A/N: Whoops. I realized last night after I'd gotten off the internet that I had totally skipped out on y'all and forgotten to post this! I know, I'm evil to make you wait two weeks and then not post this when I said I would(even if I only made you wait one more day). So, my apologies for being late, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!


Sleep did not come easily for Rosto the Piper. It had been three weeks since his departure from Corus, and half a day since he had met the Tusaine Rogue on the battlefield. The Tusaine Rogue was almost his exact opposite. He was a short Carthaki who kept his black hair close-cropped. He had not been pleased that Rosto had actually shown up. He had been hoping to be able to continue to work his way through Tortall until one of his assassins could kill Rosto and take the throne.

The way the other Rogue had talked had made Rosto nervous – his constant threats had gotten vulgar after he had failed to get a rise out of Rosto. But, it wasn't just nerves that were keeping Rosto awake. His mind was far away, back in Corus. He couldn't help but wonder what was going on there. He wished he knew what was happening, and if his friends were doing alright. Mainly, though, his thoughts were on Beka. It had surprised him that she had let him kiss her, and that she hadn't slugged him. He could remember what she had said the last time, when she had, in fact, punched him. Maybe she wasn't as resistant to his affections as she made it seem. The sparkle in her eyes after the kiss, the briefest flash of fear when he had told her that he and Aniki were leaving for this war – she did care, at least. Maybe more than she had let on. Maybe, did she feel the same as he did? That was another reason he had to make it through this battle. He needed to know, because he loved her. He needed to know if she loved him, too.

As the dawn's light filtered in, Rosto sighed, pulling his loose blond hair into a neat horsetail. He put his shirt on and carefully placed his daggers. That was followed by some light leather armor – it was all he had; all he had had time to get before rushing off to this calamity waiting to happen. He knew there was a battle coming. There was no way of avoiding it. He was going to have to be ready. Rosto fingered the crystal disk pendant before buckling his sword onto his belt. The dance had begun.


Around him, the battle raged. Rushers fell on either side of him, dying from blows their opponents dealt them. Rosto himself was injured, but there was no way out of the battle. His sword flashed through the air in front of him, felling the Tusaine rusher who failed to bring his own sword up in time.

His next challenger moved forward before the last had even fallen. Rosto brought his blade up to block the other man's only to have it wrenched from his grasp by the blow. He moved away, just out of the sword's reach and pulled a dagger from its sheath. With a flick of his wrist, it flew through the air, hitting the man in the chest.

An explosion shook the ground, throwing Rosto, and most of the others around him, to the dirt.

"Rosto!" He jerked his head up at the sound of his name over the pandemonium. It was Aniki who was calling him. He was on his feet with the dagger in his hand again in seconds. He stooped to pick up his sword as he passed. She called again, and it was followed by the clash of metal against metal. When he finally caught sight of her, she was dueling three rushers at once. Aniki was one of the best swordswomen in the world, but she was not good enough to hold off three good rushers at once for long.

Rosto dodged through the fights in progress and raced toward his friend. Just as one of the rushers had an opening, Rosto thrust his sword in the way. Metal clanged and the rusher was taken aback by the fact that someone had actually stopped him. While Rosto fought off his opponent, Aniki took both of the others down. His opponent fell, but suddenly, Aniki and Rosto were surround by more rushers. Panting, the King of the Rogue looked at his Queen.

"This doesn't look good," he said quietly. Aniki's blue eyes met his night-black ones.

"No, it doesn't," she replied, slashing at a rusher who came too close.

Rosto ducked under a blade, bringing his own up. Once more, metal clashed against metal. In time, he began to lose himself to the battle. He began to realize that the motions of the mêlée were beautiful, in their own way. While he was fighting for his life, an eerie calm fell over him. There was more than the battle. He and Aniki realized it as they moved. In all things, there was a dance. It was strange how they had never noticed before. But as they fought, the power of the idea hit them. They were just the dancers, and their life was the dance.Even when one of the dancers fell, the dance still went on. The dance was life itself, with its many twists and turns. Everything was the dance. Everything was.

Rosto whirled, bringing his blade up again. The Tusaine Rogue stood in front of him, blade raised, dark eyes glittering dangerously. With a sneer, he drove his blade toward Rosto, who dodged it easily. Rosto brought his blade down on the other Rogue's and twisted, trying to disarm the other man. Instead, his own sword went flying once more when the Carthaki countered the move and turned it back on him.

Rosto leaped back out of the way of the other sword, looking around for his own before drawing a dagger. When the other Rogue slashed at his throat, Rosto ducked and kicked his legs from under him. His opponent fell, then twisted, knocking Rosto off his feet. Rosto flicked a dagger from a sheath, and with another flick of his wrist, sent it at the Tusaine Rogue. It flew wide, leaving Rosto without a defense. His dark brown eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet and looked for the sword that had been knocked from his grasp. He ducked another slash from the other Rogue and dove for the hilt. Even as his hand closed around the hilt and he brought the sword up, it was too late. The other man had brought his sword up and slashed at Rosto. The blade scored through the little armor he wore and sliced into his chest. Rosto fell with a low groan and the Tusaine Rogue moved on, his opponent defeated…

A last thought lingered in Rosto's mind as he slipped to unconsciousness. His promise to Beka. He was breaking it now. Her name echoed on his lips as he was enveloped by sweet blackness.


A/N: I know, I'm in trouble. But trust me, it was completely necessary, and it's probably not as bad as you think. The next (and last) part will be up in a week.

Posted 7/26/08