glossary

kunoichi a female ninja

shinobi a.k.a. ninja; warriors trained in stealth over physical force

shozoku clothes typically worn by ninja

kiai the shout one makes while practicing martial arts moves, supposedly to help gather one's energies, etc.

kata the memorized sets of forms and moves to help ingrain important skills into someone training in martial arts

wakizashi the short blade Sango wears. I'm not sure about this since I don't think it's ever referred to by a specific name or label in either the manga or anime. But it's definitely shorter than a typical katana...

Honor-Bound

by Dead of Night

chapter three

Meet the Weasel

Kagome was roused from a dream of lovely flame-bright hair by the sounds of footsteps hurrying to and fro and hushed, sharp commands. From outside, the echoes of shouted military orders drifted to her ears. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she sat up in the futon to find her other companions already gathered and preparing for the day. As Kagome hastily shoved aside her blanket, dismayed at the thought of having awoken later than the others, Sango came into view from behind the screen in the corner wearing her taijiya armor, tying her hair into its ponytail with a brisk jerk of her hands.

"'Bout time you got up, wench," grumbled Inuyasha, who was eyeing her from his seat by the window, Tessaiga in its customary place in his crossed arms.

"We've only been up about fifteen minutes," said Sango more gently as Kirara leaped up onto her shoulder. But already Kagome had splashed her face with water from the jug that had been provided, and now the girl ducked behind the folding screen to change into her school uniform.

"It sounds like an army's forming out there," called out Kagome from behind the screen.

"That seems to be the case." Miroku, who had discreetly been trying to see whether the rising sun would outline female forms against the screen, caught Sango's searing glare and sighed, obediently turning his head away. "From what I've overheard from the servants—not that anyone's actually informed us of what's happening—there have been reports of aggressive youkai approaching one of the farther villages, and Kenshin-sama is preparing to meet them with his soldiers."

"Then we should come, too!" Her hair only half brushed in her haste, Kagome began to fold her futon.

"No can do, dog-tamer," drawled a new voice, and they all glanced toward the suddenly open doorway to find Sanosuke standing there, clad in light armor and rather less than formal battle garb. Though his tone was light, there was a serious look to the dark eyes that caused Kagome's protests to die in her throat. "I'm sure you'll understand if we leave you folks here till we come back. We still have some stuff we gotta talk about."

Sango frowned. "But we can help!" Behind her, Miroku nodded firmly.

"Sorry." Sano's handsome face was blank. "I'm sure you understand." He coughed, his gaze shifting momentarily in obvious unease. "You can't leave the grounds, but you're free to look around, except for a few places where the guards won't let you. There's breakfast in the dining hall."

Then, before anyone else could speak, he was gone, the door sliding shut in his wake.

Sango stood gazing after him, still faintly frowning. Miroku heaved a sigh of resignation, starting toward the door, his staff jingling in his hand.

"At least they left us breakfast. I'm surprised you didn't put up a fuss," the monk added good-naturedly, nodding toward Inuyasha, who had stayed silent in his place by the window.

The hanyou snorted. "They don't trust us. Makes sense. No point arguing about it."

"I guess it's only natural," said Kagome slowly, brushing her still-tangled hair. "They do seem awfully suspicious of us, though."

"I think if it weren't for Megumi-sama, they wouldn't have let us in the castle at all," piped up Shippou, hopping up onto Kagome's shoulder. "Your hair smells extra good today, Kagome," he whispered loudly, beaming as he buried his little face in her hair. Kagome flushed with pleasure and patted the kitsune's bushy tail.

From the balcony outside the small dining hall where their meal had been laid out, the group could see the battalion of horsemen following the winding road across the fields, bright red banners snapping in the morning wind. Kagome, squinting against the light of the rising sun, thought she could see a mass of fire-colored hair at the head of the mass of soldiers.

Breakfast was like the dinner the evening before—several simple dishes done to perfection. Inuyasha disappeared soon after finishing his food, leaving the three humans and the kogitsune to their own devices.

Exploring the gardens outside the castle took up much of the morning. Shippou amused himself by trying out new tricks with leaves culled from various plants on the grounds; as it turned out, some were better than others for use in his kitsune magicks. Kagome browsed through the flowerbeds and played admiring audience to the kitsune's efforts. Eventually the two stumbled across a vast herb garden, ringed by a low stone wall, fragrant and green with rare and common healing plants alike. They spent hours going through the different varieties, Kagome trying to recall what Kaede had taught her about each of them.

Mumbling something about gaining more information on the han, Miroku marched off in a show of indignation after Sango's second slap of the day, the twin handprints on his cheeks somehow marring the expression of injured dignity he put on. The taijiya watched him go, half of her still seething at the remembered feel of the lecherous monk's touch on her curves, the other half already regretting that he had taken her so seriously as to leave. This time, it seemed, Miroku really left her alone; as the morning wore on and she continued to systematically explore the castle, Sango sensed nothing of the monk in her surroundings.

She was standing at the junction of a corridor and a hallway, wondering whether to turn left or right, when a shrill, muffled kiai dully echoed to her hearing, from beyond the double doors at the end of the hallway to the right.

Curious, Sango headed toward the doors. As she approached, a measured series of sharp, short, feminine shouts came again; it sounded as though a woman was going through kata.

After a moment's hesitation outside the double doors, Sango mustered her courage and slid one door slightly open. Peering in through the scant inch of space she had made, she stifled a gasp of surprise.

A younger girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, dressed in dark blue shozoku, was going through a kata full of somersaults and flips. An iron fan glittered in her hand as she alternately snapped it open and shut, in sync with her swift, precise movements. Each whirlwind set of strikes was punctuated by a fierce kiai. Sango, seeing the dark look of concentration in the kunoichi's ocean-blue eyes, could not help but admire her skill.

The kata did not take much longer. Landing into a catlike crouch from a sharp sideways kick, the girl tucked into a roll, then smoothly swept the floor of the training hall in a powerful move that would have sent a standing opponent tumbling to the ground. Momentum then pulled the girl into a vicious windmill kick, her long black braid whipping behind her. Razor-edged iron flashed in the sunlight as she sank into a final pose with a loud shout, her iron fan snapping open inches from her face.

Sango remembered to breathe.

"It's not polite to stare, you know."

"I'm sorry," and Sango slid open the door more fully, her face bright red as she entered the hall and bowed low. "I couldn't help it. You're very good."

"I'm really not that advanced yet," said the girl modestly. She had put away the fan, replacing it with a towel with which to wipe her flushed face. "Are you one of the exterminators Sano found?"

Sango bowed again, even lower than before. "Please, lady, call me Sango."

The girl laughed and bowed back. "All right, but don't call me 'lady,' call me Misao. I'm Kenshin and Sanosuke's little sister."

"I've seen very few women who are as good as you—Misao-sama." Sango watched from her side of the hall while Misao began to stretch, winding down her practice session. "And none who were trained in ninjutsu."

"Aoshi-sama teaches me." Was Misao still flushed from her practice, or was she blushing at the name?

Sango smiled. "I'm sure you do him honor with your skill."

Misao's face lit up, ocean eyes widening. "You think so? You look like you'd know..."

Sango remembered that she was still wearing her taijiya armor. After the excitement of that early morning, she hadn't felt like taking it off. "I'm not an expert in the shinobi arts, but I think—"

"What was that?" interrupted Misao, holding up her hand.

Sango instantly fell silent, strained to hear. Together the two women tilted their heads attentively.

Sure enough, a muffled crash, like thin wood shattering, came distantly from an upper floor.

"Sankon Tessou!" faintly echoed a familiar roar, followed by a feline snarl.

"Inuyasha! Kirara!" cried Sango in recognition.

She had started instinctively for the doors, but the sudden cold look Misao shot her stopped the taijiya in her tracks. "You know who those are?" the younger girl asked, as another splintering crash came from above.

"They're my friends." Sango steeled herself beneath Misao's glare—that iron fan couldn't be too far from the girl's reach, and the taijiya had just seen for herself how well the kunoichi could wield it.

"Well, your friends are someplace they shouldn't be." Misao was already crouched on the railing of the balcony outside the training hall, balancing with seeming ease, poised to jump onto the roof. For another moment she eyed Sango warily.

Then, "The private armory is directly below this room," and her lithe blue-clad figure disappeared.

Whatever guards had been posted at the armory must have run out to the source of the noise, because Sango encountered no one as she rushed downstairs. Hiraikotsu was propped up against the far wall of the large room that was filled with neatly arranged weaponry.

She met Miroku and Kagome as they came hurrying in from the gardens, Shippou clinging to Kagome's arm. "We heard Inuyasha yell!" fretted the kogitsune. "What's wrong?"

A familiar feminine shriek came echoing to Sango's ears from above, amid further crashing sounds. "I don't know. We'll have to find out."

Having equipped Kagome with a full quiver from the armory, they hurried upstairs. They found two guards sprawled, bleeding freely from torn throats, at the foot of the staircase leading up to the third floor where the noise was coming from; not a few hours ago, the same guards had barred Sango from climbing those same steps. Miroku listened for a pulse and shook his head. Sango grimly tightened her hold on her boomerang and bounded up the stairs, the monk and the girl at her heels.

"Stay back!" she said sharply, reaching the topmost step. Throwing out one arm to keep her friends from following too closely, she fished out her mask with her other hand and strapped it on. "Gas!"

Two large shoji panels had been completely ripped from their moorings and thrown across the main corridor; broken beams and splinters were scattered across the floor in their wake. A thick white cloud, smelling sickly sweet, hung dense in the air. Sango lost no time in applying salve to her eyes before forging forward through the miasma; the salve stung fiercely for a few moments, but would keep her vision from blurring with tears in the acrid air.

The fog of poison was thickest in the room that had only recently lost its walls. Unable to use her boomerang in the small space, Sango instead brought out her wakizashi and squinted through the gas, dimly hearing feminine coughing sounds and Inuyasha's swearing.

"Kazaana!" she heard Miroku shout behind her. Quickly she wrapped her arm around a thick column of wood. As the gas began to whirl away, sucked into the air rip in the monk's hand, Misao stumbled past with a startled scream, pulled by the same force. Sango grabbed for the kunoichi's hand and missed by inches.

"Misao-sama!" she shouted. Wide, frightened ocean eyes snapped toward her.

But just as abruptly as it opened, the air rip was closed. Misao's shriek ended in a strangled shout as she plowed full force into Miroku, sending them both flying into another shoji across the hall.

At least Miroku had resealed his Kazaana in time. Drawing a deep breath to steady herself, Sango looked quickly around the room, now blown clear of poison gas and much of the debris of other shoji panels that had been destroyed. A mangled futon lay in the corner, as well as a broken folding screen. Several bloody bodies, clothed in black, lay limp and twisted on the floor of the room; some had been slashed with single blades, but others bore the telltale five-fold wounds that could only have come from a certain hanyou's claws.

Inuyasha had braced himself against another solid wooden column and held a white-covered human-sized bundle in his arms. As Sango watched, the bundle moved and a mess of shiny black hair spilled out, onto what the taijiya belatedly realized was a blanket. Sango's questioning gaze flicked up to meet Inuyasha's.

"It's over," said the hanyou shortly, cradling the feebly moaning human girl with a gentleness that belied his gruff tone. "Kirara went out to make sure of that. This wench is injured. Where can I put her down?"

A horrified shriek from behind them nearly stopped Sango's heart.

"I should gut you, you filthy monk!"

Sango sighed; Inuyasha would have slapped his forehead if his hands hadn't been full. Out in the ruined hallway, Kagome's flustered voice and Miroku's honeyed tones rose in counterpoint to an enraged kunoichi's further threats of violence.

The taijiya sheathed her sword and shrugged. "I suppose our room is as good as any."

tsuzuku

A/N. I seem to be having trouble finding things for Shippou to do... sweatdrop.

Many thanks to those who have reviewed! I don't have enough words to express how sorry I am that updating this little fic has been so slow. But since I'm on Christmas break at last, I do intend to get a few more installments in before school resumes in January. Dare I hope that I'm getting a bit of a better handle on this story by now?...

Feedback is food for my soul! Please feed a starving writer.