Ties of Loyalty
By The Unseen Watcher
Disclaimer: I do hereby deny all ownership of Rurouni Kenshin and all the characters therein. It belongs to Watsuki-sama and whoever else can claim it legally. However, I make few apologies for my version of events, seeing as how anyone who actually takes this seriously needs a major reality check and some therapy. It took a while just to get up the nerve to write. Asking me to turn back now would be rather mean.
Chapter 5
------------------------
The next morning, scouts were sent out to survey the area, looking for signs of the passage of their elusive target. A man had been sent out at dawn to gather reinforcements for their depleted ranks. He'd been more than happy to leave.
On the edge of the trees encircling their camp, unseen eyes surveyed the searchers' movements. Unfortunately, he had not arrived in time to notice the departure of the messenger.
Barely an hour into their search, two of the men heard a yell of surprise. They rushed toward the source of the commotion, making a lot of noise as they forced their way through the thick underbrush.
They couldn't find him until they thought to look down. There was a natural gully leading around a stand of trees. At the bottom of it sat their missing cohort, his face pale and his left foot held firmly in the wooden jaws of an animal trap. From the blood that seeped between the teeth of the thing and the angle of his leg, it was obvious that it was broken.
The two men shook their heads. Only a complete baka would fall for something set for a wild animal. Irritated by the delay and letting the injured man know it by the taunts they threw at him, they easily opened the trap. Two more men arrived at the commotion, and it was decided that one would help the fool back to camp. The man, in pain and feeling rather resentful, hobbled away while leaning heavily on the man that supported him.
Thinking nothing of the incident other than the random stupidity of a moron, the three moved on with their task.
Down the trail, Smith witnessed the two men's retreat, and spat in disgust. # I feel like we're in the middle of the most inept game of hide and seek in the history of the world! # he groused. # We're ALL it and there's only one guy to find.#
Spencer spoke up from a few feet away, scanning the woods as he did so. # Except when you're found, you don't have the option of home base.# he added, his voice devoid of humor.
Smith threw him a sour look, and resignedly trudged ahead.
*
The first scouts accident was only the beginning. More things the foreigners labeled as 'inconvenient' or 'coincidence' started to pop up.
A large tree branch that had been mysteriously bent back suddenly whipped out just as a man was passing, hitting him full in the chest. A pile of fallen logs that looked like they had been brought down in a windstorm became a tumbling slide of timber without warning, leaving one man with a battered body and a broken leg. It soon seemed that cries of surprise were trying to replace birdsong as the most frequent noise in the area.
By the time they stopped for the day, only four of the seven men under Hiroshi's command were able to sit up without assistance. It didn't help the solidity of the camp that their employers openly blamed it on their clumsiness and incompetence. Growing resentment against the arrogant invaders of their previously routine existence nearly caused the whole group to split apart altogether. It was only the threats and promises of Hiroshi, along with the fear of being shot in the back, that persuaded them to move on.
Thanksfully, before the sun had set the man sent to bring reinforcements was back, bringing two dozen fresh men with him. This cheered everyone up immensely, and watches were set with lighter hearts.
The camp had just settled when there was a terrified scream. Nerves that had just begun to unwind, tightened instantly. There was a rush to see what was going on, and a man was found cowering away from his sleep roll. After some poking, they found a snake had somehow found its way into the warm cloth. One man, born and bred in the country, identified it as a rat snake; completely harmless. The owner of the bed, who was city-bred, grumbled above the jeers about the barbaric countryside. This set off a fight between the two men, ending only when Hiroshi rushed over and broke it up.
The incident set off a chain reaction as nerves still wound from the day transferred into short tempers and petty quarreling.
*
At the inner camp around their fire, Spencer looked up, his expression bored. # I wish that lot would shut up. Some of us want to get a bit of rest before tomorrow. #
#Too bad SOME of us won't get any rest either way with the way you roar in the night, Spence.# Smith said sarcastically from his bedroll on the other side of the fire. His already short temper had quickly deteriorated and now he sniped at anyone within range. Spencer ignored him as usual, which didn't help matters. The two Germans ignored the both of them.
So it was that two disgruntled and divided groups made it through the night.
**
At dawn, scouts again spread out, looking for signs and watching their feet. Lack of sleep had not improved the general mood.
Spencer noted that Schmidt was again missing. Schuster shrugged. # He has his own vays.# he said in answer to the looks thrown his way. # He vill go off by himself and you von't see him till he vants you to.#
#Well that's just peachy. # Smith muttered, casting furtive looks around him. #I would kinda like to know where the cold-blooded SOB is, 24-7. The space between my shoulder blades itches when that guy's out of sight.#
Schuster smirked, his eyes alight with ghoulish amusement. #Vhy? Have you done somesing to offend him?#
Smith answered with a distracted glare and turned away, muttering about foreigners.
*
Meanwhile, a scout named Ichiro was following a small forest trail he had happened upon. It wound faintly through several stands of trees. Several minutes had passed since he had seen another person, and the silence and feeling of exposure was making him edgy. It was just his luck to be in sight when the recruiter had come back to headquarters for 'volunteers'. He could be in Kyoto right now, relaxing with his friends at their favorite bar. Instead, he was hiking around the Haunted Mountain, chasing the eccentric hermit that was rumored to live on it. The number of fatalities he had heard about and the wounded that groaned in camp wasn't helping his confidence level either. Still, it was certain death if he defied a yakuza boss.
However, he was beginning to wonder if the chance of the swift one he'd get back home would be better than the fate he might face out here.
He was brought out of his gloomy reflections as his eyes caught sight of the partial indentation of a heel pressed into the moist soil of the trail. Grinning at his discovery, he called back toward where he thought the others were, turning as he shouted.
A coil of some sort of vine caught his eyes as it dropped past him to land with a dull thump in front of him on the forest floor. He had just enough time to look down at it in puzzlement before it twitched toward him. In one quick movement it tightened around his ankles, snapping his legs together and revealing itself to be a length of rope, in a slipknot. His feet were abruptly pulled out from under him, his arms flailing as he desperately sought his balance, before landing on his back hard enough to blast the air from his lungs.
Through the rushing sound of blood through his ears and his own gasps for breath, he though he heard a soft whistle, and the sound of something solid hitting something else with a rather meaty smack.
There was a guttural squeal, and the unfortunate Ichiro was being pulled across the ground at impressive speed, dragged by a rather indignant porcine who had until then been enjoying a nap in the shade. Had Ichiro been able to scramble the thought to lift his head from being bounced along the forest floor, he would have noted that at the other end of his predicament was attached to a rather large, increasingly angry wild boar.
Unfortunately, he had other concerns at the moment. Bumping along heels over head, he flung his arms up in a desperate attempt to protect his face and keep from rolling over. Branches clawed at him as he was repeatedly slammed into trees and hauled through bushes as the pig wove and dodged through the underbrush. Torn again from their leafy embrace, his unwilling captor charged desperately away from all the crashing noises behind it.
Had he looked up, he might have caught a glimpse of a figure moving through the tree branches, racing ahead of them.
The boar ran, its' grunts and squeals echoing through the forest. But it wasn't confused enough not to feel the shift in the air. Lifting its snout, it sniffed loudly. Snorting, it burst through a last clump of bushes that bordered a treeless slope. Without pause, it made a sharp turn to its left, charging back into the forest, at the same time something sharp and metallic came whistling out of the trees, severing the rope cleanly in half.
The forest pig took off, but its former passenger kept going, shooting out of the woods and continuing down the rather conveniently mud-slicked incline. The ground quickly steepened under the helpless man's back. He was now bruised, battered, and disoriented. All his befuddled brain could make out was that the forest seemed to be roaring ahead of him.
He found out why when he shot over a deep ravine like a rock released from a slingshot. He had just enough time for a really good scream before he hit the water at the bottom of the falls.
*
Several of his cohorts had heard his cries, and come crashing to the scene. The first few were just in time to witness his unwilling plunge into the water. The horrified spectators were nearly shoved over the edge themselves as the latecomers jostled them from behind.
Amidst pushing and swearing, the men edged away from the sheer drop. A combination of the primitive fears of heights and drowning rose up with invisible talons to claw at their guts and shred their reserve. Screaming, they ran back toward where they'd come.
A few didn't make it back to camp, falling into various pits and snares that they had missed before in their previous caution. In their mad dash toward metaphorical safety, they weren't as careful. Each pit was angled expertly in order to maximize the possibility of broken bones. Each snare caught at their flailing limbs, or snapped ribs like twigs with the force of their release.
The ragtag group of survivors that finally descended on the camp was a mass of hysteria.
It took an hour of shouted threats and a volley of gunshots fired in the air from Smith's handguns before they calmed down enough to listen. Then they demanded to leave, the threat of rebellion looming over the campsite like a dark cloud. However, it was already near sunset, and not even the most determined would dare to venture out into the darkness to face the death trap the mountain had become.
As the light dimmed, the various trap victims that were able limped or crawled into camp. Double watches were set, the sentries twitching at the slightest rustle of leaves in the trees that now seemed to loom threateningly over the camp.
A few whispered that the swordsman was the guardian spirit of the mountain, and that not one of them would leave there alive. Hands tightened on weapons as the story traveled by word of mouth from fire to fire.
But hours passed, and nothing happened. Starting to feel a bit sheepish for jumping at shadows like children, the men settled down a bit more. Soon jokes were tossed around the fires, as men made light of their panicked reactions.
*
One man returned to his spot near a fire well away from the border of camp with water for tea. It was just what was needed to soothe away the cares of the day. Hearing the jokes, he added his own, sitting down and preparing to boil the water.
The foreigners had long ago retired, with only a few further complaints about the still absent Schmidt.
Jokes evolved into bravado as each man relaxed in the secure feeling of being near a fire, surrounded by people. The tea man took the now bubbling water off the coals, groping for the tea mix he had placed by his side. Not finding it, he was about to turn and look for it when a hand came into his vision, the tea bag outstretched. Absently thanking the owner, he set about preparing it, inhaling the aroma gratefully.
Bravado had evolved into bluster, as every man told his neighbor just what he would do to that annoying recluse once they found him in the morning. The tea was ready, and passed around the fire. Compliments were sent the first man's way for the excellent taste, which he traditionally declined.
A few minutes later, and there were calls for more, the voices of the solicitors somewhat slurred. The man blinked, reaching unsteadily for the tea bag. The fire before him shifted strangely in his sight, the outline of it blurring in and out. Frowning, he tasted the tea. Something was strange about it. "Hey, this tastes a bit like sake." He managed to get out.
"It is." A low voice said, its' calm, precise tones cutting through the scattered chatter with the precision of a surgeon. Chills went up the spines of even the most out of it among them. Heads turned, and peered at the speaker. The first man looked to his right, to the one who had given him the tea mix.
The face was shadowed by the angle of the fire, but a brief flicker of the dancing flames illuminated it for a brief instant. The darkness had reduced the bright red hair to the color of old blood, but it still seemed to glow in the light that caught its highlights. The high topknot it was currently in emphasized the shape of the face, sharpening the already narrow features and drawing attention to the large, golden eyes that glowed in the night like the orbs of a mythical dragon.
The apparition smiled, soundlessly rising from a casual crouch to his feet. The movement was so fluid that the drugged men blinked, unsure that he hadn't been standing in the first place.
The redhead slowly and dramatically slid his sword from its sheath, raising the blade to hover in front of his face, drawing the eyes of the men with it. The steel nearly touching his nose, the firelight shone along the sharp inward curve of the edge of the blade, catching the reflection of one hard amber eye.
Battousai smiled coldly, his voice soft when he spoke, though all at the fire heard it clearly. "Leave this mountain, while you can. The choice is yours. Go before it is too late." The blade shifted with a negligible flick of his wrist, causing the light to reflect brightly off its surface, briefly dazzling the gaping group. When the spots cleared, there was no one there.
*
The night was momentarily silent, save for soft murmurs and the chirping of crickets.
Then the camp erupted like a mound of disturbed ants.
*
Himura watched from the trees. Men scrambled around, most unsure of what was happening and tripping over objects and running into each other in the dim illumination of their fires and the stars. Frantically, they searched for whatever foe threatened them now.
Eventually, the camp once again settled down, save for the unfortunate group he had picked to begin the next phase of his plan. They were being reamed out by a sharp-faced man whom he had noted as the apparent leader of the locals. From his expressions, it was obvious that he didn't believe their story. The fact that they were acting quite drunk did not help their credibility. One of the men from the inner camp go up, awakened by the noise and not happy about it. Soon the two men were having a heated argument, each fingering their weapons.
Kenshin allowed himself a slight smile. The last two days had been strange. He had never really acted this way before. While it was true that the situation was not entirely alien to him, his use of strategy was. In his hitokiri days, he had been the target of many such groups out to kill him. At the time, he had gone for the quickest and most efficient way of getting rid of them. In other words, charge in headlong and slaughter the lot. He'd had neither the time nor the inclination to linger in his battles.
This situation was somewhat different. Now he had to stall for time. This game of cat and mouse had to be drawn out long enough for his master to recover somewhat. The older swordsman would NOT be pleased if Kenshin finished before he could get some of his own back.
Kenshin had no qualms about taking the hired help out, but he knew that the four foreign yarous belonged to Hiko.
His smile widened. He really was enjoying himself. True, there was a part of him that winced at the pain he was deliberately inflicting, but that was more than mollified by the outrage he still felt at their actions. They had invaded his childhood home, in his memory a fortress of solitude against the world. Worse still, they had dared to hurt the one person who had taken the trouble to protect a lost child and train him to be able to defend himself and others. A little pain was the least he wanted to hand them.
He was also surprised by how easy it was to resist the idea of killing them. He was angry, but since he was restrained from not immediately acting on it, he had time to think. The tactical mind he had used so often in up-close fights was not channeling his energies into strategy. His control Had wavered at times, a part of him wanting to abandon the shadows and charge forward. But for the most part, he was able to find a harmony between caution and battle-instinct that secretly amazed him. He had not thought such an accord between his two natures possible. His mind was not clouded with doubts. He had no need to hold back in his punishment. Killing wasn't necessary or needed. Corpses couldn't warn other fools away as well as live witnesses would.
He was also not alone in this fight. He had taken the time to talk to the sake shop owner, and the man had been more than happy to contribute to the cause, once he found out what they had done to his merchandise. He had donated several jugs of his defiled product. Drugging their tea was only the beginning of Kenshin's plans for ironic retribution with those objects. Then there was his master. Hiko would not sit idle for long, wound or no. He was a very solid backup that eased some of the tenseness Himura felt in working against the odds.
So here he was, more or less wading up to his neck in his darker side, and experiencing an exhilarating sense of freedom in the action. Killing would only ruin things. He knew this state of mind wouldn't last forever, and he wanted to be able to live with himself afterwards. The image of a smiling group of friends, particularly that of a face containing the gentle blue eyes of a fiery young woman, helped to temper his more lethal instincts even more.
Nevertheless, he had no qualms about doing some major damage to the thrill- seekers below him. He'd insure that they got a lot more than they had bargained for. Playtime was over. They now had only two choices: Leave willingly or on a stretcher.
By the time he was done, it would be generations before anyone dared set foot on this mountain again.
----------------------------
Tah-dah! I hope you like it! Don't worry. Less traps, more Hiten Mitsurugi in the next chapter. I finally have a firm grip on this story, so the next one should come a lot sooner. a mass of skeptical looks from the readers *pouts * Really! Honest! mutters I hope. Anyway, some acknowledgements are in order. Thanks again to my patient family who had to listen to my wails about being stuck for ideas repeatedly. Thanks to my #1 support and encouragement, Emiri-chan, for the fireside confrontation idea. I hope you like it. Kudos to Firefury for the sake ideas. There'll be more. Tried to find the story you recommended, but with no luck. Sorry to all you Kenshin-gumi fans, but this is a story about a master and his rather angry baka deshi taking morons apart. There are a lot of other K-gumi stories out there, and I don't intent to involve them in this particular plot-line. Still, I hope you like it. Thanks also to the movie Crocodile Dundee 2, and all those Tarzan books I read in grade school. ^_^ ;;
By The Unseen Watcher
Disclaimer: I do hereby deny all ownership of Rurouni Kenshin and all the characters therein. It belongs to Watsuki-sama and whoever else can claim it legally. However, I make few apologies for my version of events, seeing as how anyone who actually takes this seriously needs a major reality check and some therapy. It took a while just to get up the nerve to write. Asking me to turn back now would be rather mean.
Chapter 5
------------------------
The next morning, scouts were sent out to survey the area, looking for signs of the passage of their elusive target. A man had been sent out at dawn to gather reinforcements for their depleted ranks. He'd been more than happy to leave.
On the edge of the trees encircling their camp, unseen eyes surveyed the searchers' movements. Unfortunately, he had not arrived in time to notice the departure of the messenger.
Barely an hour into their search, two of the men heard a yell of surprise. They rushed toward the source of the commotion, making a lot of noise as they forced their way through the thick underbrush.
They couldn't find him until they thought to look down. There was a natural gully leading around a stand of trees. At the bottom of it sat their missing cohort, his face pale and his left foot held firmly in the wooden jaws of an animal trap. From the blood that seeped between the teeth of the thing and the angle of his leg, it was obvious that it was broken.
The two men shook their heads. Only a complete baka would fall for something set for a wild animal. Irritated by the delay and letting the injured man know it by the taunts they threw at him, they easily opened the trap. Two more men arrived at the commotion, and it was decided that one would help the fool back to camp. The man, in pain and feeling rather resentful, hobbled away while leaning heavily on the man that supported him.
Thinking nothing of the incident other than the random stupidity of a moron, the three moved on with their task.
Down the trail, Smith witnessed the two men's retreat, and spat in disgust. # I feel like we're in the middle of the most inept game of hide and seek in the history of the world! # he groused. # We're ALL it and there's only one guy to find.#
Spencer spoke up from a few feet away, scanning the woods as he did so. # Except when you're found, you don't have the option of home base.# he added, his voice devoid of humor.
Smith threw him a sour look, and resignedly trudged ahead.
*
The first scouts accident was only the beginning. More things the foreigners labeled as 'inconvenient' or 'coincidence' started to pop up.
A large tree branch that had been mysteriously bent back suddenly whipped out just as a man was passing, hitting him full in the chest. A pile of fallen logs that looked like they had been brought down in a windstorm became a tumbling slide of timber without warning, leaving one man with a battered body and a broken leg. It soon seemed that cries of surprise were trying to replace birdsong as the most frequent noise in the area.
By the time they stopped for the day, only four of the seven men under Hiroshi's command were able to sit up without assistance. It didn't help the solidity of the camp that their employers openly blamed it on their clumsiness and incompetence. Growing resentment against the arrogant invaders of their previously routine existence nearly caused the whole group to split apart altogether. It was only the threats and promises of Hiroshi, along with the fear of being shot in the back, that persuaded them to move on.
Thanksfully, before the sun had set the man sent to bring reinforcements was back, bringing two dozen fresh men with him. This cheered everyone up immensely, and watches were set with lighter hearts.
The camp had just settled when there was a terrified scream. Nerves that had just begun to unwind, tightened instantly. There was a rush to see what was going on, and a man was found cowering away from his sleep roll. After some poking, they found a snake had somehow found its way into the warm cloth. One man, born and bred in the country, identified it as a rat snake; completely harmless. The owner of the bed, who was city-bred, grumbled above the jeers about the barbaric countryside. This set off a fight between the two men, ending only when Hiroshi rushed over and broke it up.
The incident set off a chain reaction as nerves still wound from the day transferred into short tempers and petty quarreling.
*
At the inner camp around their fire, Spencer looked up, his expression bored. # I wish that lot would shut up. Some of us want to get a bit of rest before tomorrow. #
#Too bad SOME of us won't get any rest either way with the way you roar in the night, Spence.# Smith said sarcastically from his bedroll on the other side of the fire. His already short temper had quickly deteriorated and now he sniped at anyone within range. Spencer ignored him as usual, which didn't help matters. The two Germans ignored the both of them.
So it was that two disgruntled and divided groups made it through the night.
**
At dawn, scouts again spread out, looking for signs and watching their feet. Lack of sleep had not improved the general mood.
Spencer noted that Schmidt was again missing. Schuster shrugged. # He has his own vays.# he said in answer to the looks thrown his way. # He vill go off by himself and you von't see him till he vants you to.#
#Well that's just peachy. # Smith muttered, casting furtive looks around him. #I would kinda like to know where the cold-blooded SOB is, 24-7. The space between my shoulder blades itches when that guy's out of sight.#
Schuster smirked, his eyes alight with ghoulish amusement. #Vhy? Have you done somesing to offend him?#
Smith answered with a distracted glare and turned away, muttering about foreigners.
*
Meanwhile, a scout named Ichiro was following a small forest trail he had happened upon. It wound faintly through several stands of trees. Several minutes had passed since he had seen another person, and the silence and feeling of exposure was making him edgy. It was just his luck to be in sight when the recruiter had come back to headquarters for 'volunteers'. He could be in Kyoto right now, relaxing with his friends at their favorite bar. Instead, he was hiking around the Haunted Mountain, chasing the eccentric hermit that was rumored to live on it. The number of fatalities he had heard about and the wounded that groaned in camp wasn't helping his confidence level either. Still, it was certain death if he defied a yakuza boss.
However, he was beginning to wonder if the chance of the swift one he'd get back home would be better than the fate he might face out here.
He was brought out of his gloomy reflections as his eyes caught sight of the partial indentation of a heel pressed into the moist soil of the trail. Grinning at his discovery, he called back toward where he thought the others were, turning as he shouted.
A coil of some sort of vine caught his eyes as it dropped past him to land with a dull thump in front of him on the forest floor. He had just enough time to look down at it in puzzlement before it twitched toward him. In one quick movement it tightened around his ankles, snapping his legs together and revealing itself to be a length of rope, in a slipknot. His feet were abruptly pulled out from under him, his arms flailing as he desperately sought his balance, before landing on his back hard enough to blast the air from his lungs.
Through the rushing sound of blood through his ears and his own gasps for breath, he though he heard a soft whistle, and the sound of something solid hitting something else with a rather meaty smack.
There was a guttural squeal, and the unfortunate Ichiro was being pulled across the ground at impressive speed, dragged by a rather indignant porcine who had until then been enjoying a nap in the shade. Had Ichiro been able to scramble the thought to lift his head from being bounced along the forest floor, he would have noted that at the other end of his predicament was attached to a rather large, increasingly angry wild boar.
Unfortunately, he had other concerns at the moment. Bumping along heels over head, he flung his arms up in a desperate attempt to protect his face and keep from rolling over. Branches clawed at him as he was repeatedly slammed into trees and hauled through bushes as the pig wove and dodged through the underbrush. Torn again from their leafy embrace, his unwilling captor charged desperately away from all the crashing noises behind it.
Had he looked up, he might have caught a glimpse of a figure moving through the tree branches, racing ahead of them.
The boar ran, its' grunts and squeals echoing through the forest. But it wasn't confused enough not to feel the shift in the air. Lifting its snout, it sniffed loudly. Snorting, it burst through a last clump of bushes that bordered a treeless slope. Without pause, it made a sharp turn to its left, charging back into the forest, at the same time something sharp and metallic came whistling out of the trees, severing the rope cleanly in half.
The forest pig took off, but its former passenger kept going, shooting out of the woods and continuing down the rather conveniently mud-slicked incline. The ground quickly steepened under the helpless man's back. He was now bruised, battered, and disoriented. All his befuddled brain could make out was that the forest seemed to be roaring ahead of him.
He found out why when he shot over a deep ravine like a rock released from a slingshot. He had just enough time for a really good scream before he hit the water at the bottom of the falls.
*
Several of his cohorts had heard his cries, and come crashing to the scene. The first few were just in time to witness his unwilling plunge into the water. The horrified spectators were nearly shoved over the edge themselves as the latecomers jostled them from behind.
Amidst pushing and swearing, the men edged away from the sheer drop. A combination of the primitive fears of heights and drowning rose up with invisible talons to claw at their guts and shred their reserve. Screaming, they ran back toward where they'd come.
A few didn't make it back to camp, falling into various pits and snares that they had missed before in their previous caution. In their mad dash toward metaphorical safety, they weren't as careful. Each pit was angled expertly in order to maximize the possibility of broken bones. Each snare caught at their flailing limbs, or snapped ribs like twigs with the force of their release.
The ragtag group of survivors that finally descended on the camp was a mass of hysteria.
It took an hour of shouted threats and a volley of gunshots fired in the air from Smith's handguns before they calmed down enough to listen. Then they demanded to leave, the threat of rebellion looming over the campsite like a dark cloud. However, it was already near sunset, and not even the most determined would dare to venture out into the darkness to face the death trap the mountain had become.
As the light dimmed, the various trap victims that were able limped or crawled into camp. Double watches were set, the sentries twitching at the slightest rustle of leaves in the trees that now seemed to loom threateningly over the camp.
A few whispered that the swordsman was the guardian spirit of the mountain, and that not one of them would leave there alive. Hands tightened on weapons as the story traveled by word of mouth from fire to fire.
But hours passed, and nothing happened. Starting to feel a bit sheepish for jumping at shadows like children, the men settled down a bit more. Soon jokes were tossed around the fires, as men made light of their panicked reactions.
*
One man returned to his spot near a fire well away from the border of camp with water for tea. It was just what was needed to soothe away the cares of the day. Hearing the jokes, he added his own, sitting down and preparing to boil the water.
The foreigners had long ago retired, with only a few further complaints about the still absent Schmidt.
Jokes evolved into bravado as each man relaxed in the secure feeling of being near a fire, surrounded by people. The tea man took the now bubbling water off the coals, groping for the tea mix he had placed by his side. Not finding it, he was about to turn and look for it when a hand came into his vision, the tea bag outstretched. Absently thanking the owner, he set about preparing it, inhaling the aroma gratefully.
Bravado had evolved into bluster, as every man told his neighbor just what he would do to that annoying recluse once they found him in the morning. The tea was ready, and passed around the fire. Compliments were sent the first man's way for the excellent taste, which he traditionally declined.
A few minutes later, and there were calls for more, the voices of the solicitors somewhat slurred. The man blinked, reaching unsteadily for the tea bag. The fire before him shifted strangely in his sight, the outline of it blurring in and out. Frowning, he tasted the tea. Something was strange about it. "Hey, this tastes a bit like sake." He managed to get out.
"It is." A low voice said, its' calm, precise tones cutting through the scattered chatter with the precision of a surgeon. Chills went up the spines of even the most out of it among them. Heads turned, and peered at the speaker. The first man looked to his right, to the one who had given him the tea mix.
The face was shadowed by the angle of the fire, but a brief flicker of the dancing flames illuminated it for a brief instant. The darkness had reduced the bright red hair to the color of old blood, but it still seemed to glow in the light that caught its highlights. The high topknot it was currently in emphasized the shape of the face, sharpening the already narrow features and drawing attention to the large, golden eyes that glowed in the night like the orbs of a mythical dragon.
The apparition smiled, soundlessly rising from a casual crouch to his feet. The movement was so fluid that the drugged men blinked, unsure that he hadn't been standing in the first place.
The redhead slowly and dramatically slid his sword from its sheath, raising the blade to hover in front of his face, drawing the eyes of the men with it. The steel nearly touching his nose, the firelight shone along the sharp inward curve of the edge of the blade, catching the reflection of one hard amber eye.
Battousai smiled coldly, his voice soft when he spoke, though all at the fire heard it clearly. "Leave this mountain, while you can. The choice is yours. Go before it is too late." The blade shifted with a negligible flick of his wrist, causing the light to reflect brightly off its surface, briefly dazzling the gaping group. When the spots cleared, there was no one there.
*
The night was momentarily silent, save for soft murmurs and the chirping of crickets.
Then the camp erupted like a mound of disturbed ants.
*
Himura watched from the trees. Men scrambled around, most unsure of what was happening and tripping over objects and running into each other in the dim illumination of their fires and the stars. Frantically, they searched for whatever foe threatened them now.
Eventually, the camp once again settled down, save for the unfortunate group he had picked to begin the next phase of his plan. They were being reamed out by a sharp-faced man whom he had noted as the apparent leader of the locals. From his expressions, it was obvious that he didn't believe their story. The fact that they were acting quite drunk did not help their credibility. One of the men from the inner camp go up, awakened by the noise and not happy about it. Soon the two men were having a heated argument, each fingering their weapons.
Kenshin allowed himself a slight smile. The last two days had been strange. He had never really acted this way before. While it was true that the situation was not entirely alien to him, his use of strategy was. In his hitokiri days, he had been the target of many such groups out to kill him. At the time, he had gone for the quickest and most efficient way of getting rid of them. In other words, charge in headlong and slaughter the lot. He'd had neither the time nor the inclination to linger in his battles.
This situation was somewhat different. Now he had to stall for time. This game of cat and mouse had to be drawn out long enough for his master to recover somewhat. The older swordsman would NOT be pleased if Kenshin finished before he could get some of his own back.
Kenshin had no qualms about taking the hired help out, but he knew that the four foreign yarous belonged to Hiko.
His smile widened. He really was enjoying himself. True, there was a part of him that winced at the pain he was deliberately inflicting, but that was more than mollified by the outrage he still felt at their actions. They had invaded his childhood home, in his memory a fortress of solitude against the world. Worse still, they had dared to hurt the one person who had taken the trouble to protect a lost child and train him to be able to defend himself and others. A little pain was the least he wanted to hand them.
He was also surprised by how easy it was to resist the idea of killing them. He was angry, but since he was restrained from not immediately acting on it, he had time to think. The tactical mind he had used so often in up-close fights was not channeling his energies into strategy. His control Had wavered at times, a part of him wanting to abandon the shadows and charge forward. But for the most part, he was able to find a harmony between caution and battle-instinct that secretly amazed him. He had not thought such an accord between his two natures possible. His mind was not clouded with doubts. He had no need to hold back in his punishment. Killing wasn't necessary or needed. Corpses couldn't warn other fools away as well as live witnesses would.
He was also not alone in this fight. He had taken the time to talk to the sake shop owner, and the man had been more than happy to contribute to the cause, once he found out what they had done to his merchandise. He had donated several jugs of his defiled product. Drugging their tea was only the beginning of Kenshin's plans for ironic retribution with those objects. Then there was his master. Hiko would not sit idle for long, wound or no. He was a very solid backup that eased some of the tenseness Himura felt in working against the odds.
So here he was, more or less wading up to his neck in his darker side, and experiencing an exhilarating sense of freedom in the action. Killing would only ruin things. He knew this state of mind wouldn't last forever, and he wanted to be able to live with himself afterwards. The image of a smiling group of friends, particularly that of a face containing the gentle blue eyes of a fiery young woman, helped to temper his more lethal instincts even more.
Nevertheless, he had no qualms about doing some major damage to the thrill- seekers below him. He'd insure that they got a lot more than they had bargained for. Playtime was over. They now had only two choices: Leave willingly or on a stretcher.
By the time he was done, it would be generations before anyone dared set foot on this mountain again.
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Tah-dah! I hope you like it! Don't worry. Less traps, more Hiten Mitsurugi in the next chapter. I finally have a firm grip on this story, so the next one should come a lot sooner. a mass of skeptical looks from the readers *pouts * Really! Honest! mutters I hope. Anyway, some acknowledgements are in order. Thanks again to my patient family who had to listen to my wails about being stuck for ideas repeatedly. Thanks to my #1 support and encouragement, Emiri-chan, for the fireside confrontation idea. I hope you like it. Kudos to Firefury for the sake ideas. There'll be more. Tried to find the story you recommended, but with no luck. Sorry to all you Kenshin-gumi fans, but this is a story about a master and his rather angry baka deshi taking morons apart. There are a lot of other K-gumi stories out there, and I don't intent to involve them in this particular plot-line. Still, I hope you like it. Thanks also to the movie Crocodile Dundee 2, and all those Tarzan books I read in grade school. ^_^ ;;