I don't own GW, etc. This fic may get graphic later on, be warned.
Chapter One
The warrior was neither tall, nor imposing. In fact, his stature was singularly unimpressive; he barely reached five feet, and his build was as slight as a girl's. Yet the small warrior carried himself with the dignity and poise of a king, walking through the camp with all the confidence and concern of a lady taking an afternoon stroll through her rose garden. He was most definitely a warrior, despite his casual demeanor; the two thin blades at his hip, the metal headband, the minimal, but high-quality arm and leg armor he allowed on himself, they were good signs. The old-fashioned hair-style his black hair was done in, however, was what really gave it away. Any fool with money could have false confidence, armor, and weapons, but no young buck out to prove himself would wear that hairstyle.
The bandits watched him walk past, heading for the center of the camp, before they gathered the wits to react. One of them finally nudged his neighbor, half laughing. "Lookit him. He's just a kid. What do you think he's about?"
Further on, where the warrior was advancing, a hand reached out and halted him. "Oy, punk. Go home to mommy; you don't want to play with the likes of us."
The warrior looked down at the hand on his arm, then at the bandit; a large man, with a full, messy beard and a scar marring his left cheek. The warrior disengaged his arm from the man carefully, looking away from the large bandit.
"I am not here to speak with you. Leave now, and you may be spared." The warrior's voice was soft, but pitched so that all around him could hear the words. He stepped forward again, and found himself facing a wall of edged steel; the bandits hadn't taken his caution well. He did not look surprised.
"Very well. I hope you may all die with honor," the warrior said, calm. He did not look as if he believed they would die honorably, he had no doubts about how much honor they lived with.
"Shut up you little twerp, I'll—" No one would learn what the man was going to do, because the large bandit was rather suddenly missing vocal cords, and a neck. There was a brief, terrible silence as the large bandit's body slowly fell forward with a heavy thud, his head toppling sideways with a less audible thump. The warrior watched the other bandits' expressions as they finally registered their friend's death, the sudden presence of the warrior's blades in his hands, and the blood staining one of the thin crescents of steel.
The warrior looked on, impassive, indifferent, as the expressions of the men around him turned from shock and a touch of fear to fury and bloodlust. He was horribly outnumbered; the slightest of his opponents was twice his weight, and they were well armored and armed for a band of thieves. The warrior merely crouched in anticipation as the first man charged him with a roar.
"Sir."
The soft voice instantly diverted Heero's attention from the bloody scene around him. When he and his riders had followed the sign of smoke to this place, none of them had expected quite such a display. They had been hoping to find this camp of bandits, but they had been expecting to find the camp alive. They had hoped the smoke was the smoke of a smoldering bandit fire; they hadn't dreamed it would be the smoke of a fire whose fuel was the body of the bandits. The stench was nauseating, and he could hear a number of the newer recruits retching somewhere off to the left.
"Yes, Barton?" Heero turned and approached his second in command, and the captain of his rangers and scouts. There was no man Heero would rather have at his back, or in his service.
The ranger captain was slim and tall, his hair a pleasing shade of brown, swept forward in a style that concealed a great deal of his face and one of his bright green eyes. He was in simple brown leathers, adding only a dash of green to the practical clothing in the form of his trousers and armbands.
"Look here."
Heero knelt next to the leader of his scouts, looking in the direction that the man pointed. At first all he saw where human footprints, but the area was littered with footprints; it had been a camp full of people not too long ago. Then the man noticed what his ranger had; the tracks led away from the camp, which wasn't particularly significant, but there were no nearby signs of the tracks returning, and around the tracks the dark stain of blood dotted the dirt and foliage.
"Hn."
"Do you think...?" Trowa glanced sideways at his commander, one hand already on his bow.
"There might be a survivor." Heero acknowledged to the half-spoken question. Glancing back to see that the other officers were getting on with the distasteful task of combing the camp, he stood, motioning one of his officers over. "Finish checking the area, then set up camp upwind," he said curtly. He nodded to Trowa, joining his ranger captain in following the tracks into the forest.
They traveled in silence, Trowa pausing now and then to check the tracks, then picking up the lead again.
"You look a mess."
"I know."
"Well, clean up. You smell worse than you look. Which is saying something, for a human."
"... It was a waste of time. The leader didn't know anything."
"At least you took care of some trash."
"Yes. But I'm no closer to my goal then I was before." The warrior growled, a noise of frustration and anger. He was stripping off his meager armor, and removing his bloodied shirt. His copper skin was decorated in an elaborate and sinuous dragon tattoo, the ink marred in three places by parallel scars. He placed his things neatly on a rock by the stream.
"You are so impatient."
"If you'd only listened to my advice and—"
"Shh!" the tattooed man crouched, drawing a pair of thin blades and staring warily into the trees, shifting his stance and placing his back to the rocks. After a few moments of tense stillness, a bird whistled from a nearby tree, causing the warrior to twitch his whole attention to that direction, then relax with an expression of chagrin.
"Getting a little jumpy, are we?" The voice was sarcastic and amused.
"I thought I heard something," the man grumbled, putting his swords away.
"I'm sure you did." The speaker's tone was condescendingly amused.
"Shut up," the man snapped, sitting to remove his boots.
"Well! You're in a mood today." A strange noise of metal scraping against rock made the warrior lift his head and watch his companion for a moment. "What's the matter?"
"..." The warrior stared at his companion in silence for a moment, then snarled, fingers tightening until they nearly crushed his boots. "What do you think is the matter?! I'm getting nowhere! Every lead I find is old, or faulty, or has nothing to do with it; all just wastes of time! Chasing bandits across the countryside! Finding petty dark wizards in their towers! None of this is getting us anywhere and you ask me what's the matter?!"
"Tsk. Temper temper. You have no patience, Chang Wufei, this is a fault."
"I have patience when I need it, I need results! Don't you dare lecture me on this." Wufei said very softly but fiercely, eyes narrowed as he watched his companion.
"You don't have patience, not even when it would suit you. But I won't lecture you." The soft voice hissed, a sound of resignation almost like a sigh escaping the creature.
"Good." Wufei looked at the boot in his hand and set it down carefully, despite his urge to fling it far away. He grumbled under his breath for a while, continuing to remove his clothing. When he was done he slipped himself into the pool of water in the rocks, eyes closing a moment as the cold fluid hit his already tense muscles like a hammer.
The warrior stood still in the water for a moment, before reaching up and unbinding the braided knot of hair on his head, slowly undoing the hairstyle until his black hair fell loose and free, long, straight, and a bit blood-caked.
"Why do you insist on wearing that disgraceful thing?" His companion had moved to the top of one of the rocks by the pool, and Wufei looked up at the coiled from of the small dragon as it lay, watching him.
"It is a reminder." The warrior said shortly, easing himself further into the water and taking handfuls of gravely sand, using the rough method to scrub the flaking blood off of his body. "As long as I am a shame to my clan, I will were it."
"You never shamed your clan." The small dragon clicked a few claws nervously on the stone at Wufei's answering glare. "But you will be stubborn, any valid argument I place at your feet will be entirely ignored." The small dragon lay it's head on the stone, eyes slitting mostly closed.
"Mmph." Wufei grunted agreement as he ducked his head under the water, beginning to work the grease and dirt and blood out of his hair.
Heero walked silently by Trowa's side as the two of them trudged back to camp. They'd followed the trail for almost two hours before the ranger had lost rack of it, and despite a thorough search that lasted upwards of three hours, neither man had been able to find any more trace of the man they had been pursuing. Both men were frustrated, but neither showed this as any more then a slight tension around the shoulders and eyes. Going back was quicker at least, they didn't have a vague track to follow at the pace of a snail, they walked at normal speed, which for them, was almost a brisk trot.
When they left the forest for the clearing, their own group's camp was visible to the west. The walked on, in continued silence, until the reached the edge of their own camp, nodding as the sentries hailed them.
"Commander!" A young man in green livery hailed Heero as he and Trowa entered the camp proper.
"Yes?" Heero nodded sideways to Trowa, releasing the ranger to make his own rounds of the camp, to make sure things were in order as he faced the young man with the worried expression.
"A message from the capital sir! You are—"
Heero raised a hand, motioning the young man to follow him to his tent. The commander's tent was only slightly larger than the normal tents, located at the center of the camp the tent's only great distinction was in being located directly next to the green and gold flag of the Sanq kingdom. Holding the flap back for the messenger to enter, Heero followed the boy inside.
"Continue." Heero said brusquely, sitting on his cot and watching the messenger shift nervously.
"New orders sir." The boy said after only a moment's pause, "You are to head to the border town of Cerauge. Details of the mission are here." The messenger offered Heero a scroll, then stood stiffly at attention while Heero opened and examined the contents of the scroll.
"Hn. Go eat."
"Thank you commander!" and the boy was out of the tent before Heero could even glance up to acknowledge the salute.
Heero scowled down at the scroll in his hands, rolling it up very carefully and standing to pace the cramped space inside his tent. Cerauge was two weeks ride away, and he did not like the few details that had been included with his order to investigate possible disturbances in the town.
The tent flap opened and Heero turned around to meet the very green eyes of his ranger. The two stared at each other a moment, silent, and then Trowa nodded once, the gesture one of 'all is well' and Heero nodded back slightly, an acceptance of Trowa's wordless report.
"We head for Cerauge tomorrow." The commander said, without preamble.
"Yes sir." Trowa replied softly.
"Here." Heero handed the ranger the scroll and stood waiting, watching the impassive face as his captain read the orders.
"... I don't like this, sir." Trowa said softly, rolling up the scroll.
"Neither do I. We don't have a battle mage in our group, and I have the feeling we'll need one."
"They do say assistance will meet us there." Trowa pointed out softly, handing the orders back to his commander.
"Yes." Heero agreed. "But not what sort of assistance. Warn the men to be on their guard when we approach the town."
"Sir." Trowa nodded, waited a moment, and slipped out of the tent when Heero said nothing more.