Whee! I got a lot of reviews for the last chapter! Let me see... Lightning Rain, Thiliaen, Nienna of Sorrow and Katharwen - mucho thanks! Queen Isis - a special thank you to you, since I do believe you've reviewed every chapter since you started reading... you rock my socks! Nerwen Calaelen - yeah, technical stuff. :P No, I don't have an explanation, except maybe they wore very soft shoes. ^^ Thanks for the criticism, it is appreciated. Emilie - No, not really. Must have accidentally put Sauron in as one of the characters... *goes to fix that*

A note: Chapters may come a bit slower from now on, since I'm working on a bit of original fantasy that I have an unrealistic dream of getting published. :P Sorry for the delay.
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Chapter Thirteen: Aftermath (The Unlucky Chapter)

It took twenty men working together to carry the corpse of the mumak out of the cave. What should be done with it was debated - a suitable funeral would be to burn it, but that would raise a lot of smoke, and now the Rangers had some idea of where the camp was. But digging a grave would take too much time and effort. Finally, it was decided that it would be hauled as far as possible away from the camp and covered in leaves, and left there.

Reni was furious when he heard their decision. NO HONOR, he wrote, making deep indents in the paper with his pen. NO HONOR AT ALL.

So Kentai, nursing his injured arm in a sling, and Saali, who had put the death of the Ranger out of mind momentarily, accompanied the twenty men as they dragged the corpse through the Leaf City. And before the corpse was covered, ignoring the glares from the soldiers who would much rather pile up the leaves and be done with it, they said a funeral prayer for the beast, speaking for their friend who would not.

"Ji ne s'elesh hi daka faheeli k'dolo ele kilasi," murmured Tai, almost somber: May your soul not go to the Punishment Realms.

"Ji s'elesh hi daka ziraashi k'dolo ele kilasi," replied Saali, altogether somber: May your soul go to the Realms of Eternal Bliss.

"Done yet?" someone yelled rudely. And they were, so the two turned and began making their way back to camp.
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Saali had taken to stalking about the camp, listening to whatever snatches of conversation she could hear. There was so much going on - so much that one would never know about if one didn't do some eavesdropping. Besides, she was as silent as a cat on her feet. No one would catch her.

Creeping up beside Sir's tent, she touched an ear lightly to the fabric. She had seen Captain Ylaasa enter only a few minutes before; this was sure to be interesting.

Ylaasa's voice: "...many did we lose?"

Sir's, in reply: "Fifteen dead altogether, many more wounded. We were lucky it was not more. Cursed tarks."

"If I may be so bold, sir, I believe none of this would have happened if your spy had not led us into it." Saali cringed.

Sir paused before answering. "It was her first mission. She will learn, Captain."

"You never know, sir. I would be very cautious with her if I were you. Very often, they become double agents while still inexperienced -"

Sir's voice was steely as he interrupted. "I have no doubts whatsoever about her loyalty, Captain Ylaasa." Saali had another of those thankful moments.

"It does happen, though, sir, and you should not ignore it. And she is a woman. Her loyalties may stray." The young widow had the urge to rush in and strangle Ylaasa.

"If you have any qualms with her, Captain, I highly recommend you bring them up with her yourself." Sir's voice was as cold as it ever got.

Ylaasa gave a small noise, one that Saali suspected meant Sir had won. And then there was the rustling sound of someone standing up, and Saali scurried off.

A double agent! How dare he suggest she was disloyal! No one trusted her, just because her body happened to be different from theirs? What kind of a reason was that not to trust someone?

Saali clenched her fists and halfway-listened to an uninteresting conversation some guards were having about some stolen rations. She was a GOOD spy. They did not see her, nor did they hear her breathing heavily with anger. He could not question that.

She would show them. She would show all of them.

But from that point on, all she could hear in her wanderings were accusations, mistrust, doubt, in her and in Sir and in the army. She heard other conversations, but could not repeat them afterward, for all she paid attention to was the need for her to redeem herself.

"... led us into a trap, she did, an ambush..."

"...never should have trusted her..."

"... Sir crazy? She is a..."

"... a widow, Fate curse it, she will..."

"... do not speak to her, you will..."

"... pointless, we will never beat the Rangers, they are too skilled..."

"...should fight us in the desert, then we would show them..."

Their voices filled her head, but instead of bringing her down, they lit a fire in her mind. All she needed was doubt and disappointment to motivate her more than any words of praise ever could. That was how it had worked when she was a child, and it was how it worked still.

Her father's disapproving gaze as she collapsed, exhausted - a new strength in her muscles. She pulled herself up again -

The young widow's breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she turned and sprinted off toward Panim's tent.

She saw his shadow move against the candlelight through the tent fabric. "May I come in?" she called once she had stopped panting.

"She may," came Panim's gloomy drawl, and she entered.

At the sight of him, Saali stopped in her tracks, remembering the Ranger he had killed for her. Perhaps she would have died? Perhaps not. But he had probably saved her life. "I - er... you saved me, during the battle," she blurted.

Panim raised his eyebrows. "I beg y- her pardon?"

Saali's brow furrowed of its own accord. "You... that Ranger would have killed me, if you had not got to him first."

Panim sighed. "I suppose so. And...?"

Saali was altogether awkward by now. "And... thank you. For saving me?"

Panim's big dark eyes avoided hers. "She may have the wrong impression of what I intended to do. After all, one is supposed to kill the enemy in battle, regardless of whether or not it saves the life of a lady... or anyone, for that matter, I mean, it might have been anyone." It was the first time her tutor had sounded less than smooth.

"But you did. Save me, I mean. And... thank you," Saali said haltingly.

Panim gave a sniff and looked at the wall. Saali waited, and eventually he managed to say, "She is welcome. But we shall all die eventually, so she has no need to thank me for keeping her alive that much longer..." he added with his typical optimism, still sounding uncomfortable.

A small smile played on Saali's lips, and she had the devious urge to say something else about it, just to keep him looking so awkward. But then she remembered why she had come. "I want to learn," she said, determination in her voice. "I want to learn everything. And I want to learn it now."

Panim shed his awkwardness like a cloak, replacing it with a superior half-smile. "She is certainly ambitious, for such a beginner. And the Common Tongue takes some time to master."

"Teach me," Saali urged, and for the rest of the afternoon they forgot their wariness of each other - man and woman, Fate-worshipper and widow, peasant and noble - as they delved into the Haradic-Common dictionaries. Although he still referred to her as "she".
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"He runs, she runs, they run, you all run, you run, I run," Saali recited in Common. She was shedding her accent fast, she thought, and was proud of this improvement and hungry for more.

Panim gave a small nod, which was his way of saying she had done very well. "She is -"

He froze, mid-sentence, as the tent flap opened and Anrami's head appeared in the doorway. His squinty eyes widened for just a moment, then darted from Panim to Saali and back again.

"What," said Anrami slowly, voice venomous, "is going on here?"

Panim seemed unable to answer, so Saali spoke up. "Since when is it the custom not to call in before entering?"

Anrami glared daggers at her, almost literally, for his eyes hurt hers. "Panim?"

Panim cleared his throat and cast his liquid gaze on the Haradic-Common dictionary on the floor. "I am her tutor. Sir ordered me to be, since I speak the Common Tongue the most fluently." He sounded almost ashamed, and Saali wanted to slap him.

"You have been associating," Anrami snarled, "with her."

"Only indirectly," Panim mumbled, and Saali wanted even more to slap him. He raised gloomy dark eyes to meet his cohort's and added, "We shall all die eventually. Why should it matter if I wish to speed up the process a bit?"

Anrami was spitting mad now. "I, for one, do NOT want to die any sooner than I have to!" he hissed. "And you are not going to do that to me! Understand?"

Panim looked at his boots.

"He has been calling me 'she'," Saali mumbled. "Not really speaking to me." She felt she should help her tutor, but in doing so she felt as if she betrayed herself. A tight knot settled itself in the pit of her stomach.

Anrami glanced at Saali for just a moment. "She is a traitor," he spat. "Leading us into an ambush. Inexperienced, foolish woman. She has no business here. Widow." He forced the word out as if it poisoned his tongue.

The poisonous word cut Saali deeper than the swords of battle had cut Tai's arm. "I may be inexperienced," she snapped, her voice icy. "And I may be foolish. But my sex and my status have nothing to do with it. And I am most certainly NOT a traitor."

Panim kept staring at his boots, a pinched expression on his long face.

Anrami seemed about to answer back, but he caught his tongue and turned his squinty eyes on the noble. "And what have you to say to that, my friend?" The way he said "friend", it sounded nothing at all like a blessing.

Panim raised those big eyes as slowly as possible. "You are right," he said slowly, and Saali's insides turned to ice. "She has no place among men, where Fate's curse could spread." He bit his lip and avoided his student's hurt eyes.

Saali bit her own lip, fiercely, to keep the tears in their place. She would not give these imbeciles the pleasure of watching her break down - like a woman. A weak, feminine woman - such a bad soldier - such a bad spy - no place among men -

She stood jerkily and shoved Anrami's arm aside as she marched from the tent. Let them think what they would of her. She would not show them how she felt. It had always worked that way.

Brown-eyes, she noticed through the distortions in her eyes, had stood behind Anrami, hearing everything. He turned his head now, and his light eyes met her dark ones for one second, before he averted them. Was that pity in the midst of that pretty brown color, or was her emotion affecting her vision...?

It couldn't be. They were all the same. All hating her for what they didn't know, not wanting to look any further than her status.

"You dare to touch me, woman?" Anrami bellowed from behind her. Saali's fists involuntarily clenched, her teeth clacked together. Too much. It was too much.

"Yes, actually, I do," she replied, her voice as chilly as the air around them.

Infuriated, Anrami took a step toward her, but he was interrupted by a big hand on his shoulder and a familiar cheerful voice. "Having a problem, Private Anrami?" Kentai chirped.

"Out of my way, traitor," Anrami snapped. Light brown eyes widened behind him in a face full of doubt.

"Not if you intend to go anywhere near her," Kentai refused politely. With a smile.

Anrami's lips curled in a smirk. "We all know what she does for you," he whispered, relishing every word like a delicate piece of cake. "I will not make that impossible. Do not worry."

Of all the things in the world he could have said to insult her, Saali was the least prepared for this. She gave a little noise, part gasp of astonishment and part cry of protest.

Tai's smile did not budge an inch, but his hand did - from resting on the man's shoulder to grasping the fabric at his throat. "Is this truly what you idiots assume?" he asked lightly, as if he were talking about the weather.

Anrami's smirk grew wider, though his wary eyes were on Tai's hand. "What else are we to assume you use her for?"

Saali's eyes widened and her throat constricted. Her fingernails were digging into the flesh of her palm and her teeth hurt from grinding them and flames coursed through her blood and heated her mind, and she wanted to scream, and suddenly she snapped.

She took just a few steps forward, and the next thing she knew Anrami was kneeling on the ground, clutching his cheek; her hand stung from the blow.

The man leapt to his feet with a roar, lunged for her, but before he could reach her Kentai stopped him with a nice fist to the jaw. Anrami grabbed hold of Tai's injured arm and twisted it. And before Saali could fully comprehend what she had done, the two men were upon each other, shoving, punching, and Panim was out of the tent and on them as well, and shouts went up throughout the camp, and men ran over to join in, and before you could say Fate's name thrice it was an all-out brawl.

Men tried to pull each other off other men, got punched, and joined in, some joined just for the fun of it, and Saali was caught in a mass of jostling bodies and swinging arms. Horrified, she began to shove through the crowd, slapping, kicking, scratching, screaming, doing whatever she could to get them out of her way. At one point she was knocked backwards into a pair of brawlers, feeling like she'd been shot in the cheek; her vision spiraled in her left eye.

She looked up just in time to see Brown-eyes gasp and rush away, and then she felt the pain sear through the flesh surrounding her eye; she gritted her teeth, dropped to the ground and crawled through legs and under feet until she broke through the edge of the mass. There she lay on the dank rock, looking at the stalactites on the ceiling, panting, sweating, as the images on the left side of her vision grew fuzzy and dark and she felt her eye swelling.
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"What have you to say for yourself, Private Kentai?" Sir demanded, looking more than furious as he paced the floor of his tent.

Kentai grinned recklessly. He would take the blame for Saali - she didn't need more doubts about her competency from the men, much less from Sir. "Honestly, sir?"

Sir looked as if he was about to explode. "Yes, honestly!" he snarled.

"Honestly, sir," Tai mused slowly, taking his time. Should he tell the captain about Anrami and Saali... No. Interference from "the authorities" was the last thing he needed on his reputation. "Honestly, sir, I wanted a rumble."

"You wanted," Sir repeated, voice steely, "a rumble." This tone of voice from Sir, Kentai had come to know, meant more trouble than when he yelled.

"Yessir, sir," Kentai affirmed. Extra laps of the cave tomorrow, perhaps, or thousands of pushups? He didn't want to think about the pushups. His arm throbbed almost unbearably. Stupid bastard, taking advantage of his injury. The soldier's grin slipped into a malicious grimace.

Sir stopped his pacing, sighed deeply, unclenched his fists, and looked Tai in the eye. Leaning in close to the soldier's face, he said softly and fiercely, "There are enough doubts already, Private Kentai, about my authority as a captain, without this. Do you understand me?"

Tai nodded, deciding speech would be unwise.

"You, as a friend to Tasaali, I had assumed would know this. Apparently not." Sir's eyes bore into Kentai's. He continued,"You have overstepped the border, Private, you have pushed me over the edge. I have no choice but to -"

"He insulted her," Tai blurted. Then he clamped his mouth shut.

"Pardon?" Sir looked confused.

"Anrami, sir. He insulted her honor." Tai looked at the ground awkwardly, wishing he hadn't said anything.

Sir just looked at him.

"I... I, er, I had to," Tai mumbled. "Defend her, I mean," he added, eyes still fixed on the ground. The grin was gone. Fate damn it, the grin was entirely gone.

Sir let out a long breath. "Look at me, Private," he said at last.

Tai tilted his head to meet his superior's eyes.

Sir hesitated before going on. "I appreciate your intentions. But an army that fights within itself cannot fight together. I have done all that I can to defend Tasaali, with words. That is as far as it may go - words. No further, no matter what anyone says. No insult is worth that much trouble." He paused. "Do you follow me, Private Kentai?"

"I follow you, sir," Kentai murmured.

"I had intended to have you dishonorably discharged," Sir went on softly. Kentai sucked in a sharp breath. The captain continued, "But now I see."

He stood there silent for a while, as if mulling it over. "Ten laps around the cave, sunrise, tomorrow," he decided at last.

Tai nodded, awash with relief, still sweating as if winded from what Sir had said before. Dishonorably discharged. It sounded like a punch in the stomach.

"You are dismissed," Sir announced, seating himself at the little desk by the doorway.

Tai turned and lifted the flap to go, but was stopped by the voice of his superior.

"Oh, and Private Kentai." Sir sounded as if he didn't know quite how to put what he was saying. "It is rather... unwise, to become too... attached to someone who serves by your side... especially in wartime."

That, Kentai decided, sounded like two punches in the stomach. He felt his face heating. "May I go now, sir?" he asked stiffly.

Sir nodded, and Tai got himself out of there as fast as possible, face aflame.