immortal to the Shadow Lover's dance, Midii thought cynically, But what do you tell these kind of people when Noirell taps his quill against the Book of Judgement?

Dismissing the man completely from her mind, she shifted her attention back to Kale'el as he continued his speech. "The Guard has been chosen, but the test is not yet complete. The Captain is chosen. The Guard is chosen. Now, all that remains is to see who is worthy of being the second-in-command to this company and that will be decided by battle as well."

He threw his hands wide, fingers outstretched over the assemblage as his ringing tones reverberated across the clearing like clear chapel bells. "You shall all of a chance, but it is not among yourselves you will fight, but against the pack-leader, against your Captain! The first man who cuts the gurka from his shoulders shall have the honor, but," He stressed the word until it became almost a sibilant hiss, "you will spill none of his blood! On the pain of death," Kale'el added humorlessly, his cruel crystal eyes as cold as peridots. "Begin! First challenger, Milak Orl'ren!"

The man was good Midii gave him that. He had a right to his conceit for he wielded his blade as if it was an extension of his arm. He was as graceful and as quick as a dancer and it seemed that his sable clad feet barely touched the dirt floor of the arena as he spun, dodged, and parried with consummate skill and ease. Man after man was disarmed within the first few minutes of the fight and Midii felt her grudging admiration for him increase.

He had to be getting tired. The sheer amount of opponents that were thrown his way should have seen to that. And yet, if anything, he seemed to become more energized as the day wore on, as if he was becoming frustrated by the lack of a good fight and becoming even more overbearing in his abilities.

Oh well, better for me, Midii thought as she began to warm up. Half-healed scars pulled stiffly and twinged in protest but she ignored them, brutally limbering up every part of her body to minimize the possibility of cramping. The more arrogant he is now, the more he'll underestimate me when the time comes, which is what I want. Young pup...someone needs to teach him a lesson. She winced as another would-be challenger went flying against the wall, slumping over in unconsciousness, Of course, I might not be the one that can do that...

Finally, Kale'el glanced at the list, impatience and disgust apparent in his stony face as he barked coldly, "Challenger Hitori, Shibai! Enter!"

Midii nodded curtly, rising to her feet. Her hands instinctively smoothed over her hidden dagger sheathes and knives before she unhooked her sword from her sash, feeling the bumps and ridges of the hilt fit exactly into the callus ridges of her fingers. She heard snickers sweep across the onlookers and willed her face into an emotionless mask even though two spots of anger burned high on her cheeks.

"Oh lookie, the girl-child thinks she's a warrior..."

"Foolish...A woman's place by the hearth."

"Heh...wouldn't mind if she warmed my hearth..."

Warmed his-he did not just...I should kill him! She almost pivoted on her heel to walk over and slam his head against the ground but she controlled the urge with a barely concealed snarl, her head going low between her shoulders as she tried to ignore them. I need to kill something-no must keep head cool. Another catcall whooped through the air and she drew her breath through her teeth in a hiss. When I am finished with this...you...will...die...

Dropping her cloak from her shoulders she stalked into the arena, brusquely squaring her shoulders to bow stiffly towards the black-garbed man before taking a passive guard stance. There was a small snort (of amusement??) from her opponent before he inclined his head towards her, moving into his own stance and Midii was more determined than ever to earn the position of second-in-command. She would be lying if she said it was only so that she could be in a position to learn more information to pass back to the Sanq, though that was true. No...she would prove to these fumble-fingered idiots that a mere female was more than a match for them!

This had just gotten personal.

He struck quickly, sword levering low between her arms as if to flip the blade out of her hand and end the bout immediately but Midii growled, parrying the blow. She dislodged her sword from his and launched herself forward in a series of lightning strikes that snaked first high across his face as if to cut away the gurka then flashed across his torso instead, forcing him to back a couple of steps. She never stopped testing his defense, ruthlessly pushing him back against the edges of the arena although he blocked all of her blows and was able to return more than a few that left scratches across the pale silk of her skin.

Small beads of blood broke across her skin from the feather-light touches of his blade and Midii had the infuriating idea that this man was toying with her as a cat would a mouse. And that made her angry as nothing else could. Throwing all restrictions into the wind, she fought as she had been trained to, her body unconsciously falling back into the rhythm of an assassin's stealth and a spymaster's spryness. Dimly, with some surprise, she found that she had cleared the long-knife from her belt, using it automatically to defend as her sword sought to tear a hole through his almost perfect guard.

He was backed up against the wall, having almost no place to go and Midii grinned triumphantly, knife spinning lazily in one hand before she dove for him...

...Only to find her blade imbedded to the hilt into the clay slab of wall where he had been.

Sheka! Where is he-up??! Instinctively Midii threw herself aside as a shadow descended from above, the one place where she had not anticipated an attack coming from and she tumbled aside, her sword clattering a ways away from her. That's crazy! No one can jump that high!

Scrambling to her feet, she yanked at the cord that bound her dagger sheathes close and the tiny dart-like Wasps flew into her hands, each one fitting neatly between her fingers as she half-crouched expectantly, her breath rasping in and out of her lungs in painful pants. This is bad...this is very bad.

Long-range weapons gone with only ten tiny Golden Wasps at her disposal...Midii muttered a curse under her breath. If only she could get to her boot-knife...

"Do you yield?" Kale'el's voice resounded over the roar of blood in Midii's ears and she nearly spat on the ground contemptuously. In Istall's Hells I will! Sanq warriors do not surrender!

She merely contented herself with a growl, her eyes never leaving her opponent as they circled one another, "NO!"

As if her words had been the impetus, he lunged at her and she had no option but to dodge his attacks, daggers useless against his relentless assault. Inshala...what am I going to do? I can't stop his sword; his reach is longer. I can't attack him directly

Wait a moment, why couldn't she attack him directly? The rules only said that she couldn't spill his blood...it didn't say anything about not hurting him, did it? After all, he deserved it...he had been hurting her all this bedamned time! Well...it's worth a try. What are they going to do...kill me?

She flung all her daggers away except for one, clutching the thin blade as she faced him, guessing that he would try to charge her again. She was not disappointed. Her body tensed, putting the weight on the balls of her feet as she shifted slightly as if to brace herself against his attack with her left, leading foot. Come on...just a little bit more...a little bit closer...

He stepped within her arm grasp.

I can't jump as high as you, so I'll opt for this instead! Her body collapsed like a building of sticks and she twisted until she was almost sitting on the ground, just underneath the swing of his sword, her right arm raised slightly. He couldn't stop in time to avoid her; the momentum of his forward propulsion was too great and he stumbled, the first time he had done so in any match.

Gotcha little bird! She grinned , her outstretched hand clasping onto his wrist and her nails dug hard into his tendons. The sword dropped out of his suddenly numb fingers and before he had a chance to recover, she brought her left elbow up to slam against his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. Her blade flashed up, and she heard the tearing of the dagger through cloth just as she sprang free, stumbling back a few paces.

She couldn't stop a grin of feral victory from spreading across her chapped lips, causing them to crack and bleed, but she didn't notice, seeing the twin pieces of sable cloth laying in the dust as the gurka came free of his shoulders, flapping noisily in the breeze. His head remained low as he got up, bowing slowly to her and she bowed in return, more relieved than she wished to admit. This had not been easy.

"The match is finished! Show your face to your troops, Captain!" Kale'el ordered and slowly, the stranger raised his head as he stood, tall and unyielding. Midii's one remaining dagger slipped through her fingers, clattering to the dust.

"Sheka..."

***

Midii had lost her characteristic cool.

She knew it for sure when she found herself slamming her fist against the wall of her new bedroom. Unfortunately, it did not resound with the force of her blow; the thick tapestries that strung across the bare stone only pleasantly muffled the sound. Conversely, that did nothing to appease her anger and she gave in to purely emotional urges and raised her other fist to repeat that motion.

Whack.

Pain shot through her hands from her bruised knuckles but she welcomed it...well, welcomed it except for the throbbing sensation in her arms. But it detracted a little from her shame, so she felt no qualms about trying to break her hand on the wall yet again. She was furious with herself; she should have damn well known better when a tall green-eyed man had so cavalierly waltzed into her camp as easily and surely as if he had a right to be there. Should have known for sure when had added that cryptic remark of having his favor. In spite of knowing that he hid something, that something was not quite right about this particular young man, she felt ridiculously betrayed by his close-mouthed deceit.

Trowa-the-slightly-eccentric-stranger was no other than Trowa Barton of the family of those insane bastards!! Oh wasn't she lucky...she had gotten his favor!

"Istall damn him and his favor to the Seventh Circle of everlasting perdition!" Midii hissed roundly. She tried to raise her hands for another boxing round with the wall, but they refused to cooperate, limp and slightly numb as they were. She snarled and stepped back to raise her foot instead, aiming for a particularly worn part of the tapestry. Briefly, she wondered if some other frustrated person before her had found indulgence against pitting himself against the granite barrier as well. It certainly looked like that particular section of tapestry had seen many a scuffle, judging by the many boot prints on its cloth surface.

Before she could let her heel fly, a calm voice remarked behind her, "I wouldn't do that. You might need your foot to walk tomorrow. My uncle is throwing a parade in the Company's honor." She whirled around to face him, silently cursing his muted entrance as her silver eyes stormed angrily at him, even as she thinned her lips into a mutinous white line.

So it's my uncle now, is it? Midii thought wrathfully but she composed her face into a stony expression, as revealing as the wall behind her. "Yes, Captain." She bit off coldly, standing with back stiffly straight as if lined against a plank.

He raised his eyebrow, closing the door behind him as he regarded her cautiously as one would regard a potentially dangerous criminal. Well wasn't she? Midii snorted quietly to herself, as she glared beyond him to sear the wooden door with her gaze. Being a double agent for a neighboring country probably listed very high amongst one of their potential crimes punishable by death, but of course an ordinary mercenary like her was no such thing, eh?

"Your position doesn't suit your tastes? I had thought that this was what you wanted."

"It does, sir." Midii replied shortly.

"Then maybe it's the wall you find trouble with? Or you just don't like the room?"

"Neither, sir."

If anything, his eyebrow rose higher. "I...see. And since, from my observation, you aren't one to kick walls for no reason, I assume you are disgruntled because...?"

"Of reason, there is none, Captain." Midii answered stiffly, wondering where this interrogation was going. For the most part, she had gotten her anger under control so that it barely simmered in the bland dove-gray of her eyes. She hadn't gotten this facet of her job down perfectly but it served well enough, covering her emotions in a blanket of polite disinterest. He saw through it in an instant.

"You lie."

And he is allowed to speak of lying?? But she said nothing as he walked closer, his emerald eyes scrutinizing her blank face and a flicker of disappointment crossed his face.

"As your commanding officer, I need to know that you, as my second in command, will always be truthful with me, Shibai."

"When already know the truth, you do, sir?" Midii asked, rather more sharply than she intended.

"Especially then."

"Very well." Midii took a deep breath then hissed viciously, "A Barton, you are, not common mercenary as led to believe I was!"

"I never said as much," Trowa pointed out calmly. Midii wished she could have kicked him.

"Presume, I did. Stupid of me." Her eyes narrowed into wintery slits. "The time after, presume as much I will not, Captain."

"Good."

The calm smile on his face left her feeling as if she had been outwitted at some point but if she was, she neither cared nor wanted to know when or how it had come about. Instead, she turned about abruptly, snatching the bandages and ointment from her open carisak and flinging them both down on the small table top with unnecessary force. She pulled off her gloves to reveal the cyclone blue and green of a bruise already starting along the line of her knuckles and began to smear the bruise-balm across her skin.

"For a reason, did you come, Captain?" Her voice was brisk, business-like as she felt rather than saw him sit into the chair adjacent to hers, his eyes still studying her intently.

"To see if your wounds-" Midii scoffed, glancing at him scornfully and a small smile drifted across his face again, "No...I suppose those were only mere scratches to you."

"Insignificant." Midii averred coldly. "What business? Like, I do not, these idle hands."

"It seems that your hands have not been all that idle," Trowa returned dryly, then spread a sheaf of parchment across the table, sliding it towards her along with a silver insignia. "This is your contract, a list of your duties and obligations to me, not the Mid-Lands. Those oaths you will swear in tomorrow's ceremony. This," He tapped the ornament with a finger, "is a seal of your rank and standing in the Imperial Army. Wear it proudly and don't dishonor it."

Dishonor it? Like taking this information back to the Sanq Kingdom? Midii thought with a twinge of guilt. But she brushed it off, remembering the brutality and carnage she had seen when on patrol of the border cities. New-made orphans looking up at her with dead, stark eyes. The scent of burning corpses under the hot, dry sun...If this lie be on my head, so be it...if it may save the others.

Curtly, she grabbed at a quill and inkpot to sign the document but Trowa held up a hand, "Shibai...this is an oath-fasting. It requires...more...than just ink."

Midii tightened her lips. An oath-fasting was something more than just a contract, it was a bond by blood. Not even these Mid-Land bastards took such a thing lightly...In the Sanq, oaths bound by blood were second only to those to the Gods. Blood to keep, blood ever-binding, that was the law that transcended national boundaries. But how could she keep true to the blood-word she had given to her country and still keep her word in this?

Impossible. But the guilt on her soul was hers to bear.

Without giving it a second thought, she slid the dagger from her sleeve and drew it across her right forefinger, watching as the wine-red rivulets of blood seeped down to pool into her palm. It shimmered coldly, as if mocking her duplicity, jeering her with the warped, refracting images it threw back at her. She dipped the feather quickly in the red liquid and without looking, quickly signed her name. She dipped her thumb in the blood and pressed it against the vellum, feeling droplets seep into the paper.

"There, done it is." She pushed the document back at Trowa, toweling her hands off roughly, scrubbing her palm of any sign of her deceit. She felt...soiled, ashamed of herself. Pushing to her feet, she walked over to her window to brace her hands on the sill as she stared blindly at the bustling city below her, filled with hawking merchants and yelling children, guardsmen and fishwives. Her enemies...and yet now, also her responsibilities.

"You may go anywhere you wish in the city today, Shibai," Trowa said from behind her, "Just wear your rank visibly at all times."
"Ah. I believe I will, Captain." She murmured automatically and after a while, heard the scrape of the closing wooden door against the stone floor. Once she was sure that he was gone, she dropped her head, her fingers wrapping around her arms. "Damn...I was prepared to be a deceiver...now you would make me an oathbreaker as well, Trowa Barton?"

***

For the months afterwards, Midii, along with the rest of the Company, drilled relentlessly, honing their skills to a swords edge until Midii felt that she had been born with a blade in her hand. It was a disconcerting feeling when she knew by name the men she trained with, called greetings to them every rising. She tried not to get too attached, but such intimacy was inevitable when dealing with a unit as small as Kas'even-ra. It began to feel...almost...like a family.

Midii pushed that disturbing thought from her mind as she walked briskly down the streets of Vala'kai, only absently letting a wary eye skim the marketplace for any danger. But people kept a respectful distance away, bowing slightly when they saw the silver crest that she wore upon her cloak. It seemed that an officer of any rank in the Imperial Army was treated with an almost reverent awe; upon entering the tavern, the bartender that had once given her stale beer hastened to bring out the best wines in her presence, almost anxiously fawning over her until she dismissed him with a curt word. This hero-worship annoyed her.

"Well lass, seems t'me that ye 'ave moved up in th'world."

Midii glanced up as a familiar shadow blocked the meager light that was coming from the cloudy-glassed window, and a grin played around her mouth as she leapt to her feet, pounding Odin on the back enthusiastically in greeting.

"Rapscallion ," She shot back, shoving him into the adjoining seat, "Been a long time, it has, Odin Lowe! Get away sooner, I tried to, but taken up my time has training and duties." She looked critically up and down at him as he helped himself to a glass of wine, "Not bad do you look either. A little worn around the edges. Slept, have you not?"

Odin grinned crookedly, "Heh. When I be not worryin' for ye. Almost wanted t'march up t'the palace an'pound on yer door from time t'time. Ye've been gone long. Kept on 'avin these feelin's that ye were in trouble or somethin' like that, but seems t'me that ye've passed wi'flyin colors."

"Difficult it was," Midii sighed quietly, "Repeat it, I would not. Not for the world on a silver platter." Abruptly, she changed the subject, leaning forward intently, "Letters do you have for me from my mother? Miss her, I do," She added innocuously, just in case anyone was listening.

"Aye, actually," Odin pulled out a stained envelope from his breast pocket, slightly torn in one corner but otherwise intact. He slid the correspondence towards her and leaned back in his chair as she reached for it, slipping it into the front of her tunic after she read the terse message. Birds, when kept in the dark, grow restless. Light will help them grow strong and prosper. "How's th'military life settin' wi'ye, Shibai?

Expected, as well as can be," She replied, taking her mind off the two lines. Lady Une had not even bothered with formal greeting or sentimentality; not that Midii was surprised. But still... "Not bad are the men...after one or two beatings they received by my hand. Tiring sometimes though..." Her voice slipped into a whisper, "the pretense."

"They be mercenaries, Shibai." Odin warned, "An' no matter how much ye like 'em, a leopard canna hide its spots; most of em would sell ther mum's soul fer a sack a'gold. Ye should'na waste yer guilt on them. T'is all a war game to them...to all warriors like them."

Midii glanced at him sharply, retorting softly for his ears only, "In this Sanq, true this is not. Chosen for honor and skill are all our warriors. Few traitors there are, if any; loyalty to the Prelate Kilan is unwavering amongst her guards and her people."

"Yeah?" Odin's voice was a torn between disbelief and a wistful rumble as he lifted his glass to his lips again, taking a deep drink as if to try to wash the bitterness from his mouth. "P'raps I'll go wi'ye t'the Kingdom when ye leave an'see how true that is. One sickens of lies n'shadows an' tha's all ye shall find in th'Mid-Lands. That an'the smell a'blood. Ev'rywhere. S'a stink that ye canna get rid of, no matter how far away from th'battlefield you run. S'like a disease tha's spread throughout th'lands."

Midii glanced at him, her gray eyes softening into something resembling compassion, "When leave I do, come with me you shall. And prove I will that these words at least are not lies, even though surround myself with them I have."

"Ah, I'll keep ye to yer word, lass. Now," He glanced around them, his slouched position masking the alert caution that made his eyes bright and wary. "Ye better be goin'. Don't be trusting anyone, Shibai."

"Take your advice to heart, I will," Midii murmured, rising to her feet. "Have care, my friend. Like I do, your head on your shoulders, not hanging from the gallows." She clasped his hand briefly in hers before moving away, her black cloak flapping soundlessly at her back as she stepped back into the streaming sunlight, her head high and step firm.

She never looked behind to see the man rise from the table, quietly slipping out a back entrance.

***

You went to the ayamid today, Shibai?"

Midii threw a startled glance at the waiting man in her room as she entered the door, tossing the cloak negligently onto the bed.

"Captain," She greeted, sitting on the edge of the bed. She began to pull off her uncomfortable boots as she asked questioningly, "Should not you be at the Tactical Meeting?"

Trowa grimaced, "No, thank you. I don't agree with their campaign tactics and the Kas'even-ra will not engage in that kind of battle. I will not throw away my men and resources to raze a civilian village."

Midii nodded briefly. She had learned that Trowa Barton was not like other Mid-Land commanders. He had a code of honor that he abided by, thinking of his men and responsibilities before thinking of his own personal comfort. He was a ruthless leader, perfecting every person's skills until it reached its highest capabilities, but he was also a kind leader as well, which was rare. He would never ask any man to do what he himself was not willing to do. It was that honor that had earned him Midii's respect and cautious trust; she was more than grateful that he was her Captain.

Sometimes, he reminded her of the officers she had served under in the Sanq army, conscientious and honorable...but she would never forget that he was capable of deceit if he wanted to. Not even the intervening months could erase the memory of his deception.

"Ah." She nodded simply in understanding, leaning forward until her elbows rested on her knees. "Another argument did you have with the High Commander?"

Trowa smiled wearily, "Another argument." He repeated, "How little that says. It is like saying that a stablemaster will get a little angry if you steal one of the Mid-Land war stallions. Or that the winds that blow across the Dashva Plains are mere breezes."

Midii winced. "That bad?"

"Worse. There are times when I believe that-" Trowa checked himself abruptly, snapping his jaws close as if on the verge of realizing that he had been about to reveal too much. His face went suddenly and very carefully emotionless as he regarded her with restless, contemplative green eyes and she gazed back at him steadily, knowing that he was looking for any sign of disloyalty in her expression, for any sign of guilt or unease.

It was only to be expected actually; the Imperial Palace was a web of shadows beneath shadows, politics made up of meaningless words and vicious power plays. For all he knew, she could have easily been a plant from one of his rivals, maybe even his own uncle, to make sure that he stayed loyal to the Mid-Lands. His scrutiny lasted for a few minutes. Then he broke his gaze, a rueful laugh escaping from his lips. It had a rusty quality to it, as if he hadn't laughed in a long time, which was a pity. He did have a nice laugh.

"There is so much conspiracy within these walls that now, I see everything as a part of it." Midii said nothing, only raised her eyebrow in an invitation to speak. "The High Commanders have become so immersed in war and blood sport that they cannot see that the Mid-Lands are falling to the dust, right beneath their nose. Our people are dying, Shibai...and all they can think of is to conquer new lands. And what then? Have the senile old fools thought about how we will feed and clothe the people of these new territories? And still they conscript more men from the fields, fumble-fingered plowboys thrown to the front lines with little or no battle training. Idiots!"

Midii's eyes widened. "Careful, Captain" She cautioned quickly, "Treasonous, you words can be interpreted as." And the walls have ears. That warning didn't need to be said; everyone who set foot in the palace knew that fact as well as the next.

"Treasonous?" Trowa asked bitterly, "And what of our broken promises to the people of this empire?"

"Quiet!" Midii hissed, alarm making her snappish. "Foolish man! Think only of these things in the privacy of your mind. Say nothing aloud!"

Trowa smiled wryly, leaning back into the throwback of his chair, his features settled into the lines of brooding. "Silence is what caused this to happen in the first place. People drunken on power, craving for more as an addict does, take advantage of it. And then, things all go out of contro-"

Damn...Swiftly, Midii crossed the room, unsheathing her knife. In one quick movement, she had it pressed against the vulnerable point where Trowa's neck and chin joined, causing him to abruptly stop speaking.

"Quiet." She emphasized her low warning with a slight pressure of her blade, a thin line of blood slipping down the silver-edged knife where the skin had parted. "Speak too much, you do, Trowa. The wisest is he who speaks least and watches all."

Trowa looked up at her with unafraid emerald eyes, his face devoid of expression. "So, you were sent to spy on me. Who was it? Uncle Kale'el? The Generals?" Midii snorted in disgust, whipping her knife away from his neck as she turned away, flicking into the spring-sheathe at her belt.

"Nooo...." She twisted her words sarcastically so that he wouldn't know the truth in her derisive drawl as she tossed herself back onto her cot. "Sent I was by Prelate Kilan of course. Come I have from the Sanq Kingdom to spy on you and the Mid-Lands, because, of course, so resemble do I those pacifists." Midii blessed the fact that the Outlanders always underestimated those that came from Sanq when she heard Trowa's amused snort, telling her that he didn't buy it in the least bit. To reinforce his misconception, she snapped, "If truly a spy I was from the High Commander, let you I would, run that stupid tongue of yours and carry word back to him like his faithful bitch." She stretched out on the bed, feeling a few joints pop loudly. "Maybe I should. Lucrative, it would be." She smirked evilly at him and he laughed a little, relaxing slightly.

"Greedy," He muttered, his eyes were half-lidded as he folded his fingers in front of him.

"Of course. Mercenary I am," Midii countered coolly.

"Really?" There was a hint of a smile in Trowa's voice, "Mercenaries don't have honor. Then why have I...why do I trust you?"

Midii's blood ran cold. Trust? Since when had that come about? She didn't want him to trust her fully...she didn't want to trust him fully. It would just make her betrayal later all more painful for both of them. Ties of faith were not supposed to happen; this was supposed to be a simple mission with a simple objective...she had obviously miscalculated on one point. Humanity for one...and emotions. She cursed silently as she stared up blindly at the ceiling, hands folded beneath her head.

"No answer, Shibai?"

"One," She replied, more brusquely then she had intended. "Because foolish, you obviously are. As I have said." She turned her back to him, ignoring his chuckle.

***

As his second-in-command, Midii learned to know Trowa better than most people as he often came to her for advice and sometimes, simply company. She was unaccountably pleased by that attention, and his trust, doing everything in her power to ensure that it was not an unfounded faith. So far, she had been able to balance out both of her loyalties since the Mid-Lands had made no offensive move. But things were changing swiftly; a year had passed and there was a smell of blood in the air.

Her Company-mates were eager for real battle, wanting to test their sharp blades against more than straw dolls in dull practice fields and Midii couldn't blame them. There was a sense of restlessness that became apparent as tempers grew short and provocation grew easier. It worried Midii. When the men were ready to move like that, it usually meant that something was about to begin, that assignments were soon to be handed out.

She was almost afraid of what the unit would be assigned to do...no...she was terrified. When the time came, would she have to ride with them to level a poor border village? To massacre and kill...? Midii swallowed queasily and shook her head. Fighting well-seasoned, battle-ready men was one thing; she had trained to do that all her life. Senseless slaughter was something else altogether, something that all of Midii's upbringing rebelled against. After all, these were people, civilians...how could they defend against a fully trained mercenary company?

Trowa seemed of the same mind, thankfully. His long discussions with Kale'el and his refusal to use the Kas'even-ra in that way had, for now, kept the company from the slaughter fields. But Kale'el was growing angry with his nephew's obstinacy, even the palace fools could see that, and Midii had no doubt that sooner or later, (sooner, she privately thought) they would be sent on a raid as a 'test' to see how well they worked together.

Fine test, Midii thought bitterly, when so many must die for it...

The door suddenly slammed open and Midii's heart gave an unexpected lurch, especially when she saw the angry heat that spread across Trowa's fair skin. She didn't need him to tell her that her guess had been dead on the mark.

"So," She said softly, more to herself than to him, "it begins."

Trowa nodded curtly, barely contained fury leashed in his turbid eyes, so bright that they gleamed emerald. "We leave in a week. North to attack the Semni Village in the Sanq Border."

Midii's stomach dropped into her feet. "In the Sanq Kingdom?" She whispered hoarsely. "But pacifists they are! What threat are they?"

"None." Trowa bit off the word like an epithet, "But my uncle believes that I have grown soft and I need an easy conquest, a victory that will assure the rest of the war council that I am worthy of the honor of being Captain of this Company." He paused momentarily. "It will be a slaughter, of course." There was a slight strain in his voice, but he had gotten a semblance of control back into his demeanor as he sat back in his seat. "Tell me, my second, why the Council would order such an action to be done."

Midii was asking herself the same thing as she sat down numbly beside him, her bone of her knuckles shone white against her skin as she dug her nails into her palms. She felt him gently but firmly loosened her clenched hands, sliding his long, warm fingers into her palm before intertwining with hers. There was reassurance in that touch, as if that link represented the last bit of sanity there was in the world. Maybe it was. Maybe the world had gone insane around them.

"Impossible..." Midii murmured incredulously.

"You shouldn't be surprised," Trowa told her, "It will not be the first time when the army is deployed in a show of strength against other nations. They must be reminded, must the not? Of their own mortality and the Mid-Lands strength. That is as it always has been."

Midii almost pulled her hand from his, appalled by his brutality, but he tightened his grip until she felt bruises start to form where his fingers pressed. His gaze sparkled challengingly as he asked coldly, "Would you do it, Shibai? If I ordered you to kill helpless men and women in order to prove the strength of the Mid-Lands, would you lead Kas'even-ra to butcher a town full of innocent people?"

Her face was blank as she considered the question but her mind spun frantically. It was on the tip of her tongue to say 'yes'; was that the answer he wanted? There was a dark gleam in his eye that told her that this interrogation was more than that, that it was yet another test of some sort, but to prove what? Her loyalty? She had given every impression of loyalty within the year that she had been his second in command; the secret letters that she sent back to her mother spoke only of the government in general, of things that she would have known sooner or later. She had not yet needed to break her oath to Trowa although the one to the Mid-Lands might have been broken long ago. She had not yet needed to do anything that would harm Kas'even-ra.

Would she need to now?

The question demanded an answer which, Midii knew, would be an important part of how Trowa regarded her from this point on. Yes or no, which one did he expect? Yes was the most obvious answer; it was the answer that any true mercenary would have given without a thought...but it wasn't true. Briefly, a thought flashed through her mind, of something that he had said once before; 'As your commanding officer, I need to know that you, as my second in command, will always be truthful with me, Shibai' Did he mean that? Midii closed her eyes for a second, then opened them, the gray of her eyes lightened to an ash color. Inshala...let this be the right answer....

"I would not."

His green eyes were intense, clashing with the gray of hers as they locked gazes in a battle of wills. Then suddenly, the tenseness in his face loosened and his deathgrip relaxed. He brought her hand up, pressing his lips against the back of her fingers, making her shiver before he said softly, "Thank you."

"Why?" Midii's eyes were wide and he looked up, an incredibly beautiful smile tracing his thin lips as he pulled her closer.

"For justifying my faith in your honor...and you." His lips touched hers, a kiss that slowly deepened in an exploration of taste and texture as his arms wrapped against her tightly. Vaguely Midii knew that she should call it off. Knew that this, if anything, would endanger the mission more than any other thing she had ever done. Then there was no wish to think at all.

The sky had darkened to dusky reds streaked with violet as twilight replaced the heat of the day. Absently, Midii could feel the feather-light touch of Trowa's fingers against her arms, slowly tracing the white lines of old scars and smiled softly, leaning back against his chest. The beat of his heart drummed comfortingly beneath her ear, in tandem with each slow, steady breath that filled his lungs. She felt so alive, as if each sense had been sharpened so each feeling, every taste, scent, was curiously distinct and detached from the rest.

He shifted slightly behind her, his lips coming to touch her bare shoulder, making her skin leap. "You were a long time learning the trade of a mercenary, weren't you?"

Midii stiffened slightly. Why did he have to ruin such a wonderful communion with that topic? Once again, memories of her betrayal, her duplicity, assailed her, and her cheeks flamed as she ducked her head, ashamed at herself and the lies that she had told. And she felt even worse knowing that she would continue to tell those lies in spite of everything She bit her lip, closing her eyes tightly as she imagined the battle that would take place once she returned the information to her mother. Instead of a helpless village, the Kas'even-ra would arrive to find an army against them.

Would she have to kill Trowa?

"No choice I had in my trade," Midii said softly, more to herself than to him, "It was forced upon me. I had no choice." She was silent for a while, listening to his even breathing before she asked hesitantly, "What of the Semni Village? What will you do?"

Trowa sighed heavily, stirring wisps of hair to drift gently across her forehead and eyes. Gently, almost tenderly, he brushed them back, smoothing the ash-blond strands behind her ear. "The Kas'even-ra isn't going."

Midii jerked her head around, eyes flaring wide. "What?"

An amused smile lifted Trowa's lips and a brief spark of humor touched his brilliant eyes. "You sound surprised, Shibai. I thought you knew me better than that."

"Kill you, your uncle will!" Shibai sat up, holding the coverlet across her breasts as she stared down at her lover. "Tolerate your insubordination, he will not! Not so soon after the last time! You can't-"

"And what should I do then?" Trowa countered. He shook his head, laughing lightly, bitterly, "Cursed if I do, cursed if I don't; the Gods must be laughing, Shibai. It is such a joke. And my uncle? Oh, he will say that I have a duty to my people, that I must serve the Mid-Lands...but nothing in my oaths say anything about murder." There was such an expression of determination in his face that Midii knew that he was completely serious, that he would literally die for what he believed in. That realization put her in a bit of a panic and when she tried to analyze why, she got a nasty shock.

She had gone and fallen in love with him.

It was a stupid thing to do and she knew it. A mercenary, much less a spy, did not go and compromise her position by letting her emotions get in the way; she wasn't supposed to feel anything for this foreigner, only loyalty to her country. But that was exactly what she had done. How stupid could she be??

"Shibai?" She felt his long arms curl around her waist, moving down her own tense arms as he pulled her into his chest. "There is no reason to be distressed. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Midii queried harshly, "Truly, do you? Your death warrant do you sign!"

"I know." His calm acceptance momentarily robbed her of speech as he continued firmly, "But I have had the honor training the Kas'even-ra and that of being its Captain. I have little regrets in this life." His voice was warm as he added, "And then, I have met you. And that, I think, is enough."

Midii closed her eyes briefly, coming to a quick conclusion. "And if I am not all I seem to be?"

His action was swift, almost violent as he shoved away from her, springing out of the cot to back up one or two steps. Her Malrik, once harsh and cracked, had become accentless, completely flawless in pronunciation or grammar. His green eyes narrowed in confusion and the dawning of anger as he stared at her as if she had suddenly become a serpent in his bed, fangs bared and poisonous.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you?"

Midii swallowed hard; she might very well die for this. She kept her eyes shuttered, not wanting to see the trust in his face turn to hate. "A spy, as you first thought I was. But not for Kale'el...I spoke the truth when I said once that I was sent by Prelate Kilan to ferret information back to the Sanq."

"You spoke in jest..." Hurt laced with rage deepened his voice, making it harsh. "You lied to me!"

Midii shook her head, clenching her fists. "I am who I said; I merely did not say all who I am." When he did not respond, she added achingly, "I know that I broke my oaths to the Mid-Lands, but I broke no promises to you or the Kas'even-ra, even though I could have."

"You could have," Trowa said harshly, "but it was on the trust that you would not that you were made my second-in-command!" Fingers bit into the skin of her shoulders, and suddenly she felt him shaking her until she opened her eyes, wet with unshed tears. "How could you do this to the Mid-Lands...to me!" Accusation was taut in every line of his face, mistrust darkening his eyes until they were almost black. She had never seen him this angry before and he shook her again until she felt as if her head would come loose from her neck, but she didn't fight him; she had known he would react like this if he ever found out. Loyalty for loyalty, that was what he believed in. To betray that confidence...

"I told you, I had no choice!' Midii cried back, "The Mid-Lands were killing my people! I...had...to!"

He turned away as if he couldn't bear the sight of her, raking his fingers into his hair. "Why are you telling me this now?" He demanded, "Because you want me to spare the village? Do you think that because you are from that country, I will be more merciful towards them?"

"No." Midii whispered. "It is because I don't want to see you die." He stared at her for a second, then crossed the room in one long stride, sweeping her up in his arms. If his kiss was a little more punishing than before, Midii didn't complain.

***

'My contact and I will meet you in the alley behind the Red Fox's Tavern at twilight. Be careful, Trowa. Make sure no one sees you leaving the palace.

Midii shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, restlessly waiting for Trowa to show up. Beside her, Odin was equally nervous, eyes flicking uneasily to and fro in the darkness, bare knives held in his hands. The wind keened bitterly, pushing through even Midii's heavy cloak and tunic but she didn't mind, lost in thought as she was. She couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that something was wrong, especially since Trowa was so late. Before she had left, she had given him the warning and meeting time and place, only to be met with his inscrutable gaze and low mutter.

But then again, as the time of their departure for the Sanq had drawn closer, he had withdrawn from the previous closeness that they had shared. Sometimes, she saw the skepticism in the quick, sharp, glances he threw at her and her heart ached. It would take time before he would be able to trust her again...a long time. But she prayed that he believed her this time at least...because she didn't know what to do if he didn't.

"Ye are sure that he will be here, lass?" Odin's voice was low in her ear, echoing Midii's own misgivings, but she pushed them away, her face set.

"Yes," she whispered back, "I trust him."

"If ye are sure..." Odin glanced at her doubtfully, "But I dinna understand. Why would ye trust yer life in th'hands of a Barton?"

"I believe that no matter the name, there is an essential goodness in everyone. He has a code of honor, Odin, and I would trust him to guard my back, as I would trust you." There was a tacit reminder in Midii's voice as she subtly reminded him that he too had once born the name of Barton as well, even though those days were long past. "People change, Odin...don't you think?"

"Sometimes," Odin agreed pensively. Before he could say more, Midii held up a hand, catching the flash of stark gray tunics and crimson sashes. "Odin...who are they?" She asked softly, watching them approach. "They're the same gang I saw when I first got here."

Odin turned his head, then cursed heavily, "That ain't just any gang, Shibai. Those be th'Bartons bunch a'bully boys. They make sure tha'all who live in Vala-kai bow before their word an' stop anyone from breathin' a word otherwise. If they be here...hope they be not after us, lass." He squared his shoulders then, rising to his full height as he demanded belligerently, "What be ye scamps doin 'ere after dark? Canna ye see we be after some privacy?"

The leader didn't take the bait, even though the youngsters stopped in their tracks at the mouth of the alley. "Shibai Hitori?" Midii's breath caught, telling them all they needed to know. A long, wicked blade flashed out, gleaming like oil in the moonlight. "Trowa Barton sends his regards."

She had almost died that night when a dagger had plunged into her breast, narrowly missing the heart. The pain had been so great that unconsciousness had stolen across her senses. When she next awoke, she found herself tied to the back a horse, racing across the Mid-Land countryside towards the northern border. If it hadn't been for Odin, she would have surely died, weak with blood loss and near crossing the thin line towards insanity. Trowa had betrayed her...it had taken so long for her to accept that fact, and not long after for her pain to turn into a killing rage.

She had learned her lesson well that night, on the opposite end of a killing blade: never trust your enemy. Never. It was not a lesson that she would soon forget.

"Shibai..." His voice was a mere whisper on the wind, breaking through the tense silence and Midii smiled cruelly.

"What, do you think you see a ghost, Trowa Barton? I'm real blood and flesh." Her voice hissed from between her teeth. "Why are you here?"

Trowa stiffened, letting his arms drop to his sides, his expression turning distant. "I left the Mid-Lands...soon after. My uncle told me that they had discovered that you were a spy and had you killed."

Her traitorous heart gave a lurching thud, guilty pleasure thrilling through her veins, but Midii mentally stamped it to death, her face hardening into a mask of hatred. She glared coldly, gleaming malevolence turning her eyes molten silver as she clenched her fists, unable to believe that he thought her so stupid...and unable to believe that she so very much wanted to trust his words even though she knew he lied. Quietly, furiously, she replied, "With a word and a kiss, you made me a whore. Then you twisted my trust and ordered my death. I was foolish, but I am no longer so naïve as to trust in the word of a Barton!" She spat into the grass, as if to rid herself of the vile taste of the word and abruptly, turned on a heel, rapidly walking back towards the mansion.

"Where are you going?" His voice was still calm, sounding reasonable with the reassuring lilt that seemed to imply that he was harmless and trustworthy. But she knew better. Trowa Barton was as trustworthy as a crystal snake waiting to strike.

"Back," Midii snapped, "You are the traitor in our midst."

"Really?" Now Trowa's voice turned cold, like the icy winds of the Far Northern country where temperatures dropped well below freezing and where men who ventured forth in a blizzard could find themselves frozen motionless in their tracks. Certainly it stopped Midii in her tracks. "Don't be foolish. If you reveal that, the delegation from the Sanq Kingdom will leave. The alliance will be doomed. But," He taunted mockingly, "that would be exactly what I want. So please, go in with your accusations. It will be amusing to see my uncle's army rout this country first, then go on to the Sanq Kingdom. Is that what you want?"

Midii's fingers clenched into fists to keep from grasping a hold of her twin knives...she positively ached...yearned to. Instead, she glanced at him, for a second, her true emotions coming to the surface: anger, helplessness...and something else. Then her eyes froze again into cold fury. A single word whispered past her lips, filled with anguished accusation.

"Oathbreaker..."

A brief expression of pain flitted across his face. "Shibai"

"No." Midii turned away, her head lifted to the ever-so blue skies as she rejected his words. "I am Midii Une, warrior of the Sanq Kingdom. I am not she. Shibai Hitori lies dead in that filthy alley back in Vala-kai...and you killed her."

tbc........

AN: YATTA!!!!!!!! *ducks as readers pelt her with rotten tomatoes* Er....gomen nasai! GOMEN! *nervously* A...um...little character torture was needed, ne? -_-;; No one said this would be a happy fic!! *wince* oh...I should not have said that. *readers glower* Well, you expected who the traitor was, ne? More than half of you thought it was Trowa...so no big surprise, ne? o.O Trowa, save me!!!! *dives behind the tall Latin pilot.*

Trowa: *glares*

Midii: *glares* I say we let her get what she deserves.

Trowa: Hn.

*Both walk away*

Sable: Eh heh heh...oi...^^;;

Index for Sanq Words:

Gaku: a man's over robe. It is about mid-thigh length with long slits up the sides to make for easier movement. This is usually a favored form of dress because in the loose material, one can hide a great many things, including knives, daggers, or stolen goods.

Ayamid: marketplace

Harika: powerful hallucinogen

Surku: a light intoxicant

Kan'ju: this word is basically a shortened slang version of kanharan junta, which is a sect of battle priests that worship Kanryu. They believe that the highest honor is to die on the battlefield, which makes them ideal for suicide runners in an army.

Sa: I see.

Sheka: a curse, something like the four letter words that regularly punctuate our own diction ^~

I promise to get back to 1xR and a little 2xH next chapter because truthfully, I am SOOOOOO sick of Trowa and Midii right now. BLAH!! After writing twenty+ pages about them......GAH!!!!!!!! No more! Not for a long while! *mutters*

lol...^^ feel free to criticize, it helps me figure out what I'm doing wrong and fix it, which is important to me! Sometimes, a good critique is better than praise.

Thanks for all your reviews guys! ^^ And to all my readers, arigato for your support!