An oppressive silence and a darkness deeper than pitch shrouded the massive rectangular room, concealing its purpose and design. Had there been light, an observer would have seen that the walls were formed of heavy stones of irregular shape. Though the stones were not uniform, they were carefully placed, and in no place was the mortar between them thicker than a quarter of an inch, a testament to the skill of the builders.

Had the hypothetical observer been familiar with the ways of magic, the intricate designs inlaid on the floor and ceiling would have made its purpose immediately evident. The perfect circles, bounding precise pentagrams, with sockets at certain points, perhaps for candles, or incense, or other purposes; the way the designs were constructed of indentations in the otherwise perfect marble, well-suited to accepting chalk or blood; the numerous runes carved into the tiles formed by the crossing of the lines, and the stacked tiles in a corner that implied the tiles were replaceable, perhaps to repair damage, perhaps to change the runes for differing purposes; all pointed to the fact that this was a summoning room.

An observer, had it been possible for any to attain this room through the powerful wards that protected it, could have learned much about the room's owner by the observations that could be made here. The observer would have to be familiar with magic to make the right deductions though; for most, the sight of the perfectly clean floor, with not the slightest sign of cracks nor stains, nor the least bit of dust or chalk, would lead them to conclude the room was unused.

A magic user, on the other hand, would see only the signs of magical cleaning, and would not be in the least surprised by such, knowing that a true summoner would never allow the slightest bit of contamination near the summoning platform. Drawing powerful beings to the summoner's plane, and binding them to the caster's will being a terrifically dangerous exercise, the most minimal of contaminants could spell the death of the summoner.

The primary circle on the marble floor was fifty feet across, a sign to the observant and knowledgeable that the summoner to whom this room belonged was among the truly powerful, for rare indeed are the summoned beings that attain such stature.

The apparently haphazard collections of books and scrolls in racks along the walls of the room would also have furthered the misapprehensions of an observer unfamiliar with the workings of magic, lending to the belief that the summoner was an untidy or lazy man, or at the least, disorganized. Another mage, on the other hand, would see it as the sign of a summoner with a potent memory; a memory so clear that the summoner could easily remember the location of every item in the room, for a summoner could not be anything less than completely scrupulous and meticulous in his work, or he would quickly be dead.

The tables filled with complicated structures of glass tubes, piping, and containers, containing strange mixtures of liquids resting in silence would indicate the summoner was possessed of a considerable alchemical talent.

At the same time, the knowledgeable observer would have recognized the insufficiency of the present materials for true alchemical research, and might, if sufficiently swift of thought, have come to the correct conclusion that the summoner was so powerful and confident as to summon powerful beings for the sole purpose of obtaining an ingredient such as a horn or hair to complete an alchemical formula, whether directly from the summoned being, or by forcing the being to obtain it, and therefore was prepared to have the formula on hand, ready for the addition of the latest acquisition, and the swift punishment of the summoned if the component was not as requested.

Indeed, an observer could have learned much if any had been there, or even been able to obtain a description of the room. But the massive iron door that rose twenty feet high on one wall, and stretched ten feet wide, had never witnessed the passage of any but the summoner and his closest servants. The builders of the room were long dead, and no description was left by their hands. The room itself was so powerfully warded against all forms of scrying that a god would have had difficulties observing the summonings that went on therein. Indeed, the only beings aside from the summoner and his servants that knew the interior of the room were those that he summoned.

So the silent darkness was yet undisturbed when the summoner approached. As the door swung inward in utter silence, torches set in brackets on the walls flared to life, casting a flickering light across the room, though they did not burn nor release smoke.

A tall lean figure, almost human in appearance, save for the pointed and unusually long ears and the long white hair that was at odds with the surprising youthfulness of his face entered, shoving the massive iron door casually aside with light pressure from his fingers. There was an air of power about the man, and a strong sense of command. His face was undeniably handsome, but marred by a sardonic grin and cold, hard eyes. A single fine white scar trailed down one cheek. His face was smooth and free of hair. Not merely clean shaven, he looked as though he had never had any facial hair. It would have seemed the face of a child, were it not for the hard lines of his cheek bones and sharp nose.

Following close behind the man, a wildcat loped into the room. It was nearly four feet long and strongly built. Its fur was a very deep black that seemed to absorb the light that fell upon it. Its eyes were yellow and calm as it gazed about the room. It had a peculiar air of intelligence about it, as if it might actually understand what it was seeing, in the manner of a man.

The cat was followed by a peculiar two-foot tall creature. It was somewhat human in appearance, standing on two legs, having two arms, and a nearly human face. But its legs had two extra joints, looking much like the back legs of the cat, and two bat-like wings sprouted from its back. Its facial appearance was ugly and twisted; it had two horns and fangs that protruded from between its lips giving it a bestial appearance.

The tall figure set quickly to work, moving with swift, silent assuredness to one of the tables, where its elegant hands and long delicate fingers caressed an elaborately carved oaken box, before flicking it open, with but a mumbled word to disable its many magical protections. He drew forth from it several pieces of chalk, unused, sharp edged.

He spoke another word, louder and more clearly, and the torches suddenly stopped flickering, and flared up to a brightness that made the light in the room equal that of the midday sun. The most direct effect of this was the almost complete absence of shadows on the central pattern in the floor. Even the grooves running through it were lit to the bottom, and the four sources of light cancelled out each other's shadows.

The brilliant light and the resulting lack of shadows made the design on the floor look curiously unreal, as if it were a painting by an artist who had forgotten or discarded realism.

The man set to work with almost casual ease and yet with great care and precision, as he laid out a circle on the floor. This circle was much smaller than the large circular design of the floor, being only slightly larger than the space that would be taken by a human sitting lotus style. The cat watched in near-silence, padding about on muffled paws to eye the man's work, but carefully avoiding the chalk already laid down, purring occasionally, as if to indicate his approval of one of the more intricate wards. The man stood, finally, after thirty minutes of careful and continuous work, and looked at his completed design.

"Do you think it will hold him?" he asked, his voice deep but smooth, with a hint of its underlying sensuousness. The cat padded slowly around the circle, looking at each ward in turn and considering each with an air of intelligence and complete understanding. It spoke in a smooth, purring voice, "It would hold the one we knew. But how changed is he? What gifts might the Lady have given him?"

"He cannot use the Lady's gifts against me, I am under the protection of another. Any divine powers he has been given will be useless. I have held her servants with a similar circle before. I think it will do." He looked at the circle, and said a single word, in a calm clear voice. The chalk shimmered and glowed, and when the glow faded, the markings were clear and sharp edged, with none of the appearance of chalk.

Through all this the smaller semi-human figure, which any magic-user would recognize as a homonculus, a magically created servant, sat silent on a table, watching. Its time for action had not yet come. Its task would be scrubbing of the blood from the floor of the summoning room, and wherever else it splattered. This task could not be left to human servants as none were ever permitted to see this room. So it would fall to him, for he would work tirelessly and without complaint.

The man began drawing out a much larger circle, laying the chalk in the course of the design inlaid on the floor, which completely enveloped the smaller chalk circle. "He knows I have not the power to command him once summoned, so he will not be expecting me to summon him for any reason other than to gloat." he said to the cat as he carefully drew in the next ward. "I will bring him in just before I finish the last sigil in the greater summoning circle. I want him to have just a few moments to appreciate the depth of his failure and the completeness of my triumph, before I summon the demon to rip his heart out."

"Then why do you not summon him now, and give him that much more time to be miserable, Master?" the cat wondered, purring with delight as he pictured the complete despair and final misery of his Master's enemy in his mind.

"Because I have not the strength to hold him for that long and I have no wish to leave him enough time to figure a way out. I want to give him only enough time to realize the completeness of his defeat before the end," was the man's measured response. He was careful and thorough, wanting nothing to mar his final victory. This would be a great moment for him, as he defeated his most powerful enemy, and struck a blow against the Lady that would be sensed around the world and felt for centuries to come.

"Of course, Master," replied the cat, purring once again, "and what demon are you going to summon? The Enemy is still a potent warrior."

"Simple. I am going to take advantage of his fears. What does he fear most, Licius?"

"Cats!" was Licius' instant response, followed by a deep rumbling purr, and an almost laughing meow.

"Precisely. So I shall summon a cat demon, and his own fears will prevent him from defending against it."

"Master, I felt the increase in your power when you made your, ahem, deal with the Ladies... but you still have not told me the details of the deal... might this not be a good time?"

"Very well, Licius. It is simple, really. The Sisters have had a long-running competition... feud, actually, for some time now. They finally decided to stop wasting their power attacking each other directly, and fight through mortal champions. So they looked to the world and chose the most powerful pair of mortal enemies they could find, to be their champions."

"A great honor, indeed," Licius purred.

"Yes, quite," Fey replied dryly, examining his latest sigil. "The agreement is that they each devote a percentage of their power to us. We choose the form the divine gift takes. When I defeat Arkus the Ladies' feud shall be ended and I will be well rewarded."

"But you face many other challengers, as does Arkus. What of them?"

"The Ladies are aware of them. If either of us is defeated by a human challenger, then the Ladies will give us the power to drive out their soul and take the body. After all, if they defeated us, they must be more powerful, right? At that point in time, we will get to make again the choice of divine gift, to choose something more appropriate to the new body. That is what Arkus just did," Fey's voice was taut with disgust. "He lost to that damned white wizard, and now he's chosen divine immortality, the fool. It made him into an extra-planar being, capable of being summoned, and that will be his downfall." This forceful statement was followed by the complete absence of a peal of maniacal laughter. Not every egotistical evil sorcerer plays true to form.

Licius examined Fey's just-finished sigil, purring his approval. Looking up, the cat asked, "You think he chose the immortality because he was afraid of death, even though he had just experienced it?"

"Precisely. The fool realized he was mortal and vulnerable, so he sought to defend himself against other mortals, instead of against me. Very unwise of him. He hasn't studied the gifts well enough. Divine immortality just means he won't age, and becomes an extra-planar being. He can still be killed by a mortal, or a demon."

Fey looked thoughtful for a moment. It really, now that he thought about it, did not seem like Arkus to be so driven by fear... but then again, "I do not know. Maybe it was not that. Maybe his new body is old already, and that frightened him. If it was human, he would have to worry about dying of old age or physical disability, and there is nothing in the rules about that. Maybe he realized how close he came to losing, and feared what the Lady will do to him, after he fails."

After nearly two hours of careful preparation the immense circle was almost complete. It lacked only the final sigil, which would name the demon to be summoned. He wanted his enemy to see his doom with utter finality. It was time to summon him.

The preparations being completed and the man's power being what it was, it took but a single word to activate the inner circle, summoning his enemy to stand before him.

He stood straight and tall in the inner circle, though not as tall as the dark figure outside it. His robes were white as snow, and he held a tall wooden staff, slightly twisted and intricately carved. His hair was as white as his robes, his face was lined with age, but his limbs were strong, his eyes were clear, and they flashed now with amusement. "You always were an impetuous fool, Fey. Think you that you now have the strength to command me?"

Fey's eyes lit with a savage glee. "I need not command you to destroy you, old fool. Look around you, Arkus, consider what you see. Look upon your doom, old man, and despair!" Thinking he had finally discerned Arkus' true reasons for his choice of gift, Fey looked to press the knife home, and so emphasized both Arkus' newly old age, and his imminent failure.

Fey waited, as Arkus considered the runes about his feet. Hmmm. Fey has done well. Were I solely stronger in what I had known, I should not be able to break this. He has protected himself against the divine powers the Lady has given me, but he is clearly unaware of the other gifts of the Lady. He has placed no protection against psionics here. Not surprising, considering how uncommon it is in this world. Arkus considered the runes for another moment, then scanned the outer circle. He means to summon a demon to destroy me, the fool. I'll have to arrange a surprise for him. Even as he thought this, his eyes had come full circle, and were again observing Fey.

Seeing Arkus' eyes again upon him, Fey dropped lightly to his knees, and began drawing the last sigil. Instantly Arkus realized his intent. The fool doesn't realize my fear of cats is gone. Well, I'll use it against him then.

Arkus focused his mental power, and cautiously reached out to Fey. Determining that Fey had no natural defense, and that there were no spells focused on defense against psionics, he reached into Fey's mind, and slightly adjusted Fey's mental image of the sigil.

Fey completed the sigil, wholly unaware that he had been manipulated, and stood with a flourish. Arkus carefully schooled his features into the proper rictus of despair and dismay. It was calculated to reassure Fey that all was perfect, and that Arkus truly believed that the summoning would have the desired effect. He needed to prevent Licius, Fey's familiar, from having time to examine all the sigils. His ploy worked.

Fey immediately snapped out two words, the first solidifying the chalk circle, to which Licius gasped out a concerned, "But Master," only to fall silent again at the second word.

Fey had already activated the summoning.

---

In a forest on the island of Hokkaido, in Japan, a young boy of seven paced steadily through the woods. Some twenty miles from him an older man wearing a bandanna around his largely bald head tramped after him, following the trail of deep scratch marks through trees, underbrush, and soil.

Occasionally the old man would stop and feel the scratches in a tree to sense the residual ki signature, judging from its strength how far behind he was. While he didn't know for sure how strong the boy's ki claws were, he had felt a tree just moments after the boy had sliced it, so he knew how strong the residual should be.

Each time he felt a tree, he would sigh. The boy was steadily getting further and further from him. At least this time the boy hadn't attacked him first. The last several times the boy had gone feral he had nearly killed him, the boy's own father. Ungrateful wretch.

Surely this wild behavior wasn't the legendary Neko-ken! It was just another example of the boy's failure to learn the style. After all, surely it wouldn't be called an ultimate fighting style if it made the martial artist chase butterflies and lie in sunbeams? No, impossible. The art of Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu is about control, as are the other martial arts. No way this uncontrolled, wild behavior could be the expected result of a martial arts training technique.

Meanwhile the boy continued his steady pursuit, following the scent of the deer he had picked up. Every now and then, he would casually slash at a tree as he went past. He wasn't marking his territory, merely announcing his presence to any potential competitor in the area. A cat of his human age would be ready to mate and therefore would be announcing himself to potential mates, but the body he was in was not ready and so this possibility did not make itself known in the cat's mind, whose maturity matched the body's maturity, and not its chronological age.

Suddenly he paused, crouched in the underbrush, tense but still. There, in the clearing ahead of him, head down, grazing, was the doe he had been tracking. Neko-Ranma was not yet old enough to hunt for real. He was still at that stage of maturity where little kittens or cubs are playing mock games with each other and their parents. But he had the instincts that rule kitten's behavior, and his instincts were telling him to sneak stealthily up behind the deer, spring out from his concealment, and grasp its neck in his jaws, suffocating it and breaking its neck. Even as he leapt from concealment, there was a flash of light. The deer bolted away from the now empty but strangely disturbing clearing.

Several hours later when Genma finally reached the clearing he spent nearly an hour puzzling over the signs. He could see the deep impression of claws in the dirt beneath a bush where Ranma had pushed off into his leap, but for the life of him, he couldn't find where Ranma had landed. He saw the tracks of the deer, but no blood. If Ranma's claws were digging holes in the dirt there was no way he could land on a deer and not spill blood. Besides, the deer's tracks were not suddenly deeper, as they should have been had a sudden weight been introduced to its back.

He then tramped out a half mile from the clearing, and using a few distant mountains as landmarks he walked slowly in a massive circle around the clearing looking for signs of his son. Finally, he reached the original trail where his son's tracks had ended and set up camp. Perhaps his son would return here. Perhaps he was here still, watching from high up in a tree. He would have to let the boy sleep off the cat. The boy would then return to his father. He was sure of it. The boy would not desert him. Surely not. Or his wife would kill him. He shivered as if a sudden cold breeze had blown past him, as in his mind, he saw his wife's katana flash before him.

---

Neko-Ranma blinked at the sudden brightness, then bounced off something, and scrabbled to his feet on hard stones. Neko-Ranma uttered a deep plaintive wail at the loss of his toy. Fey was about to turn red with fury at the utter failure of his spell when the summoned boy mewed, and Fey finally noticed the deep gouges in the floor where the boy had first landed. A strange and utterly peculiar cat-demon, but a cat-demon nonetheless. Fey stood tall and straight. He uttered, in a strong and commanding voice, towering menacingly over the demon, "Kill him now!" He pointed towards the entrapped Arkus.

Arkus, meanwhile, had been expecting the summoning to be a complete failure, but recovered his composure quickly. He reached out mentally. Finding the mind of a cat, he adjusted its perceptions so that it would see this menacing figure as a male cat, invading his territory, and threatening him. It was harder than he expected, due to the cat-mind's relative immaturity, but Arkus managed to implant the suggestions in spite of the difficulty.

Neko-Ranma hissed, and slashed at the intruding cat. His hand hit the spell-wall, and went no further, but the bindings were meant to hold a being of magic and demonic power, and did not stop Ranma's ki. The power of the human spirit is not a common thing to find in demonic beings, so it came as a complete and utter surprise to Fey as he felt the claws rip into his face. An instant later he was dead, his face completely ripped off. Licius, Fey's familiar, collapsed in pain, dying as the bond to his master pulled him as well.

As Fey died the binding spell on Arkus failed and he disappeared in a flash of light. But the spell around Neko-Ranma was far stronger than it needed to be, meant to hold a powerful demon, and so had not yet failed by the time Fey's body collapsed across the spell-wall. This caused the spell to fail in a completely different manner. Rather than releasing Neko-Ranma back to his home plane, he was released into this plane.

Neko-Ranma growled at the dead man, still seeing him as a male cat intruding in his territory. In a peculiar way, this action of Arkus had an unexpected side effect. If the male cat was intruding in his territory, then this was his territory. He padded over to the dead man, nudging him to be certain he was dead, and then reaching down to grasp the dead man's neck in his jaws.

Neko-Ranma intended to drag the man away, but before he could act on it, the black clothing of the man disappeared, and reappeared on him. The clothing was responding to Neko-Ranma's utter belief that this was his territory, such that it recognized him as the legitimate master of this place. This place was his, so he must be the master. This was a necessary addendum on Fey's part. The divine gift had gone to Ranma immediately, but most of Fey's magic would not bind to him until it felt Fey's will, to ensure the inability of the body to resist Fey's takeover of it. Arkus' actions had ensured that the spells were convinced this had occurred.

Neko-Ranma panicked, and whirled around the room, hissing and snarling as he tried to get rid of the tight fitting black clothes. In the process most of the room's contents were damaged until Neko-Ranma finally found the iron door, tore a hole in it, and fled down the hall. Finally he came to a stop as the hall ended in a turn that led to more stairs that led down still further. Exhausted, panting, he collapsed in a heap, and fell to sleep. As he lay sleeping the ripped and tattered shreds of black cloth clinging to him began to slowly mend, and the minor cuts and abrasions he had received quickly faded, his skin becoming smooth and unbroken again.

---

Arkus floated in an infinite blackness, lacking even the slightest variation in any direction to provide a reference. There was no air, and so no movement of it against his skin to anchor his senses, no scent to touch his nose or mouth and guide him. The only sensation of location or motion came from the confused signals his inner ear gave out. He had long since learned to tune them out. There were no references here to use, because there was no need. He drifted in silence, waiting for his Lady's attention.

He was caught up in a pleasant daydream of what his reward might soon be, for defeating his enemy so soundly. Though Arkus knew well the dangers of assuming his enemy's defeat... Fey had come back from much more serious wounds... a wound that took his life would take nearly a day to heal... but this death had been so unexpected, that Arkus allowed himself the luxury of imagining that Fey had had no defenses up, and so would have been torn from his body before his powerful magics could begin to heal him.

He was still drifting in this gentle reverie, when finally, a voice sounded in the darkness, seeming to fill it. The voice was feminine, but utterly hard and cold, and from the first word, the way she said his name, he knew suddenly that he had failed.

"Arkus, you are a fool."

"Fey did not die then, Lady?" Arkus queried, and was about to continue, to point out that it was at least a setback for Fey, when she interrupted him.

"Of course he died, you imbecile!"

"But, but, Lady, if he died, then wh..." Arkus was at a loss. The sudden surge of triumph at her words fell quickly to ashes within him, as he realized that there was something still very wrong. He had not just been the catalyst for Fey's rise to demi-godhood, surely?

"Silence, cretin! Speak no more." Arkus felt his tongue cleave to his mouth, silencing his imminent plea. "You changed his summoning, and tricked him into allowing himself to be defeated. I would commend you, had you not been such a complete idiot!" She was screaming in fury now. "That cat-thing that killed him, Arkus, you putrescence, that was a human boy!"

Now, suddenly, the terrible consequences of his success fell home to him. She had said Fey had died... that meant he had not taken the body, even though it was now his. That meant... oh dear. The boy was now a champion, recipient of a divine gift, and inheritor of all Fey's power... but wasn't in service to either of the Ladies?

She spoke again, calmer now. "We've won, Arkus. What a bitter way to win. Fey lost, and by rights, all of his power, and my sister's gift, should now be yours, and mine. Instead, they're in the hands of this outworlder. You've won the game, and thrown away the prize."

Arkus was about to swear to the lady that he would slay the child, and take back the gifts, when she screamed in fury, then spoke again in a cold voice vibrating with anger. "You fool! That boy destroyed Fey with a single blow! The agreement was with Fey, not him. If you kill him, he simply dies. You won't get his gifts... but if he were to kill you, he would gain all you had!" She was shouting now, in her rage. "You will not go near that boy, Arkus!"

Then her voice was quiet and soft again. "You are still my champion, Arkus, and I have your power and gift, while my sister has nothing of Fey left to her. We have won, even if it is a bitter victory. I am not wholly displeased with you. I can feel your desire, and I grant it. You may watch the boy. Put no influence on him directly, but if through indirect means he comes to worship and follow me, you will be well rewarded."

Her voice faded, and he found himself once again in his own castle. He moved quickly to his scrying room. "I must know what form the gift takes with the boy."

---

He had been sitting there most of the night. He always had to leave the castle when Fey went to do his summonings... he was simply too sensitive to the emanations the spells put out. So he hunched over his mug of ale, his seventh that night, grumbling to himself. Fey had told him that he intended to complete his long-term plan to remove Arkus that night. Then the wars could be renewed without outside interference, and Fey would soon rule the Five Kingdoms with Krall at his right hand.

Krall felt a sudden burning, searing pain in his face, as if he had just been clawed. He was not unfamiliar with the sensation... he had in fact had his face ripped open during fights for dominance before. But this time the pain was there, but not the damage... he put a hand to his face and it was whole. Krall jerked upright knocking over his mug of ale as he felt the touch of his Master leave his mind. Fey was dead! Now was his hour of triumph come! Arkus must have defeated Fey, but he would not know of the arrangements Fey had made, that would soon invest Krall with Fey's power, and bind the dragon bitch to him! Then he stood, anger vibrating in his taut form, as the other patrons of the inn backed away fearfully. He growled, threw several coins down, and raced through the door onto the streets. He didn't slow until he was outside of the small village, and into the forest. There he let out his rage, howling into the night, into the blackness of the sky.

It was his! It had been promised to him, for slaving his bloodthirst to his master, it was to be his, but his master was dead, he felt him die, felt the slash across the face, the sudden searing pain, and the almost instant absence of the master in his mind, but nothing had come for him. He stood in the darkness, waiting, tense with rage, and still nothing came. It had been promised to him! Why was it not coming?

He roared his fury, and his body rippled, clothes disappearing as his already impressively muscled form grew still larger and stronger, sprouting thick black fur, as he swelled into his hybrid form. He was the master of Lord Fey's forces, the general of his army, Fey's right-hand, the promised and chosen successor of his Lord, upon his death. To him was to have come the great power of the Lord, but it had not! He felt nothing... not true... he felt diminished! The power lent him by the Lord as his General was gone, stolen from him, as was what had been promised to him.

The thief, whoever it be, would pay, and pay dearly for this, the beast swore, howling his rage and fury. Arkus, he decided, it must be Arkus who had done this. Well, then Arkus would die.

An Unremembered Act

Ranma awoke with a start, sitting up in a sudden but smooth motion. Before his bleary eyes could clear, he heard a thick, sultry voice. "Ah, you're awake, Master." He rubbed his eyes, and looked around. He only got to the point of noticing that he was sitting on a huge bed, wearing nothing but a black wrist guard, before noticing the stunningly beautiful woman sitting on the edge of the bed, even now leaning alluringly toward him, her silk nightrobe hanging loose, giving him a perfect view of her assets. She had lustrous black hair that reached down to her waist, and smooth white skin, and a tightly muscled stomach, and full breasts. He dove beneath the covers. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't see nothing, really, honest, uh, please, uh, please don't hit me, I'm sorry, I wasn't looking." Finally he paused for a moment.

Whenever his father had been caught looking at a woman, the lady would instantly start to attack him. But he hadn't been attacked yet. He heard a soft, low chuckle. "Why does the Master fear his servant?" she asked. He felt her hand on his shoulder through the blankets and sheets, then he felt her drawing them back, uncovering him. He realized with sudden shame that he was wearing no clothing, nothing at all, and sought desperately to cover himself, as she pulled away the covers. "You seem uncomfortable, Master. If you do not want to be unclothed, why do you not clothe yourself?"

He looked around frantically, still covering himself, looking anywhere but at her. "Where are they? Where are my clothes?"

"Master?" she asked, looking confused. "What do you mean? You know you have only to think of it, and your clothing will appear."

He looked at her finally, desperate, and saw the honest confusion in her eyes. Could she be right? It didn't make any sense, any more than her constantly calling him Master. He kept expecting her to suddenly realize that he wasn't whoever she thought he was, and attack him for deceiving her. But she didn't. Hoping frantically, he concentrated on picturing what he needed most, and suddenly he was wearing a pair of black silk boxers. He breathed a sigh of relief, then asked, "Wha... where... where'd they come from?"

As he saw the confusion deepen in her eyes, he tensed, again expecting her to suddenly realize that he was not who she thought he was, and attack him. While he sensed no real fighting ability in her, the fact that they were on this bed said to him that they were in at least a large house, and there were probably others within easy calling distance. If she called out, he might be forced to attempt a quick getaway, a very difficult thing when he had no idea of the layout of the house. When he saw sudden comprehension dawn in her gaze, he pulled his legs beneath him, ready to leap, his eyes darting suddenly around the room, taking in the huge closet, the massive wardrobe, the open paper door to a large bath, and the massive oaken doors that must lead outside. "You are not the old master in a new form," she breathed out slowly, and he gulped, and prepared to leap, "You are a new master." She smiled suddenly, and it seemed to light the whole room. "You must have defeated him! Such power in one so young. Is this your true form?"

He looked at her aghast. She had realized that he was not her master, and then simply decided that he was anyway? This made no sense. "True form? What'd ya mean by that?," he asked, edging slowly backward, toward the edge of the bed. "Who'd I defeat? I don' remember fighting nobody."

"But you must have. You wear his clothing, the spells that bound me to him now bind me to you. You must have defeated him," she said, almost desperately, looking around with wild eyes, as if expecting someone to suddenly appear. "He can't just be playing with me. He can't! He would never have given you his clothes, not even to play a trick on me. It would be too dangerous." She was breathing rapidly now, and he could see her fear rising.

"Don' worry. Don' be afraid. I'll protect you from him." he said suddenly, wanting to stop the tears he saw glistening in her eyes. He hated to see women cry. "Jus don' cry. Please don't cry."

She suddenly reached out, and gathered him to her, holding him tightly, as tears fell from her eyes. Sobbing under her breath, he could hear her chanting, "He must be dead. He must be dead." He could feel her heartbeat, thudding against his back, and the warmth of her pressed against him. It caused no response in him though. He was still to young for that. He felt only an urgent desire to stop her tears, to comfort her, to erase her fear, and thought desperately, trying to think of a way that he might have defeated someone and yet not known it.

He tried to remember how he had come here, and finally he remembered sitting at the fire with his father, having just finished their meal, when a large wildcat had appeared. It was foaming at the mouth, and his father had jumped up shouting "Rabies" and run from it nearly as fast as Ranma himself had.

"Neko-ken!" he said suddenly. "I could'a defeated him in the Neko-ken and I would'n a remembered anything. I never do." Her tears stopped, and she sniffled. A sudden dread fell on him. She had been chanting, "He must be dead." If he had to be dead for Ranma to have his clothes (though it disturbed him to wonder how she recognized his boxers) then that meant Ranma had killed. A cold shiver went through him, and sudden tears sprang to his eyes.

"No. No, I didn't. Please no. Tell me I didn't! Oh, Kami-sama, I killed him. I'm a murderer. Damn you, Oyaji! I'll probably kill again. I won't even remember it." She held him through his sobbing tears, rocking him back and forth, and trying to comfort him. When his tears finally slowed, she tried to reassure him that the man he had killed had been thoroughly evil, that he had deserved to die. "Maybe. Maybe it wasn't wrong to kill him. But I didn't know that. I could'na known. I just lashed out. It could'a been someone that didn' do nothin'." His look of sorrow suddenly turned to a look of pained determination. "But I have to know. I have to know if I really killed him."

He extricated himself from her arms, and jumped lightly off the bed. Closing his eyes, he concentrated again, trying to picture himself in his typical clothing. When he opened them, he found he was indeed wearing his traveling gear, except that they were all black. "Weird." He sighed, and turned to the lady. "Please, get dressed. I need ya to help me find him." She shivered, but nodded, and slid off the bed, and walked into the closet. He sat cross-legged on the floor to wait for her. Several minutes later, she stepped out again, dressed in an elegant kimono of green silk, and held out her shapely hand for his. He rose lithely to his feet, and she led him out the door.

She watched him as he walked down the halls, turning where she said. He moved, she thought, with an unusual grace, and an even more unusual silence. He seemed like an animal, graceful and sure in his movements, with an abundant but hidden power. She shivered in delight, remembering the hard lines of his body as he sat on the bed. She quickly suppressed the thought. He was too young to want that of her, and his lack of reaction when she held him confirmed that this was his true form.

The magic bound her to love him, but as she recognized his unwillingness to accept her in that role, it allowed her love to take on a more maternal air. She noticed that he looked small for his age. He certainly didn't look like he had lacked for exercise... perhaps he hadn't been well-fed?

She stopped him at the bottom of a flight of stone steps rising between walls of stone. "I found you, young Master, at the mid-flight of these. The last time I saw the Master, he was going to the Summoning Room, which is at the top of the stairs. I suspect we shall find something there."

His step as he walked upwards started light enough, but by the time they reached the landing where he had lain, his step had grown heavy, and his shoulders had drooped. She paused behind him, feeling for his obvious pain and depression, as he stared down at the small bloodstains where he had lain.

He knew he had no injuries on him, so this blood was not his. This only served to confirm his fears, and his depression grew. She offered, though with visible trepidation, to go on ahead, and verify the death, so that he need not see it, but he cut her off. "I gotta see. I can't just hide from what I did. I... I gotta face it."

She marveled at his strength of will, to do what he so obviously wished not to have to do, with no one there telling him it was necessary. This was a boy she might have come to love even without the strength of the magic that bound her to him. His speech was uncouth, but his heart was pure.

With a heavy sigh, he walked up the stairs. As he neared the top, his shoulders straightened and his step firmed, though she could still see the depression and fear in the soft features of his youthful face.

He looked up, and started in surprise, then pointed at the door. "Oh man... No way... Wow! Well, I was definitely in Neko-ken." She gasped in awe. The three inch thick iron door had a hole slashed through it, the edges jagged and sharp. A strong light shone through the hole in the door, glinting off the iron filings that covered the floor.

So strong, so much power, and yet so young. She felt a momentary twinge of fear. It was known that some powerful mages, when faced with a challenge for physical combat, would bind the souls of demons to themselves, to strengthen and give them great fighting ability. Surely this must be what the boy had done, for how else could he have appeared in the summoning room, and how else could he have torn through a door? Yet she sensed no evil from him, nor even a hint of the demonic, nor had she even when she had found him sleeping, surely scant hours after he had been possessed. It did not make sense.

She watched in silence as the boy walked up to the door, and strove to open it. He had no magic sense, clearly, or he would have seen that the door was warded and sealed. Yet he had broken through it. Even now, to her utter amazement, he was slowly forcing the door inwards. While she knew the wards would have been weakened by the old Master's death, they were physical magic, not like the summoning which required constant effort. They had physical form, and true power was in them, which did not need to be held. They would work for anyone, even after their creator's death, and yet this boy was forcing them backwards. He certainly seemed too uneducated to be a mage. But then how did he have the power to carve a path through an iron door?

With a sudden crack and flare of light, the door burst inwards, and they both covered the eyes, and then gagged at the stench of blood. As their eyes adjusted to the brightness, she saw a little man, who she recognized as the old Master's homunculus, trying to straighten some books.

The whole room was in complete disarray. The chemicals on one wall were spilled and mixing on the floor, contributing to the miasma in the air. The glass pipes that had held them were shattered, some still hanging in their fixtures, cleanly severed. The books and scrolls along the walls were largely shredded.

On the floor lay two bodies. One, tall and lean, the body of the Master, a massive pool of blood surrounding his head as he lay face down, the other a large cat, lying motionless, not even breathing, on the floor some distance away. She turned back to look at the boy, and watched as the horror in his eyes faded to anguish, then hardened to a look of steel.

"Never again," she heard him say under his breath, then he turned to leave. "Come on, please, I gotta get out of here," he said in a trembling tone, then under his breath, "I gotta be strong," then again, firmer, "I killed him," and he sobbed suddenly, then took a deep breath, "I gotta bury him."

He did not look at her as he said this, hands clenched by his side, but simply turned and walked to the door, and started down the stairs. She followed quickly after, as happy as he was to leave the stench of death behind. He seemed to have simply ignored the homunculus, or had he perhaps not seen it at all? Often those with no magic-sight could not see beings of such pure magic.

"You need not worry yourself, Master. I will have the other servants take care of it."

"Yeah, all right. I gotta think for a bit. Is there someplace I can just be alone, sit and think? They can get him ready, and maybe get him some clothes or somethin'. But I gotta bury him." The pain flickered in his gaze, and she marveled again at his strength of will. So young. He must want to collapse in tears. How will he be able to live with what he has done? Yet he is strong. It would be much easier on him if he were not so good in his heart.

"Very well, young Master, it will be as you say."

"And after, we can talk about why you keep on callin' me that," he said, the pain even more evident in his voice. She sensed that it was not the Master's death that pained him now, but somehow her words that had hurt him. She shrank inside. She loved him, and yet she had hurt him, but she did not know how. "But right now I just wanna be alone for a while." So she led him outside, to a small rock garden, and left him there.

---

When all was in readiness, a few hours later, she returned, and found him sitting on the rocks in lotus position, the calves of each leg resting on the thigh of the other, focused on a single rock before him. When she approached, he stood smoothly. "You know," he said in a soft voice, "I still don't know your name."

"Nor I yours, young Master," she replied, and this time she noticed the visible wince at her words. She was troubled. She was causing him pain, but since she did not know how, she could not stop. There was no alternative but to ask him. She hoped he would not say that she pained him by her presence. She did not want to leave him. "Master, what am I doing that causes you such pain? Please tell me," she entreated him.

"It's nothing," he said, suddenly firm in tone again, "Is the," and he paused, a look of agony on his face, "burial site r-ready?"

"Yes, Master. Follow me, and I will take you to it." He followed silently behind her, and she wondered why it was so important to him that he bury the old Master. She did not think it was a mere matter of symbolism, of emphasizing his defeat. Certainly, he had not insisted that anyone be there to witness, as a leader might do to ensure that all recognized the validity of his claim, though she had made certain that there would indeed be witnesses... all of the castle staff, though not the Lord Fey's war leaders. No, somehow, he was motivated by his pain, in a way she couldn't quite understand.

When they reached the garden, he saw that the man's body had been clothed in black cloth, wrapped about him, more a shroud than clothing. His face was covered with several layers, and he lay upon a stone. An open coffin was beside him. It was made of a dark wood that glistened in the sun, and the interior was of a deep velvet in a rich red. Further to one side was a shovel, lying on the ground, and a gravestone, set in the ground, but devoid of any markings, its flat surface smooth and shiny.

He walked over to the body, and stood before it for several minutes, oblivious to the large crowd standing some distance away, and equally unaware that the lady had followed him, and was close enough to hear his words. "Oh, Kami-sama, I'm sorry. Maybe you did deserve to die, like the lady said. But I didn' wanna kill ya. I don't know all I did, or how I got your clothes. But I promise ya, I ain't gonna stop till I'm in control again. I don' wanna ever kill somebody again. And I specially don' wanna kill somebody and not even remember doin' it. It just ain't right."

Then he turned, and walked over to the shovel, and picked it up. He set it against the ground in front of the gravestone, placed his foot on it, and drove it through the grass, and deep into the soft earth.

A Life In Chains

Several hours later, he followed the lady into a large hall. A massive and unbelievably long table sat in the center of the hall, and at the far end, two chairs sat, the larger at the end, the smaller to the right side.

He followed her to the end, and stood for a moment in surprise as she took the smaller chair, leaving him the larger chair at the end, then sighed and sat. He looked at her for a moment, surprised at the sadness in her eyes. He was about to apologize again when she spoke, startling him. "Master, will you tell me now what I am doing that is hurting you? Please." Even as she said the first word, he winced.

He sighed, and in a low voice, said, "Lady, I'm real sorry for killing your husband, even if I couldn't help it, and even if he mighta deserved it. But I certainly didn't kill him to take what was his, least of all you." She felt a sharp pain in her heart at his words.

"I ain't your Master, Lady. I dunno why you keep calling me that. Was he your protector or something? Are you afraid that you'll have no-one to protect you if I leave too?" Her heart fell to her feet when he mentioned leaving her, and tears appeared in her eyes.

"I won't! I won't leave you. I'll protect you, if you want me to. Don't cry, please don't cry," he responded quickly to the sight of her tears. "Just don't call me that. I'm not your Master."

"But you are," she said emphatically, even as he shook his head. "He was not my husband, young Master, he was my Master. I was bound to him, and now I am bound to you."

"I don't understand. You said that before, about bein' bound. Whatcha mean by that?"

She sighed. How to explain this... "Young Master," she began, and he immediately interjected, with a look of pain on his face that tore at her heart, "Please stop calling me that. My name's Ranma. Saotome Ranma."

"Very well, Ranma. I am bound by magic to serve and love my Master. I am bound to you."

Ranma jumped out of his chair at this, stumbling backwards. "What? Magic... love!?" He looked scared out of his wits. "No, no, I don't want that. You can't want that! How do I stop it?"

She looked hurt. "You don't like me? You don't want my love?" Tears sprang into her eyes. Her heart felt like it would break, and she could not stop the pain, nor the tears. she knew that the emotions came from the old Lord's spells, not her heart, but she could not fight their strength.

"No, no, its not like that. Please don't cry. Its just... magic... its not right that you should be forced to love me. Its not right! Please don't cry." He was back at her side instantly, holding her in his small but strong arms. "Please don't cry." He felt terrible. She had looked so sad and small and vulnerable saying that. He felt like he had hit her, when he saw how she took his words.

He scraped his courage back together. Though he knew he was responsible for protecting her, after killing her... well he wasn't her husband, but surely he had been responsible for her... Ranma couldn't just leave her. But if he found someone who could take care of her... He needed to get back to his father before Genma got really mad. "What would you do... if... if I left?" he asked, dreading her response.

"I'd die," she said, in a choked whisper.

"You'd kill yourself," he said in a soft voice filled with shame and horror. Genma would have to go on without him. He could not be responsible for her death.

"No," she replied, "I'd simply die. The magic won't let me live without my Master." She sobbed. She knew he didn't love her, he couldn't love her. He was too young, too young to love any but his family. He would leave her, for she could not refuse to aid him in returning to his father, whom he surely must love, and she would die, and she would never see her beloved sister again. Oh how she hated the old Master, now that he was gone. She hated him, because she had loved him first, a true love, UN-forced, and he had betrayed her, trapping her with magic, and now that the magic love was gone, and the original love dead by betrayal, he was still going to drag her into death with him.

"I won't leave you." he said, simply, and quietly. He reached out with his small arms, and held her close. "Don't cry. I won't let you die." She believed him, comforted by the sincerity in his voice, and held him tightly, still sobbing softly.

Finally, after nearly a quarter of an hour, she had quieted. She was holding Ranma in her arms now, his arms around her, as he sat in her lap. Shifting slightly, he spoke, his voice clear of tears and sorrow now, sounding light and sweet. "Lady, you still haven't told me your name."

"My name? You may call me Alana, Ranma."

"That's a pretty name, Alana." he said, then shifted again to look up to her. "Please don't t-take this the wrong way, Alana. B-But I don't wanna stay here forever. I got my Oyaji out there somewhere, looking for me. I gotta find him. I gotta train. I don't really wanna ask this of someone like you. But can you leave this place? Do you gotta stay here? If you could come with me, I promise to protect ya." His eyes pleaded with hers.

"Oh you poor child. Yes, I can leave this place. But I don't think we'll find your Oyaji. Ranma, that room, upstairs, where you fought my old Master... that was a summoning room. He brought you here, Ranma, from somewhere else. This isn't your world." She felt her heart break again at the pain and fear in the blue eyes of the child she held. "I'm sorry, Ranma. I'm really sorry."

She almost laughed at the sudden almost comical look of determination that appeared on his face. "Well, then, we'll just haveta find us somebody who can set you free and send me home." Her heart nearly broke again, but for a very different reason. This cute, comical, sweet little boy was actually placing as much emphasis on setting her free as on getting himself home. He had someone who truly loved him, who would do anything and everything for him, and all he wanted was to set her free.

"I'm sorry, Ranma. I really am. But the only person who could have set me free was the old Master. You could, if you knew enough magic. But no other magic-user can do it. But I can send you home." She saw his face light up again, then dim as he saw the look of sadness and despair on her face.

"You couldn't come with me though, huh? You'd have to die to send me home. I won't letcha. I won't." He hugged her fiercely again, and she wept, again. So pure of heart. So strong of will. She realized then that even if he did one day manage to free her, she would never be free of love for her little Ranma. "So I have to find somebody to teach me magic then. So I can free you. Do you know someone?" He looked at her, that fierce look of determination on his face again, and she felt her heart leap.

"Yes," she said softly, "I do know someone. If you really want to learn, I will teach you, Ranma."

"Alright," he said, "But I gotta keep training. Are there martial artists on this world?"

"Yes," she laughed, "there are. I will bring Sensei's here to train you, Ranma."

---

That night, as Ranma sat alone in his room, he considered all that he had seen that day. His father had always told him that women were silly and weak, and when he had cried, his father had beat him, telling him that he was behaving like a weak girl. He had cried again that day, after realizing that he had killed. Even worse, he had killed unknowingly, without being able to decide if it was right and honorable.

The Lady had held him, and comforted him, and it had helped, he knew that. Crying was good therefore, he decided. It had rid him of some of his pain. He remembered the look on her face, the terrible pain in her eyes as she held him, crying against her, and realized that he... he had hurt her with his tears. It had been good for him... and it had hurt her.

For once, Ranma agreed with his father, in a completely unexpected way. Had he stayed with his father, he would have been beaten until every aspect of his femininity had been beaten from his mind, until he reacted to the possibility of emotion with harsh retorts and insults designed to prevent any emotional closeness that might let another share his pain.

Though he was now free of his father's influence in this respect, Ranma made a choice, and he chose to follow his father's path. But without the beatings, the continual conditioning of his unconscious self, this determination would manifest in a very different manner. Instead of a defense of automatic emotional reactions, Ranma began building barriers in his mind, locking his tears and pain away.

He had studied meditation under his father very early in his training. His father did not care much for meditation, and had used it only as a tool to get Ranma in touch with himself, to help him achieve his balance. Now Ranma began using it to wall away his emotions. In his mind this became a wall of ice, a coldness that held back the heat of his anger, the fire of his pain, and soothed them until there was nothing but numbness left.

It would take time, he knew, and so he set aside a half-hour each day to spend in his meditation, building the emotional barrier, strengthening it, striving to make it an integral part of his mind.

So it was that Ranma set out on the path of the Soul of Ice.

---

Krall made his way back to the massive encampment where Fey's permanent war force trained and prepared. There, he knew, he would learn of what had happened. He must be cautious, though. If Arkus or another warlord had taken control, they would likely have orders to capture all the higher officers, to force them to take magically binding oaths of loyalty, or perhaps to slay them out of hand, if the new ruler had generals of his own.

So it was a wolf that slunk into the encampment in the darkness of that second night, and padded silently from tent to tent, listening to the endless gossip. The death of the Lord Fey was a popular topic, unsurprisingly, but there seemed very little discussion of who had replaced him.

Krall heard enough to know that it was a small being, child-size, though he knew well enough not to judge power by stature. Fey had been a much thinner man than Krall, but was physically stronger. This new Lord might well be one of the faerie folk, or a dwarven elementalist, or even a demon. Krall had little thought of facing him directly, knowing that with his own power reduced by Fey's death, instead of enriched, he had little hope of defeating one who could defeat the Lord Fey in his inner sanctum.

Krall pondered, wondering whether Fey had succeeded in his intent before dying. Had the summoned being destroyed Arkus as well, or was that blight still out there, lurking somewhere? Krall shook in fury as he heard a few of his subordinate generals commenting on the fact that the new Lord had already been accepted by the Dragon Fang, the Lord's sword. That was to be mine, he growled to himself, before slipping through the shadows out of the encampment. He would find work in another army, for now, but he would have his revenge.

The Dragon's Fang

Ranma stood at the bottom of a long flight of steps, leading up the side of a hill, through the trees. He sighed. Somewhere lost in the trees above him was the Masaki shrine, where he would have to convince an old priest to train him with weapons. Ranma was not comfortable with the idea, and so his steps were slow as he began to make his way up the long flight.

The Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu emphasized the weakness of a warrior who was dependent on a weapon, but Lady Alana had insisted that he had to learn to use and wield the Dragon Fang, Fey's weapon. She had insisted that formal challenges for Fey Castle, that he was honor-bound to answer, had to be defended with weapons lest his opponents be insulted. He remained resistant, until she pointed out that if they felt insulted or slighted, they might declare war, instead of accepting the outcome of the bout, that convinced him. He could not be responsible for putting Lady Alana in the path of a war, when she could not flee because of him.

As it was, she was forced to put herself to sleep, and accept the grave risk of death should he not return promptly each week, to allow him to attain the training he would require. It pained him to think of her, forced to sleep, vulnerable and alone, while he trained, and he vowed to himself that he would master the Dragon Fang in record time, and release her from her danger.

So resolved, his gait changed. Instead of slowly plodding upwards, he now leapt, ten or twelve steps at a time, and in short order, came to the flat top of the hill, whereon stood a large two story house, in a traditional Japanese style, all sliding doors of paper and thin wood, and tall windows looking out over a lake beyond.

Tenchi sighed, pushing the leaves along with his broom. It seemed so pointless, brushing away the leaves, when more would fall tomorrow, and more the day after, but he worked steadily at it. As soon as he finished, he had to go up to Katsuhito's shrine, and train again.

Hearing a noise on the long flight of steps that run down to the road, Tenchi looked up. His jaw dropped slightly as he saw the young boy in the air, reaching nearly twelve feet above the top of the stairs at the peak of his jump. The boy couldn't be much more than seven, Tenchi's own age, but Tenchi could see, given the boy's tight black shirt, and judging by his amazing leap, that Tenchi was nowhere near this guy's condition. Tenchi also noted with interest the black scabbard that hung on the boy's waist, pointed slightly behind him. It looked to hold about a two foot long blade. Tenchi sighed softly. A two foot blade... then he wouldn't be here to learn to use a katana, and Tenchi probably wouldn't get to spar with him.

The young boy's gaze snapped directly to him when Tenchi sighed, and he leaped again, crossing the fifteen feet between them in a single bound. He landed lightly on his feet, barely flexing his knees, then immediately dropped into a deep bow. "Greetings, Warrior," he began, in a soft boyish tone, at odds with his strong appearance, if not his apparent age, "I seek the Shrine of Masaki. Can you direct me to it?" He straightened, and looked Tenchi in the eye, his face serious and a little sad.

Tenchi bowed in response. "Greetings, Honored Guest. I can direct you, but will you not stop, and have some tea? You must be tired from your journey." Tenchi knew that Katsuhito would be annoyed with him if he failed to remember his manners.

The boy broke into a surprised and delighted grin, falling from his formal stance. "Sure, thanks. My name's Saot... uh, no.. uhm... Fey Ranma. What's yours?"

Tenchi looked at him curiously. He sounded like he wasn't sure what his own name was... but no, that didn't make sense. He must have some reason for not wanting to use his real name. Oh well, Katsuhito would deal with it, if it was important. It was not Tenchi's place to question the word of a guest. "I am Masaki Tenchi," he replied, answering the boy's grin with one of his own, "please, come in." He set his broom against the side of the house, and stepping up to the door, slid it open, gesturing Ranma in ahead of him.

"Please make yourself comfortable at the table there, Ranma-san, and I'll get the tea." Tenchi quickly put together the tea tray, eager to learn more about this stranger. He was Tenchi's own age, or close to it. Would he be staying to study with Katsuhito? Tenchi would enjoy having a boy his age around. He had a few friends at school, but they did not come over often, and most days he spent alone, except during his hours of training with Katsuhito. He brought the tea tray out, and set it lightly on the table before Ranma, then poured two cups. Handing one to Ranma, he folded his legs beneath him, and sat on a cushion by the table.

Ranma sipped at his tea, and smiled at the taste. "This is very good tea, Tenchi-san."

Tenchi grimaced. "Just Tenchi, please."

"Only if you agree to call me Ranma. You used the honorific first, remember," Ranma replied with a grin.

"Yeah, sorry. What do you want to see the shrine for? Are you looking for Grandfather? Or do you want to make an offering?" Tenchi asked, hoping to assuage his curiosity while asking a perfectly legitimate and polite question.

"Yeah, I guess your grandfather is probably the guy I'm here to see." Ranma's face had darkened with pain, Tenchi was surprised to observe. He hoped Ranma was not here to challenge Katsuhito. "I gotta get trained in the use of my blade, if I can get the Master of the Shrine to take me as a student."

"Why do you look so... sad, I guess, about training with Grandfather?" Tenchi asked, wondering why on earth Ranma looked so down. Tenchi certainly enjoyed his training, even if Katsuhito never seemed to think he was good enough at it.

"So your grandfather is the Master of the Shrine, then?" Ranma turned Tenchi's question aside with another.

In politeness, Tenchi was forced to answer Ranma's question, and ignore Ranma's avoidance of his own. "Yes, I guess. I never heard him called Master, but he's the only one who could be, I think. My dad certainly isn't. He pretty much ignores the shrine. He works in town all day. Uhm, listen, I'm supposed to go up to the shrine for my training as soon as I finish my chores, so if you could wait just a few more minutes, I could take you up there myself," Tenchi offered.

"Sure," Ranma replied. "Can I help you?"

Tenchi stood up, "No, that's alright. I just gotta finish sweeping the grounds, and I'll be done. And I've only got the one broom." He bowed to his guest, and walked outside, grabbing his broom. As he swept, he thought about Ranma. He had observed him as they drank their tea, and he could clearly see the signs of a skilled martial artist. Ranma moved with a disturbing grace, and every motion seemed to say 'this could have been a killing blow.' It was uncanny.

In a few more minutes, he was finished. He put the broom away, and turned to the house to retrieve his guest. Ranma was already standing outside the door.

"Lead on," he said. Tenchi led him around the house to the second long flight of steps, that led up to the shrine. Ranma followed along beside him.

"Uhm. Ranma... you didn't really answer me before. Why don't you want to learn to use your sword? I still remember being excited the first time I got to train with Katsuhito." Tenchi queried, keeping a light tone to let Ranma know that he wouldn't be offended by another evasive answer, but genuinely curious. It seemed so strange to be saddened by the thought of learning, especially for one who was obviously so skilled already.

"Its not that, Tenchi. Its just... well, I'm supposed to be the heir of a school of martial arts... and well... No offense, but one of the tenets of the school is that a warrior who uses a weapon is weaker than a guy that doesn't need one. He is bound by its weakness, see, and if ya know what weapon the guy uses, you know his weak spot and can attack it. But I haveta learn... No, I have to master... my blade. Its a matter of honor, I guess. I gotta be able to defend her." Tenchi looked at him curiously. Her? This kid, no older than him, had a girl that he had to learn to use a sword to defend? Wow.

"But Ranma, if you know how to use a weapon, and you're just as good without it, doesn't that make you even better than someone that is only good without one? What if you get in a situation where you have to fight with a weapon?" Tenchi queried. Surely Ranma couldn't really believe that someone without a weapon was even stronger than someone with one. It just didn't make sense.

"That's just my problem. I gotta use a weapon. I dunno. I guess maybe you're right. If I keep up my unarmed skills just as good, then using a weapon would maybe just make somebody assume I had a weakness that I didn't have. Hey, yeah, and then I could use that against them. Wow, thanks Tenchi."

Ranma seemed much happier now, Tenchi thought. They had reached the top of the stairs, and the door of the shrine slid open, and Tenchi's grandfather stepped out. Ranma looked up at him, and decided that this tall thin man, with a lined but pleasant face set off by thin rectangular glasses that glinted in the light, was far more than he appeared. He seemed to have no aura, and little skill, yet in just a few of his movements, Ranma could sense his power, and realized that Tenchi's grandfather was so skilled that he could almost completely conceal his skill and his power.

"So Tenchi... brought one of your friends to watch you train again?" Katsuhito asked, smiling.

"No Grandfather. This is Fey Ranma. Ranma, this is my grandfather, Masaki Katsuhito," Tenchi replied.

Ranma stepped forward, and bowed deeply. "Honored Master of the Masaki Shrine, I beg leave to learn from you the art of the sword. I must achieve mastery over my weapon, the Dragon Fang, to fulfill my honor and duty. Will you accept me as your student?" Ranma continued to hold the bow for a long moment, before rising again, and looking Katsuhito in the eye. Tenchi was interested. He thought the speech might have been rehearsed. Certainly it was free of the the rough and uncouth mannerisms that had peppered their earlier conversation.

"The Dragon Fang you say, Ranma? Let me see it, please," responded Katsuhito, holding out his hand. Ranma pulled the sword from the sheath. It slid out in utter silence, and gleamed golden in the sunlight. Tenchi was quite impressed... it looked very well made for a short sword.

Katsuhito accepted it from Ranma, and looked at it curiously. "So you are Fey's heir, eh? I don't really know if I should teach one of Fey's blood. Your father was a dangerous man, Ranma. I hope you understand why I cannot accept you as a student. Please forgive me." Tenchi goggled... his grandfather knew Ranma's father? And wouldn't teach him because of that?

Ranma did not immediately accept his sword back. Instead he bowed deeply again. "I think you do not quite understand, Honored Master. I am not Fey's son, though I am his heir. I.." and his voice crackled with suppressed emotion, "I killed him. It falls on me therefore, to defend the Lady, for she has no-one else. Please, Honored Master, understand, evil though he might have been, I did not wish to k-kill him. But I did, and I... my honor requires that I master his sword so that I may defend the Lady."

When he straightened again, Tenchi was surprised to note the tears welling in his eyes, though they did not fall. His face was clouded with pain. Could this boy really have killed someone so evil that Katsuhito would be unwilling to teach someone just because they were related to him? Tenchi goggled at him, realizing that given what the boy had said on the stairs, he must have killed him while unarmed! After all, Ranma had made it clear that he did not know nor approve of the use of weapons in combat. This seven year old kid had killed a man unarmed? Wow.

Tenchi saw Katsuhito's eyes soften as he looked down at the boy. "Very well, Fey Ranma. I will train you, until you have mastered the Dragon Fang. But first I must train my grandson. Come, sit here, and watch, and learn what you can." Katsuhito led Ranma to one side, where Ranma dropped easily into seiza, sitting with his legs folded beneath him.

"Tenchi, assume!" Katsuhito barked. Ranma sat quietly and watched, as Tenchi sparred with his father, their bokkens whirling and clacking against each other. Tenchi was quickly sweating, while Katsuhito remained cool and collected, offering mild comments on Tenchi's form as his bokken whirled and sliced the air.

Ranma considered, and when Katsuhito made a comment about Tenchi still knowing the sword was in his hand, instead of using it as an extension, he focused on the difference in the two. Katsuhito hardly seemed to notice that he was wielding a weapon, while Tenchi seemed to pause an instant before each move, as if he had to decide what to do next.

Finally they stopped, and Tenchi slumped to the side to rest. Then Ranma stood, and at Katsuhito's request, began a simple kata. Tenchi watched wide-eyed, as Ranma steadily increased the speed and complexity of his kata. He was moving with unnerving silence, and surprising grace. It put Tenchi in mind of the television programs he had seen on tigers, the way Ranma's muscles rippled under his skin, his sheer strength as he tore the air, the subtle grace of his body as he moved through the forms.

Katsuhito, meanwhile, observed in silence, making no comment as Ranma finally came to a sudden stop, holding a most untenable position for nearly a minute, as demanded by his school's katas, before finally relaxing. Ranma turned, and gave Katsuhito another deep bow.

"Now, Ranma, take up a bokken, and we will begin with the forms."

Ranma's ingrained distaste for using weapons became very evident over the next few minutes, but before Katsuhito could comment on it, Ranma pulled to a stop. "Master, is it okay if I stop and meditate for a few minutes?"

Katsuhito, who had been about to comment to Ranma on his apparent unwillingness to use the weapon, raised an eyebrow at the unusual request. He nodded, and said nothing.

Tenchi watched curiously as Ranma dropped easily into lotus position, and closed his eyes. Katsuhito considered his position and behavior, and decided that Ranma had had only rudimentary training in meditation.

Ranma had immediately realized the danger his own dislike for weapons posed. If he could not rid himself of it, then no matter how skilled he became, he would always be aware of the fact that he was wielding a weapon... it would never be as an extension of himself. After having observed the difference between Tenchi and Katsuhito, Ranma had decided that he had to learn to wield as Katsuhito did, using the weapon as if it were his own arm.

As he dropped into meditation, he focused on the certain knowledge that if he could not defeat his own feelings of disgust and dislike regarding weapons, he would never master the Dragon Fang. If he failed to master the Dragon Fang, then he would eventually fail to protect the Lady from a threat. If his inability to defend against a challenge properly lead to war, he knew that he would be unable to properly defend her. No matter how skilled he might become, he would not be able to fight indefinitely. Faced with a large army, he would inevitably be tired out and fall to his own exhaustion, and she would be unprotected.

He could not allow this to happen. He could not fail her. Saotome Ranma does not lose! Fey Ranma must not lose either. He focused on his feelings of distaste and buried them in ice. Unknowingly, the strength of his determination not to fail the Lady led him to achieve the first level of the true Soul of Ice, and as he buried his fears and the attitudes that Genma had drilled into him, the air temperature around his body actually began to drop.

It did not drop far, but Katsuhito was a very observant man. As the air cooled, it lost some of its capacity for holding moisture, and the moisture began to condense on Ranma. Katsuhito observed that it was not sweat, beading up from beneath. Rather, the beads of moisture appeared all over, even on top of his shirt and pants. Particularly, he noticed the liquid that coalesced on the folds of his pants, where the fabric was not even in contact with the boy's body. He wondered where the boy had learned such a powerful meditation technique, given his obvious lack of training in the meditative arts.

When Ranma's eyes opened, they were filled with a pure determination. He rose lithely to his feet, and took up the bokken again. Tenchi was unable to discern the difference, but Katsuhito immediately noticed that the boy held the bokken without seeming to be really aware of it. Though he did not yet have the skill, he had achieved with a single five minute meditation the final step that Tenchi had yet to achieve after two years of training.

Now Katsuhito demonstrated a kata, moving slowly from position to position, demonstrating the correct stance, then moving to physically reposition Ranma's limbs into the precise positions.

"Now, Ranma, show us the kata." Tenchi looked up in surprise. He had shown him the kata only once, and now he wanted Ranma to perform it? Ranma nodded, then immediately entered the first stance. Tenchi felt a growing sense of amazement, tinged with just a bit of awe, as Ranma steadily moved through each stance in the kata. Though moving slower than the kata called for at first, after only five stances he had reached the proper speed, and was entering each position with clean precision and perfect timing. When he finished, Katsuhito spoke again. "Again, full-speed the whole way this time."

Tenchi looked at his grandfather in surprise. No word of praise? No reaction to such an unbelievable performance? Ranma simply nodded, and proceeded to do the kata again. This time his performance seemed wholly without flaw to Tenchi.

Katsuhito noticed Ranma's lack of surprise when Katsuhito signaled his acceptance of Ranma's performance, not with praise or words, but by beginning a new kata. Again Ranma followed him. Katsuhito found himself surprised at the boy's skills, as Ranma stopped mimicking Katsuhito's stances after Katsuhito completed them, and began matching his moves as he made them.

At the kata's end, Katsuhito signaled Ranma to do it again, then, without turning, spoke to Tenchi. "Tenchi, why don't you go now, and prepare the guestroom for Ranma."

"Yes, Grandfather," Tenchi replied, and headed for the stairs. As he walked down them, he considered Ranma's performance. Tenchi considered again Ranma's words as to why it was so important that he learn to master his weapon. Who was 'the Lady,' and why was she so important to him? Surely he couldn't have a serious girlfriend at his age, especially not one for whom the term 'Lady' was appropriate.

When he reached the house, he saw that his father, Noboyuki, was home from work. He informed his father that they had a guest, then went to quickly prepare the guestroom. He would need to start dinner soon, and he did not want it to be late.

They lived nearly an hour by bus from the outer edge of Tokyo where Tenchi attended school. He had friends, to be sure, but he tended to see little of them except at school or on holidays.

It was Tenchi's hope that he and Ranma might become friends. It would be nice to have someone else to do things with. Ranma seemed a rough sort, given his speech and obvious skills, but he had not looked annoyed or disappointed by Tenchi's manners. Hopefully, then, he would not be the sort to look down on Tenchi as a 'wimp' simply because he had been schooled in proper behavior, as some of the less pleasant boys at school did.

It took Tenchi only about a quarter of an hour to straighten up the guest room. He stripped the bed and put on clean, fresh linens, then made it up with a thick, warm blanket. He tidied up the rest of the room, and as a final touch, placed a number of dried flower petals in a bowl of warm water to give the room a pleasing scent.

Then he went back downstairs, absently greeting his father again, and went to the kitchen, He put water on to boil for rice, and then started cleaning and chopping vegetables.

Noboyuki didn't really notice Tenchi's second greeting, but looked up at the sounds of sudden industry from the kitchen, and smiled. He smoothed his mustache as he thought again what a delightful boy Tenchi was. After the death of his wife... that thought brought a depressed frown to his face for a moment, but he resolutely pushed it aside, and smiled again, as he heard Tenchi chopping in the kitchen... Tenchi had picked up the role, and become the caretaker of the family.

Noboyuki hoped it would not hurt his chances with the ladies, but then decided that was unlikely. What with his taking up training under Katsuhito, he'd keep in great shape, and the ladies loved a sensitive guy. Tenchi'd have no problems in that depart... wait a minute. What had Tenchi said when he first came in? A guest? Noboyuki thought, with a sudden lecherous grin... Tenchi had just finished setting the food on the low table when the door opened, and Ranma and Katsuhito entered. "Perfect timing as usual, Tenchi," commented Katsuhito, smiling kindly at him, then he grinned with a sudden look of sardonic humour. "Hope you made enough. I bet Ranma eats like a horse!" Katsuhito laughed lightly at his joke.

Noboyuki stood, and bowed to the guest, who bowed in return.

"Masaki Noboyuki, this is Fey Ranma. Fey Ranma, my son, Masaki Noboyuki."

"It is an honor to meet you, Masaki-san," Ranma said, bowing again.

"My pleasure. Here to learn from the old man, eh?" Noboyuki replied with a grin. Katsuhito rapped him on the head. "Ow!"

"Dinner is ready, Father, Grandfather." Tenchi placed the dishes carefully on the table.

The four sat and began to eat. Had Ranma come only a few weeks before, he would doubtless have shocked Tenchi and his family with his eating habits. As it was, several weeks of eating with the Lady had mellowed him. The habit was not yet as deeply ingrained as it might have been, and not only was it no longer necessary to defend his food, but he was actually permitted to eat as much as he cared to.

Regular meals were not something Ranma had been accustomed to, but he had found that after a short time, it became hard to imagine going without. His days of starvation seemed to fade behind him, and so while his manners at the table were not polished, neither were they such as to draw attention or comment from his dining companions.

---

After Tenchi finished dressing the next morning, he decided to look in on his guest before making breakfast for the family. However, when he reached the guestroom, he found it empty, and the state of the bed indicated it had not been used. Rather, the pillow and blanket had been removed, and now lay rumpled on the floor. Tenchi would have assumed that Ranma had simply thrown them off upon getting up, had he not noted that the bedsheet was still taut and unwrinkled.

Tenchi mused on this as he moved on down the stairs to begin breakfast preparations. He paused for a quick look through the windows about the downstairs but did not see his erstwhile guest. As he moved about the kitchen preparing a simple breakfast, Tenchi considered whether he would ask Ranma about it when he saw him again. He had not expected Ranma to rise early after a nearly three hour session with Tenchi's grandfather... Ah, perhaps Ranma was in the furo, taking a hot soak to loosen muscles sore from the previous day's exercises.

A short time later Noboyuki stumbled into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist. "Ah... nothing like a morning soak to get ready for a long day at work. Breakfast smells good, Tenchi. How's our guest? Still sleeping?" Noboyuki laughed lightly. He was aware that the boy had had a session with Katsuhito the day before, and sympathized with the boy's lethargy.

"No, Father. I had assumed he was in the furo, since he was not in his room."

"Nope. Not there, I was just in, and I had to run the hot water. Hadn't been used."

"Is Grandfather up yet?"

"Of course I am!" Katsuhito stood at the front door, removing his shoes, and slipping into the soft indoor slippers. "Ranma is up as well. He was up at the crack of dawn. I found him practicing sword katas while leaping about the pillars."

"It is good that he appreciates your training facilities, Grandfather," said Tenchi politely, then continued with a worried frown, "but is it wise for him to be attempting to combine sword-play with aerial forms on pillars so soon?"

"Heh! Normally I would be the first to agree, Tenchi. A good way to get severely injured," Katsuhito responded, then thanked Tenchi as the boy handed him a warm cup of tea. He moved to kneel at the table, and Noboyuki sat across from him, as Tenchi served their breakfast. Noboyuki had somehow managed to get to his room, get dressed, grab his briefcase, and return to the table in the few moments it took Tenchi and Katsuhito to have their conversation.

Noboyuki looked at Katsuhito, who was simply grinning at some internal thought. "So, Katsuhito, are you implying that it is not dangerous for your new student?"

"No, he seems to have already integrated the sword forms I taught him into his own personal style of martial arts."

Ranma entered several minutes later, just as Noboyuki was leaving. Tenchi set out a breakfast for him, and for himself. Katsuhito had finished his, but sat and watched as Ranma ate. Tenchi finished his own breakfast and returned to his room and prepared his school bag, then rushed downstairs.

After Tenchi left, Katsuhito turned to Ranma, his student, or teishi. "Come, teishi, it is time to see what you have made of the forms I have shown you. Let us spar."

Katsuhito led Ranma back up the hill to the shrine. He tossed a bokuto to his teishi, and took up a second himself. Ranma took one of the initial stances Katsuhito had shown him, not wanting to irritate his new sensei by beginning from one of his father's non-stances, the stances designed to cause an opponent to underestimate him. Though it was his usual opening stance, he knew that Katsuhito had his measure already, and would not underestimate him, so the primary purpose of it would be invalidated. Further, he needed to judge the advantages and pitfalls of the forms he had learned.

Katsuhito had already noted Ranma's basic style, having already experienced it through the founder of the style, the shriveled and aging pervert Happosai. He was well aware that one of the tenets of the style was to allow the opponent to make the first move, so he did not waste time waiting for Ranma to act, but sprang to the attack.

Ranma parried three of the opening blows in Katsuhito's initial attack combination before realizing, too late as it turned out, that it had been designed and intended to use his blocks to draw his bokuto out of alignment. Even as he realized this, Katsuhito's bokuto flicked through the opening he had created, catching Ranma in the side, hard.

Ranma winced, drawing in a gasp at the pain, even as he blocked Katsuhito's next attack. He thought he caught a similar pattern, intended to draw his blade low, only to discover that it had been a feint, and receiving a sharp rap to the thigh when he refused to be drawn in.

Deciding that he was not going to be taken out so easily, Ranma firmed his stance and prepared to attack. He knew he would get hit... if he could not defend successfully while focused on defense, attacking would only leave him more open. He was determined to get a hit on Katsuhito, in spite of the inevitable cost.

He lashed out when he spied an opening as Katsuhito finished one combination, giving him a hard rap on the left hand, and began another. It was not an opening in the sense of a gap in Katsuhito's defenses, merely a perceived opportunity to begin his own attack.

Ranma tried Katsuhito's second combination, drawing on the third set of forms he had been shown, but doubling the feint, intending to strike high, since he knew that Katsuhito would recognize the attack sequence. The expected hit met only another parry, even as Katsuhito used his own knowledge of the form to strike Ranma twice.

In spite of taking regular hits, Ranma persevered, learning the holes in the defenses the hard way, as Katsuhito's bokuto pierced them again and again to give him new bruises. He used Katsuhito's attacks, slowly perfecting them, even as with each attack he mimicked, Katsuhito introduced him to the holes in the move with more bruises. When Katsuhito again used the move, and Ranma attempted to respond to the same holes Katsuhito had used, he learned from Katsuhito's parries how to close those holes.

While Ranma never did manage to get a strike in on Katsuhito, the old man could not help but be astounded as the match progressed into its third hour. The boy was bruised all over, and his face showed the pain of his movements, and still he fought on. More impressively, his defenses were now tighter than Tenchi's, and he had mastered moves that Katsuhito had not yet even introduced to his grandson.

Katsuhito was definitely intruiged. With Tenchi, his spars were generally short, unless he held back from actually striking. Katsuhito used two types of sparring with Tenchi. Pulled strikes allowed long matches intended to build endurance and provide practice against a real opponent, and full out matches ended quickly, but provided object lessons in defensive holes that corrected the problems far more quickly than any amount of explanation.

Ranma, on the other hand, was a genuine rarity, a student whose will to learn was strong enough that he would take full-out sparring and continue until he dropped. Katsuhito was well-aware of the potential this implied. A fighter who trained thus, while he would go through far more pain than any ordinary student would be willing to stand, would improve far faster.

Katsuhito called a halt to the session, then had Ranma perform several slow kata, to his own accompaniment, as a cool-down exercise. Considering the boy's stamina, and his innumerable bruises, Katsuhito led him back down to the house. Obtaining cool drinks, they went together to the furo, where a cold bath refreshed their minds, and a long hot soak, with cool drinks to counteract the heat exhaustion, brought considerable relief to aching and bruised muscles.

Katsuhito noted wryly to himself that he had clearly been slacking off on his own training. It had been many years since he had worked as hard as he had today, and he was definitely feeling it. While his old age and apparent decrepitude were a mere facade concealing his real nature as a prince of Jurai still in the prime of his life, he was more aware in this moment than he had been for years uncounted that he was out of practice. Training his own grandson was simply not sufficient preparation for this challenge, though he would not back down from it.

He did not know the Lady Alana personally, but this was not the first time these two worlds had crossed paths. He still remembered the intrepid wanderer, and the tales he told, and one of the most vivid had been that of the Lord Fey's love and betrayal of the Lady Alana. She had confirmed the truth of the stories, and told him of the boy's insistence on freeing her, of his surprising purity and honor.

Katsuhito had been decidedly skeptical, being familiar with the founder of the school, the aging pervert whose prime use of the art was to steal lingerie from women, along with a grope here and there. He was also cognizant of the nature of the two spineless cowards Happosai had trained, though he had never met them. He found it difficult to credit that any such as they could be responsible for this boy, which was the motivation for his testing of Ranma at their first meeting.

To his surprise, Funaho, the massive tree that grew by the waters of the lake, that none but he knew was in fact the sapling of the ship in which he had crossed the galaxy before settling here after defeating and imprisoning Ryoko, the pirate who had attacked his homeworld, had affirmed that Ranma was not dissimulating in his responses.

Katsuhito looked up, shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry, Ranma, I was thinking of other things. What was it you said, again?" As he sat up, his eyes widened as he took in his student's appearance. The bruises, with which his body had been liberally coated, were gone. Only one could still be seen, on his shoulder, the last to be inflicted, and even as Katsuhito watched, it was fading.

"I asked, sensei, whether we were done for the day?" Ranma repeated his question, and Katsuhito noted the vaguely dissappointed look in the boy's eyes.

"Of course not," retorted Katsuhito, deciding that if the boy healed that fast, then he might as well be pushed until he dropped. He would survive, and he would learn all the faster.

A short while later, they were down by the lakeside, where Katsuhito demonstrated sword forms continuously until it was time to stop for lunch. Ranma, he noted, was an uncomplaining student, a welcome change from Tenchi, who often complained about the unfairness of life, and the harshness of his training. Katsuhito laughed inwardly, as he led the way back to the house to make lunch, picturing Tenchi's reaction to the kind of training regimen Ranma was being put through.

Lunch was simple, as Katsuhito pulled out pre-prepared meals from the freezer, and heated them, mentioning casually to Ranma that he was a terrible cook. It was much safer to simply have Tenchi prepare and freeze meals than to actually attempt to fix a meal for himself. Even so Katsuhito sighed in memory. Achika had made the most heavenly meals, he thought sadly.

As they ate, Ranma sat in thought, running over the forms in his mind, and considering how to integrate them into his style, and how they fit with the earlier forms he had been taught, and the attacks he had learned from sparring with Katsuhito. He did not ask Katsuhito any questions about them. He had decided, after the sparring session, that it would be more effective to simply incorporate them and see how they did, rather than trying to make Katsuhito do his thinking for him. Improving his own skills at integrating foreign styles was really as important as learning the styles in the first place, as that swift adaptability was a fundamental aspect of his school of the art.

After lunch, they returned to the upper court, before the shrine, and sparred again. Ranma incorporated the new forms he had been introduced to, recognizing some of them as the basis for the attacks Katsuhito had used on him. Having the basics for the attacks gave him more clarity into their purpose and intent, and into what they were designed to counter.

Katsuhito noted the significant improvement in Ranma's defenses, as the various attacks, defenses, and forms he had learned were finally being melded into a cohesive whole, wielded in concert, rather than as individually chosen and executed moves, as they had been in the first sparring session.

By the end of the first hour, Ranma was no longer receiving constant bruises, though Katsuhito still made it through his defenses occasionally.

As the second hour drew to a close, Katsuhito realized that he was steadily pulling out new moves to break through Ranma's defenses, as he was no longer able to penetrate the boy's defense using the moves his teishi had already seen. Even the new moves were being observed by the inimitable youth, who slipped them in amongst his other attacks, occasionally after only a single viewing. While these new attacks were as yet not integrated into the overall style, they were still introduced far more smoothly than the new attacks had been in the earlier spar, since Ranma had a comfortable suite of moves with which to lead into and out of any given sequence he wanted to try.

Katsuhito drew subtly on the power of Jurai to enhance his own stamina, keeping the sparring going for even longer than they had the first time. As they neared the end of the fifth hour, he sensed his teishi finally approaching the edge of exhaustion. He stopped him again, and they returned, sore and aching, to the bath.

When they exited the bath, Katsuhito noted that his grandson was home, and sending Ranma off to practice on his own, went in search of Tenchi. He found him in his room, working on schoolwork. Katsuhito walked up behind him and set his hand lightly on Tenchi's shoulder, who jumped out of his chair with a choked cry. "Aaaah! Grandfather, don't do that," scolded Tenchi, "you nearly gave me a heart attack."

Katsuhito smiled evilly at Tenchi, who groaned in anticipation of the upcoming pain, as light flashed off his grandfather's rectangular wire-rimmed glasses. "When you finish your chores, Tenchi, bring Ranma to the shrine. I want you to spar with him."

Tenchi grinned happily. He had a sparring partner again! Just what he wanted, and he wouldn't have to deal with all the bruises Katsuhito would give him. After all, Ranma was just a beginner... Tenchi would be far better than him... right?

---

Tenchi grew steadily more impressed over the next few weeks, as Ranma quickly mastered his sword forms. He was even more impressed when Katsuhito took Ranma's sword, the Dragon Fang, and instructed Ranma on its use. When Ranma finally said that he felt he had mastered the blade, Katsuhito had simply smiled at him, and taking Dragon Fang in his hand, he had looked at it for a moment, and it had suddenly become a golden katana. "You have only just begun," he replied.

Tenchi watched with interest as Ranma trained and swiftly came to master his weapon as a bokken, a katana, a wakizashi, a bo staff, nunchaku, and a naginata. He was very impressed when Ranma trained with it as a no dachi, a Japanese great sword bigger than he was. It was then that he really began to get an idea of how physically strong Ranma was. But nothing impressed him as much as when Ranma used Dragon Fang to summon/create the Dragon Armor, which molded to Ranma like a second skin of golden steel. It wasn't the armor that impressed him really, as much as Ranma's amazing ability to perform his katas wearing it, in utter silence, and to still leap twenty feet at a time down the stairs while wearing it. Of course, Tenchi was unaware that the armor, though it looked like heavy metal armor, unwieldy and unmistakeably weighty, was in fact as light and easy to wear as the silk clothing that Ranma preferred.

He was quietly disappointed when Katsuhito finally pronounced Ranma the Dragon Fang's master after only three months of training. Ranma seemed quite happy to finally be able to return to his home. Tenchi had hoped he might be willing to stay longer, as he had enjoyed having Ranma around, and had enjoyed having another partner to spar with.

---

"You mastered the Dragon Fang in only three months. I am proud of you, Ranma. You have done well," Lady Alana said, smiling at him. He had returned and awakened her, as he had done every week, and then told her the wonderful news. "I see that you have learned much from Masaki Tenchi, as well. Your speech is much cleaner than it was when I first met you."

"Yes, Lady. He was very well-spoken and polite, and I was glad to be his friend. I taught him a little about fighting unarmed... a few basic katas. He has great potential, though his potential as a swordsman is most impressive," he smiled up at her, "but I still wish you would tell me how Katsuhito knew of the Dragon Fang, and Fey. You know, at first, he refused to teach me. He thought I was Fey's son, and he said he would never teach one who had Fey's blood. Since I've gotten to know him, he seems so mild. Fey must really have been terrible for Katsuhito to dislike him so."

"He was, Ranma, he was. But now, I have another task for you. You wish to continue your training, and I promised to bring masters here to train you."

Ranma nodded at her, waiting for her to continue. He could almost feel the 'But...' coming, and feared she was about to say that she could not do so.

"For me to do so, you must do something first. The realm Fey rules has long been considered off-limits to outsiders. The only ones who come here, are those who wanted to challenge Fey, to take what was his. Before I can convince any masters to come and train you, we must make peace with the Court of Farallon. They are our largest neighbor. If we make peace with them, others will follow their lead, and then we will be able to send envoys to the masters, without having them attacked and slain on the road."

"It will not be easy, Ranma. They will have great difficulty respecting you, or believing that you have in fact defeated Fey, and taken his lands. They will see you at first as a joke that Fey is trying to pull on them. You will probably have to fight King Dei's champion, Lord Roga, to even get an audience with the king."

"I will travel with you, and my word will hold some weight, but it will still fall to you to convince them. As much as possible, you must let me speak for you, for I know how to avoid giving offense. When necessary, focus on what you learned from Tenchi, and avoid uncouth speech. They will take it as an insult, if you speak to them thus. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lady. I will do as you say. I must train, and if to train, I must convince these Lords that I am who I say I am, then I will do so. But I thank Kami-sama that I can do it by fighting," he replied, seriously, then, laughing, continued, "Tenchi or no, I am not good with words."

"Did Masaki show you the secrets of the Dragon Armor, Ranma?"

"Yes, Lady. I can summon it," Ranma replied.

"Good. Fey was well-known for Dragon Fang and the Dragon Armon. It will be a token of truth, to those who do not let their prejudices blind them, that you bear them."

The Lady did not speak of her private concerns. She could not question the word of Masaki. If he said that Ranma had mastered the Dragon Fang, then that was true. But how? How could he possibly have mastered the weapon in three months? It seemed impossible. The Dragon Fang was capable of becoming almost any martial weapon. She had not expected Masaki to train Ranma in every weapon... but the most common ones. She had read the report Masaki sent back with Ranma. Fifteen... he had mastered the use of the Dragon Fang as fifteen different weapons, in only three months.

She had heard pretty much the whole story of Ranma's early training, and knew well the rate at which he seemed to learn. While she felt certain that Masaki could not help but be a better teacher than Genma, he too had written that he had never had a student as quick to learn as Ranma. To satisfy his own curiosity, he had researched the boy's lineage, and sent the results to her as well. Ranma was a perfectly normal human. There was no question about it. He was descended from a long line of martial artists, on both sides of his family, and was in fact the heir to a katana fighting style, on his mother's side, though he did was not aware of it. But there was nothing in his heritage to explain his unbelievable capacity to learn.

Further, Masaki was quite skilled at observing and judging the skill level of martial artists. He had watched Ranma perform his katas, and assured her that Ranma was not yet used to performing them at the speed he now could, nor was his skill in them in inhuman excess of what might be expected after two years of hard training. The katas he knew, he could perform nearly flawlessly, until he began moving at full speed. But he did not seem to know many of the advanced katas of his school. He had been a prodigy, there was no question, yet not to this degree. Had he been learning at this rate while with Genma, he would be far more skilled.

Masaki also mentioned that by the time Ranma had returned, he seemed perfectly comfortable in his katas at full speed, and had incorporated what he learned from his sword forms into his unarmed katas. However, these changes did not disturb Masaki, as they fit the level of his natural ability as Masaki had judged it. Without whatever had happened to him in the other world, he would still, Masaki judged, have been steadily incorporating whatever he had been trained into his fighting style, and into his katas.

The Lady did not speak of these concerns to Ranma, but while the preparations for the imminent confrontations proceeded, and Ranma practiced his katas, with and without weapons, she sought out a seeress in one of the nearby villages.

When she returned, she was only slightly less disturbed. A divine gift for the martial arts? It seemed clear that whatever change had occurred, had happened the night he had defeated Fey. She could not imagine why it would result in his receiving a divine gift. What god or goddess would be so pleased with Fey's demise as to give the mortal who defeated him such a gift?

She sighed, and put it from her mind, deciding to concentrate and focus on the approaching difficulties with the Court of Farallon. She hoped that they would be able to achieve their goal without Ranma being forced to kill again. She dreaded what it might do to him.

---

Krall lounged on the heavy stone seat at the rear of the cavern, watching the two new recruits facing off against older blood. This was just too rich. The new Lord of Fey seemed to be purging his army, and Krall had been steadily picking up new recruits. His group of bandits was growing by leaps and bounds, and nearly every member had military training and combat experience.

While he focused his activities on the two kingdoms opposite Farallon, which were the only two not to have suffered an attack from the Lord Fey in the last thirty years, he had steadily worked his spies into the other nations as well, and soon he would have spies within Farallon itself.

He wasn't avoiding it because it had been the last to be attacked, but because Farallon was the site of the accursed Mage Tower, the independent group of powerful mages that had plagued his earlier campaigns. No, he was content, for now, to build his connections, steadily grow his political power, while living high on the hog as the leader of this surprisingly competent bandit army.

It was delightful, he thought, comparing this band to the one he had lead nearly seventy years before, just prior to entering Fey's service. That band had been rag-tag, rough men to be sure, but brawlers, not fighters, and dense. He had been forced to be present on nearly every foray, to prevent them from walking into enemy hands with their stupidity and drunken insubordination.

Now, with Fey's rejects, he had built himself a banditry that actually contained enough skill that he was able to form multiple tight groups, give them difficult missions, and listen to reports of success, without involving himself! Of course, that's not to say he didn't get involved. The tightest band of rogues in the joint was his group of Howling Wolves. Yes, life was good... and it would be better still when he had exterminated that runt of a Lordling.

Trials of Diplomacy

A little more than a week after Ranma's return, a large company of armed horseman, bearing the flag of a parley, and escorting a large carriage and a train of wagons, drew up to the border of Farallon. The two border guards whose duty it was to accost them and learn their business were faint with relief that the company halted when ordered to do so, and drew straws to see who would have to remain behind while the other ran to fetch the border regiment.

The guard who remained behind struggled hard to control his fear. The stories he had heard of the Lord Fey were evil and dark, and he was one man alone. The Lord's flag rose high on a standard beside the flag of parley, stating for all to see that the Dark Lord rode with them.

It had been only about ten years since the last skirmishes with the troops of Fey, and the memories were dark ones. He himself had lost an uncle in those conflicts... now he feared that his brother would soon be mourning him as they had mourned their uncle.

The flag of parley meant that the Lord Fey wished to discuss something under a temporary truce. Given Lord Fey's history, the guard feared that a discussion of the surrender of the Court of Farallon was imminent, and guessed that it was but a polite gesture preceding the renewed invasion of Farallon.

Finally, the border regiment came, and their captain rode forth, followed by two stout men, bearing each a standard; on his right, the standard of Farallon, and on his left, a standard of parley.

Then from the other side, a stir moved through the company, and the two standard bearers flanked a pair of horses as they rode forward. On one, a half step behind the first, rode the Lady Alana, and all knew of her, and the captain recognized her. But in the lead, on a large black charger, rode a young boy, who couldn't have been more than about six or seven years.

Not knowing what manner of subterfuge this might be, not one of the men of Farallon dared laugh at the sight. They had heard stories of the Lord Fey's ability to disguise himself, and walk in the appearance of others. They could not help but wonder why he would choose the guise of a young boy. Hushed whispers ran through the ranks, of soul-stealers that stretched the span of their lives, by stealing the bodies of the young when their own grew old and withered. Was the Lord Fey one such? Others thought it was a deliberate and calculated insult, as if to say even a child could defeat the men of Farallon.

The young boy was dressed all in black, a tight shirt and loose pants, and a short sword hung by his side. He stopped, about ten feet from the captain. But he did not speak... instead, the Lady Alana, sitting on a white mare behind him, spoke for him.

"The Lord Fey wishes to discuss terms of peace with the King of Farallon. We ask safe passage to the capital." Her voice silenced the murmurs.

The captain was hesitant to speak out, with one who might be the Lord Fey in guise before him, ready to strike him down, but he knew his duty.

"I am sorry Lady. You know well that the King has sworn an everlasting war on the Lord Fey, until he be thrown down and killed. I cannot let you pass."

He struggled not to choke on his words, his eyes on the young boy, watching for any sign of action, that he might flee before being struck down. Surely he would not act, not under a flag of parley. But this was the Lord Fey, and none knew to what depths he might go. He was shocked, therefore, when the only response was the laughter of the Lady Alana.

"The King's wish is granted. The Lord Fey is thrown down, and lies dead and buried in the grounds of Fey Castle."

Gasps of shock rippled through the ranks behind him. He could feel that they wanted to cheer, but he still feared a ruse. She had said the Lord Fey wished to pass through, and how could he do that if he were buried in the ground? He might have accepted her words, had she said she bore his body in one of the wagons... but as it was, her words did not add up.

"Forgive me, Lady. I do not mean to question your word," and he paled as he saw the sudden anger on the boy's face. Please don't let him strike me down. His fingers flashed through a quick cycle of prayer. "But you said the Lord Fey wished to speak of peace with my King. How may I grant the Lord Fey passage, if he lies dead in the grounds of Fey Castle?"

"The Lord Fey is dead. To the one who slew him all his power and lands have gone, and he is the new Lord Fey. The Lord Fey seeks safe passage to speak to your King of peace."

Now it was clear. The Lady was claiming that this brat of a child had somehow defeated the Lord Fey, whom no man in the kingdom of Farallon could hope to best. This was all a cruel joke, and he was the butt of it. He laughed then, a hopeless sound filled with despair. He would not get out of this alive, he thought. "You mean to say that this stripling before me, is the new Lord Fey? That this mere whelp defeated the Lord whom no-one in the Five Kingdoms dares challenge? It is beyond belief that you, dear Lady, would treat me as such a fool."

---

Arkus smiled to himself in his scrying room, as he watched the scene unfold before him. The room was large, circular, formed of heavy stones set one upon the next. The stones were mostly unseen, though, covered as the walls were with heavy tapestries. Some depicted scenes of high honor, combat between knights for the honor of fair ladies, and such, but most depicted foulness. Several depicted demons engaged in vile excess, and one was of an army of half-men, despoiling a town, attacking women and children.

A large, silvered glass mirror, bound in gold wrought in the shapes of demons, was reflecting light into the room, from the sunny scene of the challenge on Lord Fey's border. Arkus lay before the mirror, lying on a divan, indulging in fresh fruits and cream, waiting for an appropriate moment to... adjust the outcome.

As Arkus felt the state of mind of the captain, he was delighted, and chortled to the raven on his shoulder. "Heh. This is perfect, I don't even have to nudge the guy. He can't even imagine the possibility of it being true. Its so completely preposterous, he's even willing to doubt the word of the Lady. This whole affair will ruin her reputation. I suspect once the Five Kingdoms come to the realization that the Lady can no longer be trusted, and is actively seeking to fulfill her Lord's will, there will soon be armies camped on his every border. Ahhh, this is too perfect. And I needn't do a thing!" He laughed again, with true pleasure. "I love it!"

The raven cawed its agreement, then snatched a grape from him.

---

The Lady smiled at him. "Then the Lord Fey challenges you to defend your words. Choose a champion. If the Lord Fey bests him, then you will grant us safe passage. I give you my word of honor, we mean no harm to your King, and all I say is true. You have questioned my word, and my champion will defend it. Lord Fey, if you please." She gestured to Ranma, who hopped lightly from the back of his stead.

The captain almost took up the challenge himself, to teach this stripling a lesson, but the look of complete confidence on the face of the Lady set him back. He turned, and called out, "Grael, step forth. Defend the honor of your country." A large man, carrying a six-foot longsword, stepped forth, and stood at the front of the regiment. When he saw the young man standing before the Lady, he laughed aloud.

"Come Captain, just because I am the fighting champion of the regiment, does that mean I must face every popinjay that comes along?" He sneered at the young boy. He was tiny... he would be easy.

"Speak no ill of the Lord Fey, Champion." The words of the Lady were soft, but carried a hint of steel, and struck him like a physical blow. The young boy pulled his short sword from his side, and suddenly, he was clothed in shining armor, the helm and long plume making it instantly recognizable. His sword shimmered, and became a four foot katana. Grael felt his heart shrink within him. The boy had the Dragon Armor, and that blade must be the Dragon Fang, and he held it like it was an extension of his arm. Grael felt a sudden touch of fear, but it was washed aside in a surge of confidence, as Arkus began manipulating him.

Arkus, reclining in comfort, didn't want this damned fool flubbing the fight just because he felt nervous. He pushed at the man's stolid mind. Grael did not even realize the thoughts weren't his. He would beat this whelp. His sword had a two foot reach advantage over the boy's, and the length of his arms extended that even further. The boy would be slowed by the heavy armor, and the weight of his sword. It would be over quickly. He stepped forward, as the others shifted around to give them room. He grinned, the expression on his face one of utter confidence, of easy arrogance. This would be easy.

The captain raised his hand. "Ready..." he called, and dropped it, "begin!"

Grael held out his sword, grasping the hilt in both hands. One stroke, and the boy would be down. The boy stood utterly still, until Grael swung his sword back, to take his stroke.

Ranma met Grael's stroke with the Dragon Fang, and paled beneath his helm, as his arms nearly gave under the strain.

Grael was annoyed that his first stroke had been met, and shocked that the boy had successfully parried it, but he had noticed the sudden pallor, and the sweat that now appeared on the whelp's brow. Grael grinned and swung again. He had not put his full strength into the first blow, so he was confident that he would overpower the whelp with a heavier blow.

Ranma's adaptability came to the fore, as he recognized even as the tension first gathered in Grael's massive muscles precisely what move the larger man was planning. Ranma sidestepped the move, judging that the big man had put more strength into that move than he should have. He would overbalance when he missed... and he did, grunting in surprise as his blow missed. Only luck saved him, for Ranma had no experience in fighting armed opponents, and was not prepared with knowledge of where the weak points were, and Ranma's blow glanced off of the hardened leather, scoring it, and just nicking the flesh beneath, but not doing significant damage.

Grael was quick to recover from his overextension, and the minor but sharp pain of the scratch was barely noticed, as he tightened his form, releasing some of his arrogant confidence in favor of caution.

A swifter, tighter thrust was turned aside by the boy's blade, the searching strike lacking the strength to overmatch the boy. Ranma was being more cautious as well, and did not seek to match the blow strength for strength, but merely to turn it aside. Ranma knew, inside, that he had the strength to match the larger man, if he could find it. Strength to leap fifteen feet ought to translate to a better showing here, and he wasn't sure why it was failing him. He also didn't have time to worry about it, as he turned aside more blows.

Ranma might lack, at least at the moment, the strength to match fighter directly, but his skill was at least the equal of the larger man's, and he could see numerous openings being left by the swordsman.

He ignored the openings, for the time being, as he concentrated on the armor, studying the protection it offered, looking for a way to subdue his opponent. One of the stronger reasons that Ranma disliked weapons was that so often they reduced one's options in terms of defeating an opponent. It was so much easier to seriously wound or kill an opponent with a sword than to subdue them.

His mind split between defense, and studying his opponent's defenses, Ranma did not notice the slow chanting of Grael's name rising from the border guards. From their perspective, it looked like Grael was playing with the boy, and they were encouraging Grael to finish the game.

Ranma was mildly irritated. He was running over the various standard disarms, and none of them seemed likely to succeed, and the few that stood a fair chance balanced that chance with an unpleasantly large opening for his opponent.

He was being forced to come to terms with the differences between armed combat with naked blades, and the sparring with simulated blades in which he'd been instructed. Tenchi's grandfather had simply been unwilling to permit sparring with the potentially lethal live steel.

Grael was becoming irritated as well. While he was still the one on the offensive, and was definitely preventing the boy from making any real progress... he hadn't been hit since the first time... neither was Grael getting any closer to winning. The infuriating boy wasn't even showing significant signs of exertion, while Grael could feel himself beginning to tire. Though a very strong man, he was wielding a blade matched to his size, and he normally felled his opponents in a much shorter time.

Deciding to break the rythym, hoping that it would throw the inexperienced boy off-balance, Grael threw in another full-force swing, expecting a desperate parry.

Ranma saw the shift in the man's motions, and guessed at his intent. Faced with only an instant to decide, Ranma recognized that he would be unable to defeat his opponent without killing him, as long as he relied solely on the blade... so even as the stroke came in, Ranma leapt, the sword passing harmlessly beneath him. Grael was overextended again, and Ranma, on reaching the ground, pushed off with his hands, driving his foot hard into the man's right hand, where he was just beginning to pull his arm back from his off-balance state.

His ploy succeeded, the heavy blade was jarred in Grael's grip, and with his arm's extension, and the manner in which he was already drawing his arm in, he was unable to retain his hold on it. Even as the blade's tip dug into the ground below, Ranma leapt to stand on the man's arm, placing his own sword against Grael's unprotected neck.

Recognizing his own vulnerability, should Grael simply drop his arm, he decided that that instant was enough to show he'd won, and he launched into a spin kick, bringing his right leg all the way around as he pivoted on his left foot, and planted his metal boot into the back of the unbalanced man's skull. He leapt off the falling man, as Grael fell heavily to the ground.

Arkus, who had been in Grael's mind, bolstering his confidence, had not even had time to draw back before Grael was beaten, and collapsed unconscious on his divan. It would be some time before he awoke.

"The Lord Fey claims the win," stated the Lady, "Are any here foolish enough to dispute him?" Ranma leapt from a standing start, twenty feet over the downed man, to land lightly on his horses back, dropping easily to sit again, taking up his reins.

The captain stood gaping for a long moment, hardly able to credit what his eyes perceived. Then he moved quickly, detailing two of the guards to take care of Grael, and gather up his sword, and putting together a party of ten, with the standard of safe passage, to guide the Lord Fey to the capital. He felt sick to his heart as he did so.

He could not, in honor, deny the Lady, nor her words, but he was privately convinced that the boy was the Lord Fey, the original Lord Fey. No mere seven-year old could possibly have the skill or strength the boy had shown. He wasn't human. It had to be the Lord Fey, in human guise, and yet honor prevented him from following his sworn duty. He was forced to act as if the boy was the new Lord Fey, and Lord Fey was dead.

But why, why had the Lady treated him so? She, it was always said, was bound to the Lord by magic, but her heart was pure and true. Why had she deceived him so? He felt truly ill, as he watched ten of his men leading a company of Lord Fey's troops... probably monsters in human guise, like the boy, and the Lord himself, to go to the King. As soon as they passed, he detailed another party, four of his fastest riders.

"You must reach the capital before them, and warn them. This boy is not what he appears, be he the new Lord or the old." They rode off, dwindling quickly into the distance. "And may the King forgive me, for I have failed him." If he dies, the captain thought, I will have to follow him in death. Be it upon my own blade, or the blade of one of Fey's warriors, I will follow my King.

---

For nearly a week, the party's travels were untroubled. They set up camp each night, and in the morning, they were careful to leave no trace of their passage.

When they had first started out from the castle, the Lady had insisted that Ranma watch and learn from the cooks as they prepared the evening meal, and he found to his dismay, when they insisted, that he was quite successful at preparing food.

The mind that was so quick to understand new martial arts moves, to dissect and understand them, proved equally adept at picking up the techniques the cooks used to prepare the food, even the ones they weren't really aware of using themselves. The first dish he prepared was given high praise by those who tried it, including the Lady. It embarrassed him.

He was not really aware of the fact that he had an eidetic memory. Indeed, had you asked him, he would not have known what it meant. Yet he had had it as a child, training under Genma, and it was a good part of what had made him a prodigy even before he had unknowingly and unwittingly received a divine gift. This served him in good stead, as he had only to watch the preparation once, to know how it was done. It took but little time before the necessary skills were ingrained in his muscles as well, and cleaning and preparing the ingredients became as natural to his hands as his Art.

While it was nice to think that when traveling alone, he would be able to eat well, he kept picturing himself behind a stove, cooking for a large party, and it worried him. He didn't want to be a good cook. He wanted to be a great martial artist.

He was perturbed as well, on the third night, when several of the soldiers pulled out single and multiple pipes made from reeds, and the Lady teased him into taking one, and letting them teach him how to play it. His ready and quick mind took easily to this, and soon he was learning songs by ear, and playing along with them.

Again, it disturbed him. He could not see how this would help his Art... but he could not refuse the Lady. Not when it was his fault that she was here, camped out with common soldiers, eating camp food, without the amenities he felt she deserved. If it was his fault she was here, then the least he could do was to prepare for her the most delicious food he could, and play for her the best music he could.

Each night, as the soldiers sat around the fires and talked, Ranma would walk off by himself, and practice his katas. A few soldiers followed him, at the Lady's behest, he suspected, but the second night, he was followed by nearly twice as many, and he realized that they were coming now to watch him, not watch over him. He felt nervous beginning, knowing that so many were watching him, but as soon as he began, the world around fell away, and he was alone, alone with his Art.

These practices continued as they entered the Land of Farallon. By the fourth night, the ten men who were guiding them had finally lost a little of their tension. Seeing the young boy learning to play the flute, and cook food, and taking good-natured ribbing from his own soldiers, they finally accepted the Lady's story. For all his unnatural speed and strength, he was clearly what he seemed to be, a seven-year old boy, nervous and unsure of himself when it came to anything other than his Art.

Arkus had returned to his regular observations after finally recovering from that terrible headache... which was even worse than that hangover he got from trying to go drink for drink with that dwarf. He was annoyed at the men's response to the boy, but they were just border guards, not worth the effort of reaching out to. Besides, the more often he manipulated someone near the boy and the Lady, the more likely it was that one or the other would come to detect him. He would await a more opportune moment.

Midday on the eighth day from the border, they came out of the woods, in sight of the high white stone walls of the capital city, with the small buildings huddled close to the walls all around, pennants fluttering in the breeze atop the battlements. The city was beautiful, and serene... but the view was marred by a large force encamped on the field between them and the city.

Ranma was prepared for the sight. He had been warned by the Lady that the captain of the border guards had been convinced by his demonstration that he was the original Lord Fey, and would have sent warnings ahead.

After watching to be certain that no immediate reaction was forthcoming from the encampment, his troops swiftly set up their own camp. Their ten guides were given leave to go and report to their superiors. Ranma stood in silence, watching as they rode down towards their army, and the soldiers behind him set up their own encampment. The Lady walked over to stand behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

"I am worried, Lady. I have never seen so many warriors in one place before. How can we convince them that we want peace, if we sit here like this, two forces of war facing one another? I saw that captain's face. I think I know what he felt. He couldn't accept that I killed Lord Fey... because it would mean that I, a child in his eyes, defeated one that all his people could not. Won't the men down there feel the same? Their pride will not allow them to accept me." He sounded defeated, even to himself.

"You see well, Ranma. That truly is what the captain felt. And when he saw you defeat his champion so easily, he could only believe that you were indeed the Lord Fey, laughing at him for falling for such an obvious ploy. And no," she said, her voice growing sad, "I do not expect more wisdom from the ones we face now. They will feel as you have said. We cannot convince them so easily, Ranma. But we can use their honor to force them to agree to peace with us. They will fear a trap, and strive to escape it. But perhaps in time, as the jaws of the trap continually fail to close on them, and they see the change in your lands, they may finally come to accept the truth."

She ruffled his hair lightly. "At the least, as they see you continue to grow and learn, and see Masters passing through their lands to teach you, they will have to concede to themselves, that you are not the old Lord, with long years of experience. Indeed, I think in the short time they were with us, you won over our guides. Last night, did they not join in your music, with their own flutes?"

"Yes, Lady, they did. You are right... but it pains me still, to see such fear in the eyes of a man, and know that I am the thing feared, as if I were a wild beast."

"And I, Ranma, I am glad that you are not pleased to cause fear in others. I am glad that you do not seek power for its own sake. I am proud of you."

"Thank you, Lady. You are kind."

As they stood together and watched, they saw a party form up at the edge of the encampment, and the two banners rise on standards, for Farallon and a parley. They turned, and got their horses, and their own standard bearers, and matched the strength of the coming party man for man, and rode down to meet them. They came together across a flat grassy field. At the head of the Farallon contingent rode a tall man armed in field plate, heavy plates of steel set on a base of studded leather, with chain guarding the joints. All came to a halt as Ranma and the tall knight stopped, facing each other across a distance of ten feet.

"Greetings, Lord Roga," said Lady Alana, her voice imperious and strong, "The Lord Fey wishes an audience with King Dei to discuss terms of peace."

Lord Roga uttered a sharp bark of laughter. "You may have fooled the border guards, Lady of Fey Castle, but I am not so easily taken in. Think you that I cannot see through the guise your Lord has placed on himself? Lord Fey was never defeated by a mere whelp. No, Lord Fey is alive still, and sits before me, laughing at heart, as he makes fools of men. Not until Lord Fey is thrown down and dead will we have peace with the Land of Fey, Lady, and well you know it. Cease this falsehood. It ill becomes one so fair as yourself. Return to your home, Lord Fey. The King will not see you."

He sat impassive on his stead as he spoke, looking now at the Lady, now at the young boy whose form hid the power of the Lord Fey. At any moment, he expected the Lord to erupt in fury, and that would signal Lord Roga's hosts to attack. The Lord Fey would not reach his King this day. But to his surprise, though he could see the flush of anger on the boy's cheeks, the stripling yet sat still, and said nothing. Instead, the Lady spoke again.

"Your words are harshness disguised in courtesy, Lord Roga, as the venom of the serpent is hidden by its beauty. You mock my honor, and that no man may do. I challenge you, Lord. You will fight my champion, and he will prove my honor. And with my honor proven, we _will_ see your King." Her words were lightly spoken, but the hint of steel was clear in them, and the last phrase was as the closing of a steel trap.

Lord Roga saw he had been lead astray, fooled by his expectation of the Lord Fey's fury. It defied his every understanding, that the Lord Fey could hold in his rage when so denounced. Yet the Lord had held in his fury, visible though it was on his countenance, and now he, the Lord Roga, was bound by his own honor, to answer the Lady's challenge.

"As you say, Lady, so it shall be," he ground out through clenched teeth. Damn her for manipulating him so. The Lord should not have been able to sit for that. Had he no honor? "As your's was the challenge, mine is the response. The fight shall be here, and now, and it shall be decided by the sword, by death or surrender."

He dropped from his horse's back, and his personal guard stepped forward to form a wide half-circle. They were quickly matched by the men of Fey, and a twenty foot circle was thus formed. The young boy leapt from his horse, and handed his reins to the Lady, and she led both horses from the impromptu ring.

The boy pulled his sword from his scabbard, and it shimmered, and grew from a two foot blade, to a four foot katana, and suddenly, he was clothed again in the Dragon Armor. Roga unlimbered his own sword, drawing it forth, five feet of shining steel. "So it is you, Lord Fey. Even in disguise, you could not leave the Dragon Armor and Dragon Fang behind? It will not avail you."

This was a quite unusual situation, Lord Roga knew. Never before had Fey been the challenger. Always before, he had responded to a challenge, and so named his terms, and brought his mighty sorcery to bear, and prevailed. His sword was well-known for its might in battle, but Lord Roga's sword was ensorcelled as well, and Lord Fey would not find it so easily broken. Facing a strong man with longer reach, Lord Fey's lack of skill with the sword would bring a quick end.

Arkus smiled to himself. Once again, he had needed to do nothing. Lord Roga's suspicion was too strong, and in the boy's actions, it found only confirmation. This time, though, Arkus would not make the same mistake. He looked, and confirmed for himself that Roga's suspicions were too great for even his defeat at Fey's hand to change his opinion, much less Fey's defeat. He made a single tweak, to ensure that Roga would not hold back the final killing blow, then removed himself quickly from Roga's mind. He had no intention of being given a second headache. He sat back to watch.

Lord Roga lunged forward, stabbed, parried, trying to force aside Lord Fey's defenses, and find an opening. There was none. Lord Fey's responses were perfectly timed, and his lack of reach seemed no disability at all. Lord Roga was perplexed. This was obviously what the Lady had sought, to take advantage of Lord Roga's lack of information. No-one knew that Lord Fey had been learning the true art of the sword. He had never before shown much interest. In the midst of battle, his sword would cleave his foes, and smite them down, and his skill mattered little. He had obviously been training for just this purpose.

Ranma, in his fight with Grael, had perfected his technique for turning aside sword blows from a stronger opponent, and though he could tell that Lord Roga was significantly stronger than himself, he was able to avoid pitting his strength against Roga's in any direct fashion. As he fought, his ability to turn aside the strong blows steadily improved, and he was able to focus on the man he was fighting. Once again, he fought defensively, studying his opponent's armor, which was much more complete than Grael's had been.

Lord Roga was utterly convinced now that this was the real Lord Fey. No such boy could possibly have gained such superlative skill with the sword, nor have the strength to turn aside Lord Roga's powerful blows again and again, with no sign of strain. Roga's sense of despair was growing. He had overplayed his hand. Lord Roga, in desperation, shifted fighting styles. Holding the blade one-handed now, he pulled out a parrying dagger.

It worked, for a time. Every now and then, he would use a technique that Lord Fey seemed unfamiliar with. Apparently he was not really used to facing two blades, and he had not pulled out a second blade of his own, though he wielded his blade one-handed now. But each time that Fey seemed unsure, and Roga found an opening, and struck for it, Fey seemed to avoid it with ease, moving in that instant several times faster than he had been, before returning to his smooth rhythm.

Roga found that each time this happened, that move became immediately useless... He only opened a hole in Fey's defenses with a given technique once. The second time, each time, Fey used the perfect defense against it. It was as if Roga was standing there, teaching Fey how to fight against two blades.

Even worse was the boy's steady grin, which faded only slightly when he was forced to dodge, before returning full force. The boy seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, and showed no sign of tiring. He was not sweating, and seemed to be breathing easily.

Ranma was surprised when Roga pulled out the second blade, and grinned, as his skill was finally tested. It was not sufficient... several times Roga managed a tricky manuever with the dual blades, getting Ranma's blade into a position from which he could not respond in time to a threat from Roga's second blade. Each time, Ranma was quick to react, pushing himself to move faster, and avoid the strike, shifting enough so that the blade would be able to reach only a well armored region, keeping the armor's weak points well out of harm's way.

After half an hour, Roga was becoming seriously tired, and the little whelp was still unwinded. Roga's defenses were becoming weak, and he was infuriated that the boy failed to pierce them. Fey was toying with him, and Roga knew it, and he hated him for it. Finally, the boy dropped his grin, and reaching out, spun his sword in a twisting arc, and Roga's blade flew from his grasp, stabbing into the ground a short distance away. An angry rumble started, across the field.

Ranma had finally figured out how to alter the techniques he had been taught to allow the disarm to work against a stronger foe, using the principles he had derived from using minimal strength to turn aside the stronger sword blows of his opponents. In doing so, Ranma displayed his true strength in the art, a strength that was his long before he came to this world, before the divine gift became his, the impressive adaptability that would eventually have made him the best master of the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, an art that made adaptability a prime tenet, had he remained untouched by Fey.

Fey's sword snapped out, touching Roga's throat, and for the first time he spoke. Roga was almost startled at the soft, boyish voice. "Yield, Lord Roga."

Lord Roga's face hardened. He had been beaten. There was nothing he could do. He could not save his king. But at least, he could die honorably. "No. If you wish to defeat me, you must kill me." He awaited the death blow, staring at the eyes of his tormenter, and was shocked to see them cloud with pain. The boy spat a word, in a language Roga had never heard, and turned away, sheathing his sword. As he walked to where the Lady stood, watching, Roga fell to his knees, still gasping for breath.

He spoke to the Lady, and Roga heard him, his voice high and clear, the voice of a young boy, filled with sorrow. "I am sorry, Lady. But peace, and my training, are not worth his life. I cannot do it." She nodded to him, sorrow in her eyes as well, but tempered by a curious light. He turned to Roga, and walked back towards him, curving to the side, to lift Roga's sword easily in his hand, and then stood before him. He held out Roga's blade to him, and waited until it had been taken, then stated, "I yield. The victory is yours. We will leave you in peace." He sighed, and turned, and walked away, back to the Lady.

Roga's thoughts were in a turmoil. All that he believed had been turned upside down in an instant. Fey had killed hundreds, thousands. His hands were stained with the blood spilled by his sword. All he needed to do was kill one more to have the King at his mercy, and he was walking away? It made no sense... none of it did... until Roga finally considered the terrible possibility that the Lady, whom he had so callously derided, might have been telling the truth.

This boy, who had so easily defeated him... what if he wasn't the old Lord Fey. If he had taken Roga so easily, with so little strain, was it really unbelievable that he could have killed the Lord Fey? If that were so, then all the Lady's words would be true, and their mutual sorrow made sense. They had reached out in peace, and been rebuffed. Sudden horror overtook him. If Farallon had rejected peace... would the new Lord choose war? "Wait," he gasped, leaning heavily on his sword, struggling back to his feet. "Wait, Lord Fey." The boy turned back to look at him, sorrow still etched in his face. He had to know why. "Why, why did you not kill me? One stroke, and you would have had what you wanted. Why?"

The boy turned completely, facing him, eyes filled with pain. His voice, when he spoke, was choked with emotion. "I killed once, and that was once too often. I would have spared him, if I had had any choice, evil though he may have been." Looking into the boy's eyes, Roga was shocked by the pain he saw there. "How, then, could I take the life of one who fought so hard for his King? The price for peace is too high. Just leave me be, and we will go."

He turned back to the Lady. "If we take no troops with us, Lady, and go, just you and I, surely they would let us pass? We can go, and seek out the Masters, and I will keep you safe. I cannot do this." Roga had gotten his second wind now, and stood straight, marveling at the boy's words.

"Wait," he said again. They both turned to look at him. "If you will come, just the two of you, I will take you to see the King. My life is forfeit to yours now, Lord Fey. I will stake the Lady's honor with my life, and take you to the King. If you prove false, my life is justly forfeit, but it will be little different than had you taken it here and now." He turned, and walked to his horse. "Follow me."

The Lady looked at the sorrowful boy, his eyes filled with confusion. All this talk of lives owed and forfeit, was as so much mud to him. He could not understand why the man had so suddenly changed his mind. The Lady urged him to his horse, and he leapt upon it. Then she turned and dismissed her troops, sending them back to the encampment, and mounted her own mare. Together, they followed Lord Roga through a sea of hostile faces.

Arkus stared in shock. No sound came through the mirror, so he had not heard their words. He had been so confident of the Lord Roga, right up to the end. When he saw the boy walk away in defeat, Arkus had leapt up, shouting out in victory, dancing about. When he again looked at the mirror, and saw the boy and the Lady following Lord Roga through the crowd, he slumped to the ground in shock. It was impossible!

Lord Roga had been absolutely convinced the boy was Lord Fey, and the fight should have made him only more certain. What could possibly have happened in those few seconds as he danced, to change the Lord's mind? Arkus groaned in despair, then brightened.

They might get to see the king, but he would be there watching ready to give a little nudge, and prevent the king from really considering their offer, whatever it might be.

Finally, they were beyond the crowds of men, and passed through a meadow, and across a road, to stand before a drawbridge. It was slowly being lowered before them. They crossed it, hooves echoing on the wood, to enter a large courtyard, where their steeds were taken by young boys to be stabled.

They followed Lord Roga on foot then, surrounded by castle guards, who watched them with suspicious eyes, down long halls filled with guttering torches, to stand finally before tall doors set in a stone wall. Guards in full plate, bearing halberds, and shields with the crest of the king, stood tall and strong to either side.

A small window in one wall opened to a tiny room wherein sat another man, with a trailing beard, and a large book before him. Lord Roga spoke to him, and his eyes went wide as he looked at Ranma and the Lady, but he was silent, and dipped a quill in an ink bottle, and wrote their names in the book before him.

The doors swung wide, and horns blew, and a voice announced, "The Lord Fey, and the Dragon-Lady Alana, to see the King, escorted by the Lord Roga." Ranma looked up in surprise when he heard the Lady hiss. He could feel her anger, but didn't know why. Her gaze was not directed at him, but at Lord Roga. Lady Alana was rightly annoyed.

How dare Lord Roga use those terms of address for her! She had not yet told Ranma of her true background and heritage... she feared his reaction when he learned that it was not a woman he held captive, but a dragon. She hoped he would just assume it to be a courtly title. She dreaded the disappointment she felt certain would come when she saw his face change, when he stopped trying to free her, because he held not a woman, but a dragon in his power. She had felt such pride in him... she didn't want to lose that.

Ranma, for his part, quickly forgot the matter, distracted by the sights in the room. It was very long, and full of people in garishly fancy clothes, and at the end of it, on a high dais, were two huge chairs, where sat a handsome young man of about twenty, and a beautiful young woman beside him, both wearing crowns of white gold, covered in gems.

Waves of quiet titters and hushed whispers amongst the throngs of nobles kept pace with them as they followed Lord Roga up to stand before the dais. When they stopped, the hall fell silent. Lady Alana spoke, and each phrase fell like a single clear droplet into a pool of water, causing ripples of muted conversation to spread amongst the nearby nobles before silence fell again. "The Lord Fey seeks a private audience with King Dei to discuss terms for peace between the land of Farallon and the land of Fey."

The king looked fearful for a moment, before a nudge from Arkus caused him to grow angry. "Lord Roga, what is the meaning of this? Why do you bring this woman before me? You know as well as she that the terms of peace between our kingdoms begin with Lord Fey dead and buried!"

Lord Roga dropped to one knee, and bowed low before his king. "My King, Lord Fey is dead, and he is buried. Before you is the warrior who defeated him, who bested me before my men, then accepted defeat rather than take my head, the new Lord Fey."

A shocked murmur spread through the crowd, and an older man with white hair and a long white beard stepped forth from behind the throne. "This is preposterous, my King. There is no way such a young man could have defeated Lord Fey. They lie. Send them away."

The King held up his hand, and his counselor fell silent. "Explain, Lady Alana. How could such a youth defeat the Lord Fey? Were you there when he died? Did you see it?"

"I did not. But I saw my Lord Fey, dead upon the floor of his summoning chamber. And I saw a hole, three feet wide, torn through the three inch thick steel door that is the only entrance or exit from that chamber... a door warded against all manner of demons, and graven with mighty spells. The Dragon Fang recognizes this boy as its master, and the Dragon Armor comes to his call."

"So, boy. Tell us. How did you defeat the undefeatable Lord Fey?" the King asked, holding his disbelief in check. He had to give this stripling a chance to prove himself. If he dismissed him out of hand, Lord Roga, his champion, would be humiliated, so he resisted Arkus' plea for instant dismissal, never realizing that it was not his own thought.

"I don't know. I don't remember what I do in the Neko-ken. But I recognize the effects of my claws. I killed him," replied Ranma, tonelessly, ruthlessly restraining his grief and anger.

"What is this... Neko-ken?" queried the King.

"Its a martial arts technique that my father taught me." Ranma's voice was still toneless. It sounded dead.

The King frowned. This sounded preposterous. The boy killed Lord Fey, but didn't remember doing it? He recognized the marks of his claws... [but the boy has no claws], Arkus interjected. But Lord Roga said the boy defeated him... if he could defeat Lord Roga, then perhaps he could have defeated Lord Fey. "Very well. I will grant the audience." Arkus cursed fluently in several obscure tongues. The King stood, and the nearby guards snapped to attention, and hurried to his side, escorting the small group, including Lord Roga, into a private audience chamber, where they were all seated.

Arkus pushed at the King again. [I had no choice but to grant the audience, but this is a farce. This is impossible. They are trying to trick us.] "Very well, Lady Alana," the King said, "I will play along with this farce, though I can't imagine what Lord Fey hopes to achieve from it. What are your Lord's terms?"

The Lady smiled at him. "Our terms are simple, King Dei. We offer peace between us. All that we ask is free passage through your lands for the outsiders who will shortly be needing to travel to and from our land."

Arkus was quick to jump on this, and find the one angle that would appeal to the King. [Outsiders... she means mercenaries. Peace until their army is swollen with new men.] "Ah, I see," the King said, "So simple. Let us have peace, and let the mercenaries walk freely to you, until you have enough of an army to crush us without risking your own. How clever. I don't think so."

"We do not ask this to allow mercenaries through, King Dei. I ask this, so that the Masters I have invited to come and train the Lord Fey will be able to do so."

Again, Arkus was quick to prevent the King from taking the words at face value. [The Lord needs training? He just beat Lord Roga. Who is he preparing to fight that he needs more training? Such a transparent lie, its insulting.] "Train? Since when does your Lord need training? Do you think me blind, that you place so transparent a plot before me, and then ask why I see through it? Why do you seek to insult me so?"

"Very well then. Bring your spymaster in, and scry the grounds of Fey castle. I will direct him to the appropriate places, so that you may see both the grave of the deceased Lord Fey, which Lord Fey dug, and the hole in the door of the summoning room, which Lord Fey tore."

As he felt the King's response to this, Arkus was forced to flee, to shut down his scrying, and pull back from the King's mind. The King's spymaster was hardly senile enough to fail to notice that they were being scryed upon. Arkus cursed again. Damn her. Had she detected his interference? "Fine. Guard, go, bring the spymaster to me, and tell him to bring all his implements of scrying. We will soon learn the truth."

Shortly thereafter, the spymaster entered. On the small table that stood between them, he placed a large basin. He filled it from a pitcher of water, and proceeded to cast his spell. Under the Lady's verbal guidance, he showed the King the gravesite, and the door, the shards of iron still visible on the floor beneath the gaping tear in the door. When he finally left, the King was shaking in fear, though he did his best to hide it.

This boy, who had so much power, had just sat in silence as the King had impugned his honor, and the honor of his Lady. What had come over him, that he had reacted so harshly? The King felt he would be lucky to leave with his life. He agreed to their terms, thankful they were not harsher, and did not relax until they had left. Then he had Lord Roga relate to him all that he had seen and heard.

"Well, then, Lord Roga," he said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, "It seems we indeed have a new Lord Fey. But what a strange boy. How is it possible that he have such skill and power so young? Can you imagine what he will be like when he comes of age? When I think of how hard we were pushing him... can you imagine, if he had decided it was worth war to clear a path for his trainers to reach him? We would have been destroyed!"

"Yes, I expect we would. I fought with him, and I was fighting a life and death duel. He toyed with me, using but a portion of his skill and speed, so that he could learn what I knew, that he did not. Life and death, and to him it was an opportunity to train. I think the reason he was willing to back down was because he felt that he and the Lady would be allowed to leave, if they went alone, to seek training. I think if we had denied him that, he would have come through anyway."

Lessons Learned

When they returned to Fey Castle, the Lady Alana took Ranma into a large study, and pointed him to a seat on a couch. She sat beside him. "We need to talk about this now, Ranma. You went through something very difficult out there, and for just a moment, you went beyond your father's training, and we need to discuss it."

"You don't mean the fighting," Ranma sighed. "You mean when I... when I gave up." He looked depressed, and he stared down at his hands, as if in them he could find the root of his failure.

"Yes, Ranma, that's what I meant," then she reached out, and lifted his head with a finger beneath his chin, "Look at me, Ranma." She looked into his eyes, and smiled. "You won, Ranma. When you walked away, and didn't take the killing stroke, that's the moment that you won. Can't you see that?" She could see the confusion in his eyes. "Up to that moment, Lord Roga was convinced you were the Lord Fey. Just a moment later, and he bet his life that you weren't, and took us to the King. Why, Ranma? What changed his mind?"

"Lord... Lord Fey would have killed him." Ranma replied, a bit sullenly. She was just trying to make him feel better about losing. It didn't matter. Roga had still beaten him.

She could see the defeat still, burning in his eyes. "Let me try and explain it, Ranma. You fought several battles that day. You fought the border guard's champion, right?"

"Yes," he replied shortly.

"And you fought Lord Roga?"

"Yeah," he sighed again, "and lost."

She knew she couldn't be over-subtle here. He was smart, but he wasn't good at nuance. "And you fought King Dei, didn't you?"

"What?" He looked up at her in confusion. "I didn't fight him."

"Didn't you?," she asked softly. "He challenged you, told you he would never have peace with you... and together, we fought him, and we defeated him... didn't we?"

"Uh... uhmm... yeah, I guess. Kinda." Confusion was still dominant in his eyes, but she saw a glimmer of comprehension.

"And with Lord Roga... didn't you really fight two battles with him? You fought him in a physical battle, and you defeated him. Then he fought you in a battle of wills. He tried to force you to prove that he was right, by killing him. And don't you see, Ranma? When you admitted defeat, you actually beat him a second time. He was challenging you. If you had killed him, you would have proven him right. He would be dead, but he would have won, and his troops would have fought tooth and nail to keep us from the King. But you beat him, and proved him wrong. That's why he changed his mind."

"Hey..." he replied, wonder growing in his voice, "you're right! Wow! You mean, even when I thought I lost, I really won?"

"Yes, that's right. Now, think back. What other battles did we fight, that day?" She had accomplished what she knew she must, but perhaps she could build on this success, and bring out some of that bright intelligence that had been so blindly focused on the Art.

He sighed, and put his head in his hands... then he jerked upright, grinning. "I know! And it wasn't me! You fought, and you won too. You fought that captain of the guards. He didn't want to let us in, and you beat him. You made him challenge you, so I could fight, and he would have no choice but to let us in. And then you fought Lord Roga the same way, and made him challenge me! Then you did it again, with King Dei, and forced him to bring in his summoner, and accept the truth." His grin had deepened into a real smile now, as he realized how much they had really accomplished. "And we both fought to get the peace deal, and we both won... Wow... you fought just as much as I did."

"There was one more battle you fought, and won... can you think of what it was?" she asked, gently. She didn't bring up the fact that in the first two cases, she had actually been the one to issue the challenge. He was right, in the deepest sense. She had tricked them into impugning her honor, thus allowing her to issue a challenge they could not refuse.

He sat and thought, rubbing the base of his pigtail. He rocked back and forth a bit, thinking over each bit of the journey, until finally his eyes lit up. He smiled at her again. "Those guards that came with us. They started out angry at us, and suspicious. When we got to the field, I think they were actually disappointed at having to leave. They didn't think I was Lord Fey anymore. They didn't want to believe us, and when they left, they did. That was the last battle, right?"

"That's right." And she reached out and teased his hair a bit. "It has been said, Ranma, that it is as important to know when not to fight, as when to fight. But that's not really true. What do you think is really meant by that, Ranma?" She smiled gently at him. She didn't really expect him to get this one, but she wanted to give him the chance.

He had surprised her before, with Lord Roga. His reaction had been unexpected, knowing what she did of the tenets of his school... Anything Goes meant exactly what it said. Anything was worth doing to win. At that moment, she had feared for him, feared what his father might have made of him, feared what he would become, if he followed his school's teaching, and killed Lord Roga... but she had expected nothing less. She had been surprised and pleased that he had proven stronger than his father's teachings. And he surprised her now.

"Uhm... maybe, the important thing is to know which fight you're really fighting?" Ranma looked at her hopefully. Her beautiful smile told him he was right, and at that moment, Ranma felt like he had won a fight he hadn't even known he had been fighting.

That night, in his rooms, Ranma pondered the trip, and the talk he had had with the Lady. He particularly remembered the pain in her eyes as he told her that he could not kill Lord Roga. It was not a pain for his failure. . . but a pain of sympathy. She had felt pain, because he had. He thought further back, to when she had held him, as he cried, after realizing that he must have killed the Lord Fey.

He decided that it was clear, that she felt pain when she saw him in pain. He could not bear to see her hurt, and he felt sure that this was another aspect of the spell that bound her to love him. After all, what better way to prevent her from killing the Lord Fey, than to make her feel any pain she saw inflicted upon him? He wasn't sure of the details, but the results seemed clear.

He made a decision that night, a momentous decision that would haunt him for years, and ultimately cause his first and greatest failure. He began a steady habit of using the Soul of Ice, and burying his emotions, his fear and pain, his confusion, even his waning affection for his father, behind a wall of ice in his mind. He made a silent vow that night, that never again would he hurt the Lady by allowing her to see his pain. He would protect her, even from himself.

---

Seated in his personal chambers in the house of Lord Marnolan, a minor Baron who's favor he had obtained, Krall read the latest missive from his first spy in Farallon, and snarled in anger. Preposterous. How could it be? "It is impossible," he growled, and stalked from the room.

A scant hour later, he cautiously entered a tavern in the town where his spymaster stayed when not in the field. He peered about the darkened room, trying to see through the flickering shadows created by the guttering torches. He always felt nervous when speaking to his spymaster.

Krall held few illusions about his own skill. He was a true fighter, an experienced warrior, and he knew exactly where his skills placed him relative to those around him. When he did not know, he would generally fade back, allowing others to fight, showing him where he stood. That is what he was doing with the new Lord Fey.

At the same time, there were a few people whose skill he knew to be sufficient to kill him, in this particular case, it would be a painful death, but not one that his opponent would have to put a lot of effort into. He could certainly defeat the silent shadow walker in a straight up fight, but if it ever came to that, he would not be fighting him, but one of his poisons. Krall knew that his constitution was unusual... he could hold his ale as well as most dwarves, and that said a hell of a lot, but he knew enough about the poisons Friss would use to know that it would simply mean that he would have longer to spend in agony before finally dying.

So Friss was one of the few of his colleagues whom he treated with a cautious respect quite unlike his typical arrogance.

Finally he spied the thin man, seated in a dark corner, made darker by the absence of a torch in the nearest sconce, which didn't surprise Krall one bit. He moved quickly to stand by the table, then slipped in beside him. Without looking at Friss, he spoke under his breath, "Tell me, Friss, how comes this? How could King Dei make such an agreement? And if it be so, if the fool really agreed to allow these outsiders in, then why have nearly three months passed, and none come. Why would the new Lord take such a risk, to obtain so peculiar a peace, only to ignore it? I need more information than this to plan my actions. If he starts making peace with the other kingdoms, all our plans could be jeopardized."

"It was the Lady, Lord Krall, her doing, by what I've learned. She played their honor and tricked them into dueling the boy. He defeated a minor company champion easily enough. Then, before the capital, before Lord Roga's personal guard, he toyed with Lord Roga, fought him to a standstill until Roga fell from exhaustion, then Lord Fey yielded."

"What?! But you said Roga fell!" Friss leveled a sharp gaze at Krall, dark eyes burning with anger, and Krall lowered his voice, "You have an explanation?"

"Quite. Lord Roga did indeed fall. That is one reason I am sure the Lady was behind it. Somehow she must have learned that Roga's orders were that if he fell, his troops would fight to the last man to prevent Fey's advance on the palace. Lord Roga was so shocked that Lord Fey didn't kill him, that he accepted their story."

"That explains the audience, but why did the King agree?"

"It occurred in a private audience. Only the King, his wife, the Lord Roga, Fey, and the Lady have any idea why the agreement was signed."

"Can we use Lord Roga? How badly does he desire revenge?"

"On the contrary, Milord, indications are that Roga is now Fey's staunchest supporter in Farallon."

"What?! That's absurd!" hissed Krall, shocked to the core. This was not the way things worked in his world.

"So it is, so it is. Nonetheless, its true. Think you the Lady might have some power after all? Perhaps she overcame their minds, or cast a spell upon them. I know not." Friss waved dismissively, and sat back. Krall stood, and walked away, knowing that his time with Friss was ended, and staying would not be healthy. He had much to think on, in any case.

Achievement

Ranma sat in silence as four old men discussed him just inside the building. He was sitting in lotus position, waiting for them to return. After they had come back from the kingdom of Farallon, the Lady had insisted that he needed to gain complete control of his ki, and brought a Tai Chi Chuan master from his own world.

All that effort to let Masters reach him, and she had brought one from his home, who didn't care about the Five Kingdoms, or all the effort he had just been to. He was only now, three months later, admitting to himself that she was right. Just having the peace agreement wasn't enough. They needed to see that it would be kept, to get used to the idea, before the masters would allow themselves to be drawn out of their temples and dojos, and make the long journey to train the new Lord Fey.

She was right about controlling his ki, as well. Because of the work the Tai Chi Chuan master had done with him, he could now summon the power of the Neko-ken at will, and do many other interesting things with his ki. He was still afraid of cats, but he suspected that the Lady had a plan for that as well.

Now the master had gone, and returned with three others. For nearly ten hours, Ranma had undergone test after test. He had pushed hands with each of the masters, a taxing exercise that literally involved pushing hands, but was really focused on the passing back and forth of ki. He had been attacked by each master in turn, each using a different art against him, and been required to demonstrate how he could turn each style of attacks against the attacker with minimal movement, then been attacked by all four at once.

They had made him attack them with the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, demonstrating how he had integrated the Tai Chi Chuan into his personal style.

The final tests had involved him centering himself in different places and different positions, while the masters tried everything from all out attacks, to levers, to throwing stones, to breaking boards against him, to force him to move. This unusual centering, the ability to almost literally become one with the immediate environment, was one of the most powerful abilities in Tai Chi, and could literally make a master of it into the proverbial immovable object. Indeed, despite everything they had tried, he had remained where he placed himself. No the masters were closeted, discussing him.

As the door closed behind the last master, he looked to Wan Go, the master who had trained the boy. "Surely you do not still expect us to believe that the boy has studied the Tai Chi Chuan for a mere three months, Wan Go? You have had your fun, now tell us the truth. How long have you been training the boy?" He grinned at Wan Go. It had been a good joke, after all.

"Three months." Wan Go replied. The other three masters turned slowly and looked at him.

"You are serious," Jan Fen said, shock evident in his eyes. "You are actually serious, aren't you." Wan Go didn't even have to reply. "Is he really human? That woman, who acts so much like his mother, though she does not call him son, she has the blood of a dragon, I think."

"He is as human as I am," Wan Go replied.

Lo Phun sighed. "It figures that the youngest Master ever to reach this level would be from another world, raised by a Dragon. Why do my students never reach this high?"

"You assume too much, Lo Phun," Wan Go replied. "The Lady Alana has informed me that my student is from our world. That is why I was brought to teach him. He is the heir to the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu."

"You mean that school founded by that infidel, Happosai? How unfortunate," moaned Ko Lin. "But he has passed the tests. He is a tenth dan Tai Chi Chuan master, and it isn't even his chosen art! I hope that stupid infidel appreciates what he has in this boy."

"I want to add one more test," Wan Go interjected. "I don't think I've reached his limits yet."

"You want to go further?" Jan Fen was shocked. "Tenth dan is not good enough for you?"

"Come. You will see. I think he can achieve something remarkable. We will see." They followed him, curious to see what more he thought this young warrior could do.

Wan Go had not told them that he had asked the Lady about Ranma's astonishing speed at learning the Tai Chi. She had simply told him that Ranma's ability was a gift from the gods. Technically true, perhaps, after all, everything one was was really a gift from the gods, but useless as far as understanding the boy's amazing abilities. Wan Go had tested the boy when he first came, and found that though the boy had no conscious control of his ki, he was nonetheless using it to augment his speed, strength, and stamina in the sparring they did.

Ranma stood and faced them as the four old men came out. He bowed deeply.

"Student, I have one further test. Are you ready?" Wan Go challenged him.

"Hai, sensei." Ranma replied.

Wan Go led Ranma to a short stone column, about four and a half feet tall. "Sit upon this, and find your center. Center yourself very strongly, then I want you to meditate. I want you to hold onto your center, and meditate, and withdraw your awareness of the world. As you do this, you must not let your hold on your center falter. Do you understand?"

"Hai, sensei," Ranma answered, and leapt lightly to the top of the post, settling in lotus position on it. He closed his eyes, and focused.

"When you are centered, and your awareness is withdrawn, say 'Ready'. Then, wait five minutes, and return." Wan Go instructed. Ranma focused, and found his center, and firmed his center in relation to his surroundings. He steadily strengthened his center, until he was comfortable, then breathed out, and began to meditate. He held tightly to his center, until his awareness was withdrawn. He said, "Ready." but did not hear his own words.

When Wan Go heard his student speak, he looked at the others, who were watching curiously, and at the Lady, who stood some distance away, watching them all, and rubbed his hands together gleefully. He had tried this many times, and failed, but he thought Ranma might finally succeed. He was so powerful in himself. Wan Go reached out with his ki, and felt the post, and located its weakness. His wrinkled hand lightly tapped a spot on it, and the post crumbled to dust.

The gasps of his peers and the startled cry of the Lady were music to Wan Go's ears, as he stared bemused at the boy, still sitting four and a half feet from the ground, resting comfortably on nothing at all. He walked over, picked up a plank of wood, and placing it against Ranma's back, applied a considerable amount of force, visibly bending the plank. Ranma did not move. Wan Go dropped the board, and sat down on a bench, counting the time.

At the appointed moment, Ranma's eyes opened, his senses stirred... and his mouth dropped. The old men watched, amused, as Ranma slowly... ever so slowly, reached beneath himself, staring straight ahead. They chuckled as his hand passed slowly beneath him, encountering nothing.

"Uhm... Sensei... what am I sitting on?" Ranma asked.

"Nothing at all, student. Nothing at all," was Wan Go's self satisfied response. Ranma stood up slowly, and the watching masters gasped again. Holding your center while moving was difficult enough... holding it while standing on nothing? As he stood, they noticed that his center wasn't really moving... His center of gravity stayed perfectly still, as his legs stretched down beneath him, but still failed to reach the ground.

Now that his feet were only a foot and a half or so from the ground, Ranma felt safe enough to look slowly down. Even as he stared at the ground beneath him, he didn't fall. He looked at the grinning Wan Go, and smiled. Reaching out again, he felt the ground beneath him with his ki... and mentally gave it a gentle push. Gasps rose around as he wafted slowly upward, stopping when his feet were about three feet from the ground.

He looked over at the stone wall, and mentally gave it a sharp shove. Though otherwise motionless, he still slid five feet through the air directly away from the wall. The masters were silent now, as they watched the boy creating a whole new art before their eyes. He reached out with his ki, and took both the ground and the wall, and gave an angled shove... and rotated in the air. He gulped, and pulled himself back upright.

He looked at Wan Go, grinned an evil grin, and watched Wan Go gulp suddenly. Ranma reached out, held the ground very tightly, and lifted up on Wan Go. Wan Go rose smoothly five feet into the air. Ranma laughed delightedly, and released Wan Go, who promptly dropped back to the ground.

Wan Go was irritated. "All right, student. Enough playing. Down. Now." Ranma dropped silently to the ground, and stood before his sensei. It didn't matter that Wan Go was irritated. Ranma was too thoroughly happy for that to bother him. He had just realized that a slight twist on this new technique would aid him in the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu more than everything else he had learned in the Tai Chi Chuan... With this technique, there would literally be a surface to leap from or land on, wherever he needed one.

They gave Ranma his dan belt, and a plaque... Eleventh Dan. Ranma was sure Master Wan Go had told him there were ten dans in Tai Chi Chuan... but who was he to argue? They were the masters.

---

The Lady informed him that she would permit him two weeks to integrate the Tai Chi firmly into his style, before beginning his training in magic.

He found that he did not have to perform the centering exercises to merge this new ability, that he found himself thinking of as the 'Juushin Jisei Ryuu,' or 'Controlling Center of Gravity Style,' with the Musabetso Kakuto. He did not need to be centered to mentally solidify the air just where his foot or hand would be in the next moment, and push off of it. With this addition to the Musabetso, he could remain airborne indefinitely. It was very close to flying, and he found it absolutely exhilarating.

Of course, he could literally fly, as well, by finding his center and moving himself, and he trained in this as well, but it took time for it to become familiar. Rather than choosing to move in such and such a way, he had to figure out how to move in relation to some fixed object, so that his body would move as he wished it to. It was confusing, and he found it more comfortable to use leaps, with which he was quite familiar, and which he knew precisely how to control.

He also developed an exercise that he would continue for the rest of his life. He worked out a means to use the Juushin Jisei Ryuu to effectively increase the weight of his body, without actually increasing his weight. It was the basic equivalent of being in a heavier gravity, but with the Juushin force being applied to whatever surface he came in contact with to prevent it from feeling the extra weight. He named it the Juuryoku, or Gravity, technique.

As this developed, it had two basic effects. First, as he slowly increased the effective gravity, it forced him to become stronger to continue to be able to perform his leaping aerial katas. Second, it conditioned him to the constant use of his ki, which strengthened his body's ability to handle the flow of ki, and strengthened and deepened his ki reserves.

---

Two weeks later, as they waited for his new sensei to arrive from the northern mountains, Ranma began his training in magic. His first day of training made Ranma understand why the Lady had insisted that he begin with Tai Chi. She made him center himself, and reach out with his ki, then she fired magical attack after magical attack at him. He strained to hold his center, as he was pummeled, and he used new-found mastery of ki to bat the attacks away.

Slowly, as he touched the attacks, he began to get a feel for them, until suddenly, as she fired yet another magical arrow at him, he felt its weak point. With a feeling akin to exaltation, he touched its weak point with a feather light brush of ki, and the attack simply melted away. Soon after, she began stepping up her attacks, hitting him with steadily more powerful effects. Even the immaterial ones that sought to affect him without passing the intervening space could be felt with his ki, and every one had its weak point, and every one fell before a minute application of ki. It was just like the way Wan Go had caused that column to fall into dust... a little touch at the right point, and it was done.

After a while, he began to feel more points on them, more detail, and finally, he stopped her, and asked her to fire a single magic arrow at him. She returned to the small, simple attack, and he caught it with ki, and held it in the air. He closed his eyes, and felt deeper, and finally he could feel where the strands of magical energy were coming from... and gathering them up, somehow, he wasn't sure, he pulled them together, and tied them to each other in the same way, and released his creation... only to get hit in the chest by two arrows... the one he had created, and the one she had sent to him.

They both laughed at his blunder, then she told him to get back up, and ready himself again. Now she sent a single slow missile towards him... and he reached out with his ki... and felt nothing, and it flew into his chest and knocked him off his chair.

He was excited, and demanded to know how she had hid the magic, and wanted to try it again and again, but she just smiled sadly at him, and refused. She couldn't bear to tell him that he couldn't see it because it drew from a feminine source. He was totally blind to magic from the female principle, and she knew why, and she knew he would be hurt if she told him.

She would wait, and when he was strong enough to know, she would tell him. She suspected she would lose him then, but she had little choice. He would never be able to free her until he mastered both feminine and masculine magic, but she doubted even he would be strong enough to face the pain he would have to face to become whole enough to master both. Not for the last time did she curse his worse than worthless father.

Darkening Revelations

The next master arrived, and Ranma went with the Lady to greet him. The new master was tall and lean, and stepped about with a jaunty air, walking easily amidst the gardens as they approached him. Just as they reached him, he finally turned to face them, and Ranma saw his eyes... shrunken skin covering empty sockets. The master had no eyes.

"Greetings, Master Kagano. May I present your student? This is Ranma Fey." The Lady put her hands on his shoulders, and pushed him forwards.

"You have a kind face, young man," the master said, then turned to the Lady, "and is it matched by a kind heart?"

"It is," she smiled back proudly.

"B-but, Sensei..." Ranma spluttered.

The master put a finger to Ranma's lips, with not the slightest pause, or unease in his movements. His arm's motion was direct and simple, taking the shortest path. He clearly knew exactly where Ranma was in relation to himself.

"You wonder how I can see you so clearly, without sight? Well, boy. You will learn. He tapped Ranma's shoulder lightly, but in a complex rhythm, and Ranma's world turned black. Ranma gasped. "Don't worry, child. Your eyes will take no permanent harm. But you will learn to do without them at need. For one with such strong ki as you, there is no need for sight for anything beyond color. All else will come in time."

He led the boy into the garden. "Now, concentrate, and feel the ki around you. Don't reach out with your ki... Just let the ki around you, the ki of all that lives about you, wash over you. Feel it."

As they walked from the garden, Arkus finally looked in on Ranma again. When the Tai Chi master had come, Arkus had discovered that the wrinkled old man could somehow tell that he was watching, and had done something with his ki, and broken Arkus' mirror. It had taken several months before Arkus could replace it, and then he had been loth to look again, and lose another mirror. It was only after he learned that another master had passed through Farallon on his way to Fey Castle that he decided to watch again.

Arkus watched the master lead the boy towards the house, and wondered what he was doing. After watching the boy being led from place to place, Arkus finally realized that the boy was blind. Arkus dropped the scry, and raced from the room. This was a perfect opportunity. Within ten minutes, several pigeons had left the castle, bearing notes to the homes of several powerful individuals whom Arkus knew to covet the lands or Lady of Fey, informing them that the boy had been blinded. Within two weeks, at least one of them should show up at Fey Castle, issuing a challenge. Whatever had caused the boy to go blind, it would be his downfall.

Two days later, Ranma and Master Kagano were in the garden, repeating a very similar exercise. The Master was talking softly. "Sensing auras is easy. You must move beyond this, and sense the tiny flows of ki that are being generated to form the aura. Concentrate on these tiny flows, and you can begin to see the surface of anything that is generating ki."

Ranma sighed, then asked curiously, "Sensei... I think I see now... but why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

The master fell from his stone, stunned. It had taken him five years to reach this stage, working alone, fighting his blindness. It had taken his first student two years, with a master guiding him every step of the way. It had taken this boy two days.

"Sensei, why'd you fall over? And why do you have that funny look on your face?"

The master pulled himself upright. "Just a bit surprised, Ranma. You are progressing faster than I expected. To answer your first question, I am wearing clothes. You simply cannot see them. What generates ki, student?"

"Everything that lives, Sensei," Ranma was quick to reply. He knew his theory fairly well.

"And are clothes alive, student?" Kagano asked with a sigh.

"Aaahhh! No, Sensei, they aren't. I see." Ranma answered. Ranma shivered with delight. Even though his eyes could not see, it was like he could see all about him, nearly fifty yards out. The paths of the rock gardens were like roughly dimpled ground, pressed down deeper in some places than others... the rocks themselves were invisible. He could see the grass, waving gently in the wind. He could see the master, sitting beside him. He could see the trees, rising tall, and reaching down into the ground... but they seemed smaller, and thinner than he expected, and almost perfectly smooth. He realized with a start, that their bark must not be alive. How strange. Then he realized that the Master looked bald. How strange. It was a very peculiar thing, since unlike normal sight, this seemed to reach all around him, even above and below.

The master told him to wait, and went away. He returned shortly, and when they went to eat, the Lady did not join them. "Where is the Lady Alana, Sensei? She always eats with me."

"I have sent her and the other women away, student, until you can learn to see clothes again," the old man replied, grinning at the wild blush that appeared immediately on the young boy's face. "Don't worry, it won't be long now. A few more days to master your sixth sense, and we will start on the seventh. The sixth sense, that you are using now, is a passive sense. You are simply accepting the information that other creatures are putting out. The seventh sense is an active sense. You will reach out and bathe an object in your ki, and the way your ki reacts will tell you about it."

Only three days later, the Lady returned, and Ranma could see her as well as he could when he had his eyes... though he could see no color. He took her about the garden, delighting in his new sight, and wanting to show her how well it worked. He showed her exactly where spots of disease or decay had begun to set in in the plants. He told her how deep the bark of the trees were before the life began. He found a bird's egg, and described in exacting detail the tiny life within. He demonstrated his range and accuracy, by picking up two stones from the dry bed, and tossing one high in the air, then throwing the other stone at it, knocking it out of the air with a loud crack. He walked to a freshly turned spot of earth, and showed how he could see the worms beneath the surface, and reach out and tickle them with his ki, causing them to rise to lie wriggling on the surface, before they squirmed back within the damp earth. He stopped by a rose bush, and teased a closed bloom with his ki, standing several feet from it, and it twitched, and then opened smoothly.

A short while later, the master rejoined them. "Lady, I must apologize. I could scarcely credit the speed of learning you described to me, and so I accepted the three months as a minimum. I have taught him, in this week, all that I can, all that I know. He is now a master of the Shining Darkness, but his sight will not return until the three months have passed. I am sorry."

"It is quite alright, Sensei," replied Ranma happily, "I can see fine anyway." He bowed deeply. "Thank you, Master Kagano. I will always remember your gift of sight." The Lady bowed with him, and then the Master left them.

They stood alone now, in the garden, and Ranma turned to the Lady, a curious look in his sightless eyes. "Lady, if I may ask... why is your ki shaped like a dragon, circling about you? Is that why you were announced at the court of Farallon as a dragon lady?"

So she told him, finally, pouring out the truth, and as she did, she cried inside. She felt hopeless. She knew that he would be hurt that she had not told him before, but she had so loved him. She did not want to see his child's love for her fade. She told him who she was, and how she had been trapped. And she waited. She waited for the realization to show in his eyes, in his face, that she was not a beautiful lady, but a powerful and dangerous beast. That he held her in chains, a dragon, and he did not dare release her.

Instead, she beheld a tear streaked face as he looked up at her, and he hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry, Lady. I will free you, I promise I will find a way. I swear it." Tears fell from sightless eyes, as the young boy failed to marvel at the power he held in his hands. Instead, his grief for her had grown even greater. He had believed her a human woman, held against her will, and his heart had cried out against it. Raised Japanese as he was, by an honorless father, who drilled into him the weakness of women, and their proper place as the old fool saw it, he knew it was her place to serve a husband, and he weeped for her, forced to love a child, who could not love her as she deserved.

Now, he knew the truth. In her bondage, she had lost far more than a human woman could possibly have lost. She had lost her true power, her glory, her body, the freedom of the skies, and the company of her brethren, and he wept for her loss. She found herself once again stunned by the beauty and purity of his soul.

Suddenly he looked up at her again. His tears stilled and stopped. Her heart caught in her throat, as she looked at the sudden determination on his face. "I cannot free you yet, Lady, but I will. But until I can free you... at least I can be your wings!" He stepped back, drying his face on his sleeve. He took her hand then, and launched them both easily into the sky.

Thereafter, he took her flying at least once a week. At least once a week, he entered the kitchens, and learned from the cooks, and made for her a special dish. And each week, he went to the library, and found a new song, and played it just for her, on the golden flute he had discovered the Dragon Fang could become. As each day passed, she felt her love for him grow stronger, leaving the love Fey's chains laid on her like a pale shadow of her love for him. She loved him as the son she never had, and knew that she could ask for none better.

The Challenger

The day Master Kagano left, after they returned from their impromptu flight, the Lady took him back for more lessons in magic, and this continued each day. He found that with his new sight, he could actually see, as well as feel, the threads that made up the magic, and he quickly mastered all the magical attacks she had shown him.

A week and a half after Master Kagano left, the Lady came to him, as he was doing his katas in a garden, enjoying the light of the morning sun, and told him that a challenger had come. Soon, she had taken him to the throne room. He had been there before, and found it a dreary place.

A huge many pillared hall of cut granite and smooth marble, it was magnificent but dead. The Lady dealt with all disputes, and so he never needed to sit in judgment, or listen to long boring speeches. The throne room was therefore an empty place, and he disliked it. But he sat there now, ensconced on the throne.

He felt silly sitting on it. He knew he looked the part of a Lord, as he sat there in his Dragon Armor, his boyish face mostly concealed by the silvery helm. But the throne was built to a far larger scale, and he felt like a little boy in it, his feet not even close to reaching the floor. As he sat, the Lady sat by his side, in a slightly smaller chair, and it made the difference seem even greater. But he was the Lord, and must needs sit in the Lord's chair.

Side doors opened, and his personal guard trooped in. He was quite thankful that the Lady had managed to convince them that he did not really need a bodyguard with him at all times. It would have been quite inconvenient. You can't really go leaping from garden to wall to tower when you have to keep your bodyguard with you, unless you carry him, and that would be embarrassing to all involved.

They formed two long lines on either side of the central aisle. Finally, the far doors opened, and a bugle sounded, and a voice announced, "The Lord Kyris." The man who stepped through the doors was massive, heavily muscled, nearly seven feet tall. He was easily the largest man Ranma had ever seen. His chest was massive, and his legs were like stout tree trunks. He was wearing field plate, much as Lord Roga had, and he clanked and clattered as he stomped his way up to stand before the dais.

"I come to issue a challenge! Lord Fey, I challenge you to a duel for the lands and rights of Fey, to be decided by the sword!" His voice was deep and rough, and when he mentioned a sword, Ranma's eyes flicked to his right side... but nothing hung there. He looked to the left. Nothing there either. Then he saw the hilt, protruding over the Lord's right shoulder.

The Lady spoke, then. "Lord Kyris, it is traditional for the challenger to name the prize, and the challenged to name the time, place, and manner of the bout. Why do you seek to flout tradition?"

Kyris paled beneath his armor. Damn it, why did that witch have to interfere? The boy surely wouldn't have known that. Now he'd end up facing the Lord's spells, and surely lose, even if the brat was blind.

The Lord Fey spoke, and Kyris was surprised at his words. "It is alright, Lady. I do not fear this man's sword, six feet long though it be. It is well-notched with his wins, but it will not avail him."

Kyris cringed inside. Damnit, the boy was blind, how could he see the blade? Even had the message lied, and the boy could see, he still couldn't see the sword, strapped to his back as it was. Then he brightened. The Lady must have coached him on what to say.

"Shall we retire to the Dojo, then, Lord Kyris?" Lord Fey asked, and standing, led the way.

Soon, they were facing off inside of an immense dojo within a circle of Lord Fey's guards. "To death or surrender?" Lord Fey asked, pleasantly. Lord Kyris just growled, and drew his six foot blade. It was a heavy sword, one that few men could wield, even two handed. Six foot long in the blade, with another foot of hilt, the blade was two hands wide at the base, and still a hand wide at the tip, where it finally came to a point. Both sides of the blade were sharpened, and as Ranma had already noted, the blade was notched in several places.

Ranma drew his own blade, and again it became a four foot katana. Lord Kyris realized, just as he made his first swing, ignoring the possibility of defense as he assumed the boy could not see it, that it had been Lord Fey who had lead them to the dojo. Damnit, he wasn't blind!

His eyes were drawn by his mistake to Lord Fey's eyes, visible despite the helm, and they were unmoving, unnaturally still as Fey's sword swept up and turned aside Kyris's blade. No, he was blind all right... but then, how the devil had he turned aside that thrust. Perhaps the noise of the blade in the air...

Kyris began a slow thrust with his blade, moving slowly so as to avoid stirring the air audibly, but his blade was instantly slapped aside. Realizing that he was leaving himself open, Kyris stopped trying to figure this out, and let his fighting instincts take over. Soon he was deeply engaged in the slash and parry, and was quite disturbed to find that the boy could take the strongest blow and turn it aside without flinching.

Ranma grinned inwardly, as he discovered the ki training under the Tai Chi Master had corrected the deficiency he had noted in his fight with Grael and Lord Roga. Ki now flowed through his arms as he parried, lending him the needed strength.

At first, Kyris assumed that it was the blade that was somehow, possibly magically, turning aside or absorbing the force of his blow. But the boy showed no strain when he blocked another blow with his arm guard. Indeed, Kyris was perturbed to note, there was a slow grin forming on the boy's face.

Angered by the boy's casualness, and his interminable failure to find an opening in Fey's defenses, Kyris stepped up the attack, putting even more strength into his swings, and attacking furiously. He was quite disturbed then, when he realized that even as he was attacking harder, the boy was steadily forcing him back.

The boy finally seemed to be tiring. His parries were coming slower, and gradually getting weaker. Kyris noticed a sudden opening in the boy's defenses, but he was so startled to see it that he missed it. But he watched closer, and the next time an opening appeared, he lunged for it, only to have the boy slip past it, getting within the range of his sword, the boy's blade suddenly at his throat. "Game over," the boy said, "yield." It had been a feint, a trap, and he had fallen for it. Kyris dropped his sword.

"I yield," he said, and sighed with relief when the boy stood back from him. "You were supposed to be blind, damnit," he snarled. The boy slid his sword in his sheath, and smiling still, picked up Kyris's sword easily in one hand, handing it back to him. Kyris stared in shock at this evidence of the boy's strength.

"I am," the boy replied, grinning. "Quite blind, and will be for a while yet. I enjoyed the match. Feel free to come again." He turned his back and sauntered off, whistling, followed by the Lady, and the guards, leaving Kyris standing in the dojo, alone. He had been beaten handily by a blind boy. It was unbelievable, just unbelievable. He had tried to take everything the boy had, and he said he enjoyed it, and come again?

Kyris shuddered, as a wave of fear swept over him. It had been the boy's choice to say death or surrender. He could have said death alone, and taken Kyris' life. Kyris decided that he owed a life-debt to the boy. He would begin to repay it by asking his King to follow the Court of Farallon's example, and sue for peace with the boy. He returned to his home, musing over how he would repay his debt.

Ranma meanwhile felt a surge of relief as he moved beyond the Lord Kyris's sight. Having to constantly use his ki to observe the massive man's attacks while at the same time shoring up his own strength deficit had cost him dearly. He had been forced to use a feint, drawing the Lord Kyris into a trap. It galled him, though it was a tactic his father would have applauded.

Then again, his father had always told him to fight all out, all the time. Ranma had forced himself, against his own objections, to disregard that advice during his first fight with a naked blade. Defending against Grael's attacks, he had realized that fighting all-out with a sword meant fighting to kill, and he had been filled with revulsion at the thought. He was a martial artist, not some killer, even if he was forced to fight with a sword.

So he fought with caution, holding his true power in reserve, seeking a way to end the fight. He had continued this against Lord Roga for the same reasons, and come to a startling realization. Had he gone all out against the Lord Roga, he would never have had the opportunity to fight the Lord's double-bladed style, and he would have come away with less improvement in his own skill. Pondering that had led him to the decision that matching his apparent skill level to his opponents was the best way to get them to demonstrate new techniques, and to improve his skills.

Sure, he could simply have used the Juushin Jisei Ryuu, perhaps in the form of an invisible punch, or merely using it to immobilize his opponent, or even employed the Neko-ken, now that he could do so without going insane... but what would he have learned? After all, he did not fight to beat his opponents, but to become the best. Not that being the best didn't mean winning... but if he didn't learn from each fight, then he would eventually be beaten by someone more willing to learn than himself.

Nonetheless, the ki techniques he'd had to use to match the Lord Kyris had been draining, and he had been forced to resort to trickery. While it was an acceptable way to win, being merely a minor variation of the traditional feints that are part of nearly every sword style, it irked him. It wasn't so much that it was something of which his father would approve, but rather the simple fact that he had been forced to cut the fight short that irritated him.

That was one reason he had invited the Lord Kyris to return. By the time the Lord Kyris chose to take him up on his offer, assuming he did so, Ranma intended to be ready to go the whole distance, to draw out Lord Kyris's full skill, and learn all he could from him. Ranma would not make the mistake of assuming that merely because an opponent was defeatable, he knew nothing worth learning.

---

"So the brat's blind, is he? Perfect... I'll have to think... back an open challenger, or use an assassin? Hmm..." Krall pondered, delighted at the latest news from the land of Fey.

"Oh," replied Friss, "and what would you think of the Lord Kyris as a suitable challenger, hmm?"

Krall shot Friss a glance. Very unusual it was, for Friss to offer suggestions as to how Krall should run his affairs, enough so for Krall to take particular notice. He considered the question. "Well... common talk is that Kyris is one of the few who could probably take Lord Roga, though they've yet to meet in competition. He wields a six foot blade, I'm told, not unusual in itself, but it is double-edged and massive. He's an immensely strong fellow, and surprisingly quick for his size. He's also very proud of his successes, and he's exhibited jealousy of other warriors with reputations before, so he's manipulable. An interesting idea, Friss, that might be a good answer. Why do you suggest him?"

"Because he's already done it, Krall, Kyris went and challenged the blind boy."

Krall sat up straight, staring at the spymaster. "Truly? And what happened?"

"The boy toyed with him, then forced him to yield, just as with Roga. And just as with Roga, Kyris is now a supporter of the boy, and he's turned several of his fellow lords into fans. We may well lose the whole kingdom to a peace with Fey."

"Damnit! That doesn't make sense. I would have judged Kyris the sort to take a beating, and shut his mouth about it. How did he manage to swallow his pride?"

"He's been telling the story since he returned, to any who'll listen. He challenged the boy as he sat on the Lord Fey's throne, and the boy commented on the length and notches on his sword, though it was on his back and sheathed. He assumed the Lady had coached him. The boy agreed to swords, even though the Lady prevented Kyris from stipulating it when he tried. They fought in the dojo, and Kyris says that at the end of it, as with Lord Roga, the boy easily lifted the sword and returned it to him. That's not a light sword, as you know. Further, the boy admitted to being blind, and said he would be for a while yet. Then, apparently, he told Kyris that he enjoyed it, and to come back anytime."

"Unbelievable. Well, obviously we can't take him out directly. Take some time, pick the best man, and send in an assassin. Its time to deal with this," growled Krall.

He was privately worried about the news. The boy was moving too quickly to consolidate his relationship with his neighbors, and if he got there first, it would hamper Krall's efforts to gain political leverage. Damn that boy! If he even was a boy. From the sound of things, he was far stronger than anyone that age and size had a right to be. Krall idly wondered if it might be another therianthrope, another were-creature.

Wisdom in Passing

On the day that his sight returned, the Lady came to him. "Ranma, now that you can defend yourself against most magical attacks, and are not dependent on your eyes, it is time for us to make a long journey. We will travel alone, just the two of us. We must go and visit my sister. You have mastered the technique of the Neko-ken, and I think she can help you master the madness of the Neko-ken, and your fear. But it will be dangerous... Dragons are fickle, and little concerned with mortal things. Will you come, and try to master your fear?"

Ranma paused a while in thought, suppressing his immediate response, as he had learned from Tenchi, to form a more appropriate response, one that took into account the respect she was due.

"Yes, Lady. For you, I will come. But will it not hurt you, to see her, to look again on what you have lost?" His eyes were full with fear for her, and pain at the thought of her pain, and again he touched her soul with his remarkable kindness and purity. It would be some time yet before the Soul of Ice practice he worked on would be able to conceal his emotions from the eyes of a dragon.

"Oh, Ranma. Don't dwell on that. Think of my joy, rather, at seeing my sister, whom I have not seen in more than a hundred years," she insisted, smiling down at him, forcing her pain down where he could not see it, so that he would see only joy in her eyes, unaware that she was mimicking the same tactic he sought to use on her. He smiled then, and nodded.

They prepared quickly. Alana taught him several spells that were particularly useful for traveling. She taught him how to increase the capacity of a container, how to store items in a pocket dimension, how to enchant a container or pocket dimension to preserve food and other perishables, and several similar magical effects.

He mastered the spells quickly, and when they left the castle, he was carrying a single backpack that held everything they would need.

The first part of their trek was quite uneventful. They were escorted by a company of his men, just as they had been the first time they went to Farallon. They were met by the border guards when they reached Farallon, and his men turned back. The border captain again detailed ten men to accompany the Lord Fey and the Lady Alana. He recognized three of them, and they were surprised and pleased when he remembered their names. The first night in Farallon, when he brought out his golden flute to play for the Lady, several of the border guards brought out reed flutes, and joined him in an impromptu concert.

While they occasionally slept under the stars, most of their nights in Fey and Farallon were spent in small inns. He enjoyed the nights in the open, though, perhaps even more. He would cook, and the border guards praised his skill, though his only concern was for the Lady. But even more, he enjoyed the good-natured bantering of the men as they watched him perform his katas. By the time they reached the far border of Farallon, he had ten eager students. They asked about training with him, and he had to promise to let them know when he was ready to open his dojo to students.

Arkus watched the journey, but didn't try to interfere. He was nursing a growing hatred for the boy. The damned sprout had been blind, and still beaten Lord Kyris. Furthermore, just to make things even worse, he had somehow managed to gain Kyris' respect, and instead of keeping his damn mouth shut about being beaten by a blind boy, the fool had told all his fellow nobles. Now his fool king had made peace with the infuriating whelp.

The damn boy should have been killed twice over, now, and instead he had made peace with his two largest neighbors. With two of the Five Kingdoms enjoying the fruits of peace with Lord Fey, it was likely to be only a matter of time before the other three followed suit.

Oh well, he thought. Third time's the charm. He chuckled, and began to manipulate people in the lands before them. He wasn't sure where they were going, but they were headed in the right general direction to lead them into an encounter with Lord Ereth, the Black Hunter, and his Hounds. With them as the targets of the Endless Hunt, whatever plans they had made would be foiled, and there was just the possibility that they would be killed. Certainly Lord Ereth was more than capable of it...

---

The next day, for the first time, Ranma and Alana walked into the forest alone. The concern he felt for the Lady led him to understand why she had waited for the Shining Darkness training before making this trip. It went beyond him being able to see perfectly in the dark night, otherwise so perfect for an ambush. It even went beyond his not needing to wait after looking away from the fire for his eyes to adjust.

It was the ability of his senses to reach out nearly fifty yards in all directions around them, sensing the life and seeing the forms no matter how hidden. As long as he used his sixth and seventh sense, they were pretty much immune to ambush. He began to feel better about the trip. The Lady had clearly known exactly what he would need to know to protect her. The stories of the great intellect and wisdom of dragons were obviously well-founded.

He also discovered, now that they no longer had to worry about the stamina of the men traveling with them, that her stamina was far in excess of a normal person's, though still less than his own. Once he saw she could take it, they began marching twelve hour days, and moving at a much quicker pace than they had been.

---

Silvereye watched the two approaching figures in utter silence, hidden within the deep underbrush. Though even he could not see him, he knew that his eleven pack members were hidden nearby, awaiting his signal. This was the time, they would have their vengeance.

The behavior of the smaller figure was clear, the deference and protectiveness it evinced to the female marked it as a defender, a protector, and the way it moved, the lithe grace and utter silence even as it crossed ground that had been deliberately littered with dry leaves and twigs spoke volumes for its skill. He was unclear on what exactly it was... a thin dwarf, a short elf, one of the many other races... but that it was this human's protector was obvious, and enough to seal its fate. Equally, the fact that the human rated a non-human protector indicated her high rank, and that rank in turn implied that the protector must be impressively skilled, for it to be considered sufficient by itself.

In spite of their numbers, none of the watching warriors expected this to be an easy fight. Silvereye nervously noted a momentary pause in the motion of the fighter, and for a moment, he considered the possibility that the warrior had somehow detected their presence, but when the figure resumed its advance before he could complete his ruminations, he shook off the thought. There was no way they could have been detected... he himself could not detect the presence of his fellow warriors, even though he knew they were there, and could readily guess at their probable locations.

Ranma's pause was fleeting, as he instantly decided that the best course of action would be to behave as though he were unaware of their presence. In this way, the advantage of surprise would be on his side, instead of theirs.

He mentally placed each individual, and gauged their weaponry, and having done so, felt confident in his ability to take them down before they could reach the Lady, should that be their goal. There were no significant long-range weapons... daggers, and knives, but now bows or crossbows, nothing to indicate that they would fire from the ambush. He judged they would attack, rising from their hiding places to engage directly in melee. He readied himself to summon the Dragon Armor and the Fang, marking mentally the point on his path where he expected them to attack.

At the same time, he considered the eleventh dan, the Juushin Jisei Ryuu, and focused it, forming an invisible shield of hardened air about his Lady. Hopefully, he would be able to maintain his concentration, so that this shield would repel any attempts to attack her from afar, with thrown weapons and the like.

Finally, he selected the closest warrior to the point where he expected them to begin the attack, and altered his pattern of movement so that he would coincidentally end up in an appropriate position to attack that warrior.

Silvereye moved very slowly, raising the bone whistle to his mouth, and gripping it with his lips. He drew in a slow breath, watching the warrior's steps, then lunged forward, blowing hard into the whistle. At the signal, his warriors rose as one, but even as he began his approach run, he saw the light glint golden off of the armor that his opponent now bore, as his cousin Redtip fell to the stranger's fist, seemingly before he even completed his rise.

Ranma flowed forward, even as the warriors rose about him, and crossed the twenty feet to the nearest before that warrior had fully reached his feet, the Dragon Armor already upon him, and his armored fist took the rising warrior beneath the jaw, knocking him back, into a tree, and out of the fight.

Ranma noted gratefully as he leapt back across the path that the warriors were focusing on him, and not the Lady, though he doubted not that she was their final target. He ignored the swish of a polearm as he bent his head but slightly in his passage, avoiding it. He placed his hand lightly on the moving haft, and added a little extra pressure, sending that warrior stumbling forward, as his strong swing and the added force knocked him off balance. The unbalanced warrior was not Ranma's target though, merely suffering from his passage.

Even as he executed the manuever, Ranma was forced to reluctantly release his seventh sense. Pushing his ki out actively was simply too expensive while trying to maintain his Juushin Jisei Shiirudo around the lady. The sixth sense would have to serve, thought it would only warn him of his enemies' location, and not the movements of their weapons.

Ranma reached the next chosen target, catching the forceful downward stroke of the sword in his clapped hands, and he twisted, snapping the blade, before firing a quick punch to the warrior's gut, which brought its head down close enough to receive an uppercut that was powered by Ranma's legs as he leapt to avoid a wide sweep by a bo-staff. He landed lightly on the staff, to its wielder's momentary surprise, and took advantage of that instant of indecision to launch a spin-kick into the warrior's head, sending him to join the other two unconscious warriors in indelicate slumber.

The next warrior in range saw Ranma's leap as an opportunity, while his opponent's moves were temporarily dictated by gravity, to send a forceful spear thrusting through him. Unfortunately, he was not aware that Ranma was first and foremost a practitioner of his father's art, which excelled in mid-air combat. Merging this with the Tai Chi redirection of force, Ranma caught the incoming spear and thrust strongly off of it with his hands, which simultaneously sent the thrusting warrior crashing to the ground, and launched Ranma in an arc, planting his feet into the face of a mace wielding warrior.

Ranma dropped to his knees on the warrior's back, dropping a gauntleted fist heavily onto the back of his skull, marking the fourth knock-out, and neatly avoiding the angled sweep of another sword, that slashed ineffectually through the airspace he had just vacated.

Silvereye could scarcely believe the skill the small warrior displayed. Mere seconds into the fight and four warriors were down already. He marveled at the agility the fighter displayed even in such heavy armor, and the sheer strength it must take to make such leaps with its weight, even as he pulled back slightly, his swing having missed.

Clearly, this was not a fighter against whom brute tactics would be effective. Silvereye barked a command, and the fighting style of his men shifted, moving from an overpowering yet apparently futile style, to one emphasizing precision and focus.

Silvereye leapt back, narrowly avoiding a leg sweep, perfectly executed, even as the warrior used the move's momentum to catch a thrust sword and pull it from its wielder's hands, then, in a dazzling display of sheer strength, he halted and reversed the hard spin in an instant, driving the hilt of the sword into its former wielder's skull.

The armored warrior dove into a forward roll, before arching his back, launching himself feet first upward, his legs wrapping around another fighter's neck, then he twisted and spun, bringing the larger man up and over his head before he released his leg-lock. The hapless fighter went flying and crashed heavily into Silvereye, even as Ranma caught the mace he dropped, and flung it sharply to the side, impacting on a skull with a resounding meaty thud.

The final four warriors leapt for him as one, even as he landed, and sprang again, putting real force into his jump this time, taking him easily twenty feet over them. He looked down on them as they collided with one another, then went into a spinning cyclone kick as he dropped back into their range.

---

Silvereye fought down the pain throbbing in his head, before slowly cracking his eyes open, wincing at the pain that flared as a result. Through slitted lids, he peered about the camp, noting that the female human and her protector were sitting by a campfire. He moved his arms slightly, and his eyes snapped wide in surprise when he felt no restraint.

He sat up slowly, looking to his men, laying about him, surprised more than he could imagine at the sheer audacity, the unimaginable confidence of the woman's guardian, to not even remove their weapons, much less tie them up, or restrain them in some fashion.

He grimaced as he was forced to admit to himself that the warrior's confidence was justified. He had defeated twelve of the Howling Moon Clan's finest warriors, their champion among them, and he had done it without using any weapon but what he took from his attackers, without using lethal force, in under a minute. Truly a remarkable warrior. Silvereye blanched then, realizing the deeper implications. His entire band had been defeated by someone so powerful that he felt no need to restrain them, nor remove their weapons... there was nothing they could do to prevent any retribution he might choose to take. They were no better than his slaves now.

What would the woman and her guardian do with them, he wondered, staring at them through the darkness. Tears sprang to his eyes, though he refused to let them fall, as he thought of his beautiful young bride... he was sure she was expecting... he could picture his litter now, the handsome young pups... but he would never see them again. He would not show his pain, his fear, not before such a warrior. He would not demean himself or his clan.

Around him his packmates groaned as they awakened, but he held his eyes on the two who sat by the fire, noticing that the taller sounded... sounded like she was chanting something. So... she was a spellcaster then, of some sort. He wondered what she was casting... he had heard many stories of the powers of such beings, powers that went well beyond the capabilities, impressive though they were, of the shamans of the clans.

Would she destroy them with a magical blast... or turn them into mindless animals... perhaps she would bind them with a magical geas? He started, realizing that she had stopped chanting. He glanced quickly about, but could discern no visible effect, though he saw that several of his men had recovered sufficiently to sit up, and look about themselves.

He turned his attention back to the fire, and watched the warrior stand and stride towards him. The woman stood smoothly and followed. Noticing their approach, the more conscious around him straightened, and nudged their fellows. By the time the two stood before him where he sat, his packmates were sitting and watching as one, in silence.

When the warrior said nothing, Silvereye recognized that it was his place to speak for his pack. He stood slowly, watching for any negative response from the warrior, and bowed deeply. "I am Silvereye, leader of this hunting pack of the Howling Moon Clan. We acknowledge our defeat, and surrender ourselves to the mercies of thy judgment." He heard the slight shuffling around him, and realized that some of his men were only now realizing the true consequences of their defeat, and the likelihood that they would never see their mates or pups again.

Silvereye did not dare mention their mates, though, lest this warrior be one of the dark humans, the sort who would take such a request as an invitation to claim the innocent as his own as well, rather then as a reason for mercy.

"I am the Lord Fey," replied the warrior, in their tongue, to the surprise of the pack. Silvereye shuddered. Dark human indeed, Lord Fey was known to the pack... not quite human, not quite elf, but all dark.

"I would know why you sought to attack me."

"It... it is a long tale, Lord." Silvereye expected no mercy from one such as the Lord Fey, and did not want to waste his breath offering explanations that would have no effect on their fates. The warrior was insistent, however, and a short time later Silvereye found himself seated by his captor's fire, telling the tale of his people.

They had roamed the lands freely, a nomadic people, hunting for meat, and gathering plants for food and medicine, until humanity encroached on their lands, and they were driven out. Since then, they had been forced steadily further from their homes, and had declared a vendetta on humanity.

"Yet even as far as we have come, we have heard tales of the Lord Fey. What do you intend to do with us, Lord?" Silvereye was tired of beating around the bush. What was the point of making useless explanations to one who was known to never offer mercy? He had little doubt that the manner in which the Lord had avoided lethal force indicated his intention to either take them as slaves, or sell them.

"The tales you may have heard are irrelevant, Silvereye," stated the warrior, "I am not the Lord Fey of whom you have heard tell. That dread lord is dead, slain by my hand."

Silvereye was startled by this, and began to worry whether his foolish assumptions might have ruined any chance he and his pack would otherwise have had for leniency. "I... I was unaware, my Lord. Still, on behalf of my people, I must ask... what are your intentions? Do you intend to take us as slaves? To sell us?"

Ranma eyed the warrior. This was the first opportunity Ranma had had to simply look at him. He was a strong one, that was clear, hard muscles easily visible in spite of the concealing fur. He looked like a strange mix between a wolf and a man, and the source of his name was clear, in the blaze of silver that made a slash across one eye, like two triangles, one pointing down his cheek, one pointing up his forehead, that met at the eye.

"I have no need of slaves, nor money," replied Ranma, glancing at Alana to see how she would react to his attempt to handle the situation, "but I have a few things to say concerning this vendetta of yours."

Ranma had listened to the story the pack leader had told, and pondered as he did so how to respond. He remembered the lessons Alana had given him, regarding the defeats and successes he had experienced during their first incursion into Farallon. He approached this now as a battle, and recognized that a frontal assault would produce a reaction similar to the insults his father used to goad him into action.

Such means were easily used to goad him into taking the initiative, but ineffective, generally, at getting him to cease whatever he was doing. When his father had tried to prevent him from behaving in certain ways, the insults never seemed to help, merely drawing out his stubbornness and pride, making him dig in his heels further. No, to prevent actions and behaviors, his father had resorted to beatings. Well... Ranma had in fact just delivered a beating, but he needed to impart this suggestion in a more subtle manner... otherwise, he would activate the pride reaction, and be forced to deliver a second beating... and he was all too aware, at this stage, that he had taken hits he had not even been aware of during the earlier fight. It worried him, but what concerned him more was the realization that he didn't have enough energy to fight a disabling fight a second time. If it came to a fight again, he would have to employ the Juushin Jisei, and the Neko-ken, to end the fight quickly... and some would die.

Recognizing this, Ranma sought for an alternative way of saying what needed to be said, and found it when he remembered a book of parables the Lady had had him read. One in particular seemed appropriate, though it was intended to explain something completely different. Well, he would try it, at least. If worst came to worst, he could always deliver another beating. Ranma focused his memory, working to both remember the story, and to modernize the language, which had been annoyingly archaic, and taken him some time to puzzle out, when he first read it.

"There was a woodsman, once, who lived in a deep forest. He had only one child, and his wife had died in childbirth, so his only son became the center of his life.

"One day, while he was with his son in a glade deep within the wood, a storm came in with great suddenness, and they fled into the woods, seeking their cabin. Before they reached it, a bolt of lightning struck from the sky, and hit a tree on the path before them.

"Before the man had a chance to react, the tree fell, bringing another tree with it in its crashing descent, and his son was crushed beneath its weight.

"Defying the storm, he swore vengeance. Staring at the tree that had killed his son, he declared that he would not rest until he had slain every tree there was.

"When the storm died down, and he rose from his tears, he realized the futility of his claim. Being a woodsman, he was experienced in the art of cutting down trees, and well knew how long it could take. Never could a single man hope to cut down every tree there was, not within a dozen lifetimes.

"Then what could he do? He considered a vendetta against every wide-leafed tree, for it was indeed a mighty oak that had fallen upon his son, and if he could ignore the great forests of pine, the evergreen forests that never lose their cover, surely it would be more reasonable.

"Yet a moment's thought showed the folly in that, for even in just the forests where all the leaves fall there were still more trees than any man might hew in a lifetime.

"Perhaps, he said, only the oaks would do. Yet now he came upon a greater pain, for how was he even to find every oak, mixing in as they were with so many other trees, and how to know that he had not missed any?

"He continued in this vain, considering every oak in this forest in which he lived, then every oak more than three feet around in this forest, and so forth, until finally he recognized the truth.

"The only tree upon which he could reasonably claim vengeance, was the one which had slain his son... and it was already dead."

Ranma fell silent then, as the rest of the tale spoke of the man building a pyre from the remains of that tree, upon which he laid his son, and consigned them together to the flames. The story had been making some weird point about the propriety of cremation, or the origins of it, or some such, that hadn't really made sense to him at the time, but to Ranma, the directed revelation about the cost of vengeance was a more poignant lesson, one that fit much better into his own world-view.

After all, who could he blame for the consequences of his father's actions... and did the pain inflicted upon him by the Neko-ken give him any right to seek vengeance upon other cats? Or even the cats that inflicted it, for had they in fact had any choice? It was an issue that he had thought long about, while learning to control the Neko-ken under the Tai Chi Chuan master.

When he finished, Silvereye sat in silence for a long moment, pondering the meaning of the warrior's tale. He was somewhat startled merely by the implications that this warrior was concerned about issues of honor. The evidence he had seen heretofore indicated that humans were honorless.

Was it possible, that one human could be as different from another as an oak from a yew, a pine from a willow?

Seeing no immediate response, Ranma waited a short time, then spoke again, having thought of another appropriate tale that also emphasized differences in trees.

"On the banks of wide stream grew two trees. One was a great oak, tall and straight, that raised its head to the heavens, and towered over the stream. Beneath it, straining for the sun, but often blocked from it by the shade of the larger oak, grew a slender willow tree.

"Often the oak would boast of its strength, taunting the willow with its size and girth. 'I am greater than you, small willow,' it would say, 'I am stronger and better than you.' Never did the willow reply, for it knew the uselessness of boasting, and did not value conflict for its own safe.

"And it came to be that there was a great storm, that came in from the sea, and it brought with it mighty winds. The willow bent with the wind, limber as a reed, but the oak stood firm against it, and defied the wind.

"The storm grew in fury, and the force of the winds increased steadily, until the oak could no longer stand against it, and with a great crack, the oak was broken, and cast down to lie dying in the stream.

"When the storm abated, the willow looked upon the remains of the dead oak, and commented, 'Sometimes, it is better to bend. When one knows only strength, then one is vulnerable to that which is stronger than oneself.'

"Then it looked upon the reeds at the water's edge, broken by the force of the oak's fall, and commented, 'But without strength, not even bending will avail.' And the willow basked in the unfiltered light of the sun."

Silvereye pondered the meaning of the words, and noted two ways in which it applied to his people. Some humans were oaks, some willows, some reeds, that was clear enough. Yet what were his own people? Were they oaks, willows, or reeds? Was it perhaps, a choice that must be made?

"You have great wisdom, Lord, and you speak rightly. Perhaps our feud is not rightly with all humans... But... have we bent too far, Lord, or have we not yet bent enough?"

Ranma flipped through the books in his head, looking for a way to respond, and slowly put one together, finding pieces here and there, working with the metaphor of trees, and the knowledge that this man was a warrior, then finally spoke. "Only you can judge that. There are some, though, who see value in a tree only while it is alive, and provides a shelter for some, food for others, shade for still more. To others, a tree is useful only when dead, to serve for fire, shelter, and weapons. To the wise, a tree serves both purposes, and when one dies, they plant another. Useful as a dead tree may be, if in the end all the trees lie dead, then their use is at an end. Look not to either extreme, but find the right balance... and like the balance of a warrior, each must find a balance for himself, for the master knows that his balance will not aid his student."

Silvereye nodded. That seemed clear enough. His warriors were trees, and like the women, some were of advantage only in life, in healing, in gathering and preparing food, in planting new seeds of life, while some, like his warriors, were of use in death, placing their lives at risk to protect the others. And in that a balance must be reached, lest the women be left with no men to plant new seeds. He knew the difficulty of finding that balance, between the hunting and raiding parties, and caring for their families, and what the warrior was saying was that...

"The humans who invade our lands... they are a storm, and we must find a balance between standing against them, and bending before them," he mused aloud, watching the warrior's reactions to see if he had judged the lesson rightly, "and perhaps... they are like a nest of bees that has been stirred up, from whose range one must retreat... and in defiance of them, we have been poking the nests of quiet bees, to avenge ourselves against the angry ones." He shook his head at that realization, then chuckled, "only this time, it was a hornet's nest, that stings and stings again, where the bee stings but once. And lucky were we that the hornet had already slain the poisonous spider that we otherwise would have disturbed."

Having watched the warrior's face, which he was beginning to realize was surprisingly youthful, as well as human, showing no signs of the distinctive features of the other races, he was sure he had rightly judged the lessons the warrior sought to impart, and was in turn impressed at the way in which the warrior succeeded in offering a hard lesson without making it difficult to accept.

"You are young, yet you are a warrior the like of which the pack has never seen, and your words carry undeniable wisdom. I have heard your words, Lord, will you let my pack go?"

"I will, Silvereye. I hold no malice for you. You have listened, and you have heard. It is well." Ranma was here quoting from a story he had rather enjoyed. The wolves to whom that hero had been speaking were not half-wolves, but a true pack of wild animals, but Ranma thought that it sounded appropriate.

Silvereye nodded sharply, surprised at hearing the ancient words of the pact-maker. "Then I name thee Swiftfang, Wolf-Friend and Pack-Brother to the Clan of the Howling Moon as long as the pack shall last. May I ask where you are heading, Brother?"

"We are going to meet a dragon... hmm... I have been lax in my duties. I failed to introduce you, Milady. Silvereye, this is the Lady Alana."

Silvereye bowed to the Lady. "An honor and pleasure, Milady."

Ranma silently blessed his luck, several hours later, as the warriors drifted off into the night. His concentration during the fight had allowed him to ignore the blows, and he hadn't even really noticed them. His armor had prevented any serious injury, but he had been quite startled when the fight was over, to realize how many blows had actually made it through his defenses, and how spent he was from maintaining the Juushin Jisei Shiirudo during the combat. He had fought so hard to say the right thing because he was afraid that had they attacked again, he would not have had the energy to defend both himself and the Lady.

---

Friss glided through the lowering shadows, wondering idly how his acquaintance and employer would react to the latest news. The assassin had been prepared and sent on his way, only to return with the news that the target had fled. It was uncertain whether the target knew of the attempt or not, but Friss had then learned from contacts in Farallon that the target and the Lady had passed through, and exited the land unescorted.

Well, perhaps it would take the edge off of Krall's anger to learn of the roving bandits that had just happened, quite by coincidence, you understand, to take up positions on the border of Farallon where they would be well-placed to intercept the target's return. Hidden amongst them were two well-trained assassins. Friss smiled darkly to himself. It really didn't matter how Krall reacted. He was right, in any case, it was time to take out that nuisance before he could become too politically powerful.

The Huntsman and the Hounds

On the morning of the third day beyond the borders of Farallon, they came across a wide road that came down from the north, and then curved to the west, close to their own path, and he realized that the Lady had been leading them to this.

They had been moving at a good clip down the road for nearly two hours, when they heard hoofbeats behind them, and moved quickly to the side of the road. They stopped to wait, wanting to be prepared for whomever might be coming up the road behind them. Shortly thereafter, the horse galloped into view.

The horseman was riding hard, but pulled up quickly when he espied them. He was tall, with dark, wavy hair, and wore dusty riding leathers over what looked to be a green jerkin and brown leggings. A sheathed sword hung from his waist, angled to the rear, chafing against the saddlebags, leaving a score through the dirt that had accumulated thereon.

"Milord," he said, loudly to be heard over his horse's hard breathing, and Ranma looked down in surprise, to realize that he had summoned the Dragon Armor without really thinking about it. He had not expected to be addressed thusly, but in this gear, he did indeed look the part, if a bit short for it still. He had grown several inches though. He ate much better now, than when with his father. "and Milady," the rider continued, "ye should get as far from the road as ye can, and quickly. The huntsmen cannot be far behind." His breath was short, and ragged. He looked tired. Ranma glanced at the Lady. They could run if need be, but why fear huntsman?

She frowned. "The Huntsman of Lord Ereth?"

The rider nodded. "Ye've heard of them I see... then ye know why ye must flee. Hurry, even now I hear the baying of the hounds." Indeed, the baying of many dogs sounded in the distance, and grew steadily louder.

Ranma turned to the Lady. "Should we stay or flee? If we flee, we shall fly. I am strong enough. I can bear this man and his horse as well. It is your choice." It pained him to say this. He felt he had been challenged, and wanted to face it straight on, but he was not free to do as he would. The Lady's safety was more important than his pride.

"Flee, we must," she replied, "at least until we find a better place to make a stand, for they will not stop the hunt, no matter where we take him. If we bring this man, then we will come to blows with them. But yes, this is a fight you can and will win."

The man stared at them, aghast. "This be no matter for joking, Milord, Milady. They mean to kill me, and once they see ye with me, they'll be for killing you both as well. Fly now, while ye have the chance. There's some strength left in my stead, I can lead them from ye a ways."

Ranma looked at him. "That won't be necessary. You stopped and warned us, when you had no need, and added thus to your own peril. The Lord Fey will not so lightly cast aside his debts." He didn't notice the extreme pallor that struck the man's face at his name. Instead, he had turned within, and was reaching for his center. He rose easily from the ground, not noticing the man's gasp, and the sudden sweat of his fear. Moments later, the Lady lifted lightly off ground as well. Ranma's brow furrowed, and then the man and his horse rose from the ground as well.

Ranma's eyes opened, and he pulled himself into lotus position, there in the air, and seemed to come to rest on something. He spun slowly, facing forward, down the road. Then the air was whistling past them, and the trees blurred, and the road sped away beneath them. The horse's fearful whinny was torn away by the wind, but Ranma's keen hearing caught it, and a blue glow appeared before them, like a massive shield, a concentrated Juushin Jisei Shiirudo, and the wind stilled, though the trees and the road continued to blur past. The sudden cessation of the wind's whistle let him hear the muttered oaths and prayers of the man and the sound of fear in his voice.

The Lady laughed behind him in her delight. She always loved flying with him, but this was a new experience. She could see they were moving at great speed, yet they seemed motionless, given the still air. "We will look for a place, Lord, and there you will face them. I don't know, they may fall back before you, but I suspect the rumored fear of Lord Fey will not be as strong as the familiar fear of Lord Ereth. But don't worry. If any man on this world is a match for Lord Ereth and his huntsman, you are. There!" she pointed suddenly, and Ranma brought them to a swift stop where she indicated.

"Set us upon that height. Good, now stand full armored, with your sword unsheathed, there on that stone. They will come down that opening, and spread out before you. We are beyond their reach, until they have dealt with you, and they will not get past you."

Ranma stood solidly, centering himself to the stone, holding his blade at ready. The Lady and the man stood upon a rise of stone, thrust upward from the stony ground nearly thirty feet into the air, with no easy access to the top for any land-bound creature, several meters behind him. Before him, a stone wall towered, some thirty feet high, split in two by a rocky defile, down which water had once run, carving a path, to pool at the bottom of the hill, though it was dry now.

The man turned to the Lady, after staring for a minute with awed eyes at the short man that dared to stand before the Huntsman, and face Lord Ereth. "Lady," he breathed softly, "Is he truly the Lord Fey? I have heard terrible things of him, but never that he had such strength of will, and gave such weight to honor."

"He is the Lord Fey now. He cast down the one of whom you have heard, defeated him in the very place where the old Lord was most powerful. His is a pure heart, and a gentle spirit, but the rage of a tiger lies but loosely chained within him."

"He seems so large, so powerful standing there, for one so small. Is he a dwarf? I have heard tell of them and their power."

"No, he is no dwarf. He is human, and he is a man, but he has only seven years. A child's body, but a man's strength, and a hero's heart."

"Seven? He's seven, and he is going to stand and face the Lord Ereth? My God!" He moved as if to leap down, shamed suddenly that he was being defended by a mere boy, but the Lady's commanding voice held him still.

"Stay! Do not go to him. You could but hinder my Lord. Do not fear. He will stand firm against them, and they will break against him like water."

Even as she spoke, the baying began again in the distance, and steadily rose. As she finished speaking, hounds began to pour down the small opening, filling the wide floor before him like flowing water. They snapped and snarled at him, but as they approached, he began to glow, and it seemed that blue fire flared from the ground at his feet, and licked about him. The hounds growled, but fell back, and sat in silent menace, as their masters approached.

The Huntsman appeared then, garbed in a woodsman's outfit, though the cloth was black. In his hand he held a longbow, and the Lady was quick to raise her hand, and whisper a phrase. The man beside her watched with awe, as a shimmer rolled through the air around them. It seemed like they were inside a soap bubble, as slow rings of iridescence rippled through the air about them.

The Huntsman growled at the sight of the boy holding his dogs at bay, and notched an arrow to his bow. His arm pulled smoothly back, bending the mighty bow, and then releasing the arrow to fly a perfect course to pierce the fool boy's eye and strike his brain. His mouth dropped in shock, as the boy casually reached up and caught the arrow.

Then the boy's blade became a bow, and he notched the arrow, and it burst into blue flame. The boy pulled back, and released, and the flickering blue missile sailed past him, and impacted the rock wall, causing it to explode outward, sending shards of rock down amongst the dogs, sowing confusion and pain, though it caused no real injuries.

"I didn't need to miss." The boy's words were quietly spoken, but they seemed to echo from all around, and there was steel in them.

"Oh, bravo. Well done, brave fool." A tall man in black armor clapped his hands as he walked down the narrow defile behind his Huntsman. "My, my, what have you done to yourself, Lord Fey? You were tall and strong when I knew you last. Why do you take now the form of a boy to stand in my way?"

"I am not the Lord Fey you knew," the boy replied quietly. Again, though the dogs barked and growled, his voice came easily to the ears of all. "I killed him, and took all that was his, and now I have taken your prey. The Hunt is over, Lord Ereth. Take your dogs and go."

"Oh, no, Lord Fey. The Hunt is just begun! Now I shall have three harts to pierce." He laughed at his own wry joke, and his laughter was hollow and dark. "Go on, boy. Run, run before me, that I may hunt you down." Again his hollow laugh echoed about them.

"How do you propose to make me run, Lord Ereth? You cannot move me." Ranma replied calmly. While talking, Ranma had been reaching out with his senses. He could see now the dark bonds that tied the hounds to the Huntsman, and bound the Huntsman to his Lord. He could see them, and as he looked, he could see the weaknesses. The Lady had told him that no other magic user she had ever met had had his ability to so easily dispel magic, when he could see it. He was powerless against some magic, like that last invisible attack she had sent against him on his first day of training. But when he could see the magic's weave in its completeness, his touch could not be denied.

He held himself in readiness. He did not want to force Lord Ereth's hand. He wanted the Lord to commit himself, before he acted, but he truly wanted Lord Ereth to do this. He hated seeing anything held in bondage, and he wanted to free them. But he admitted to himself that if Lord Ereth backed down, and walked away, he would let him go, and would not free the hounds.

He was right, in his confidence. Lord Ereth gestured to his Huntsman, and the dogs surged forward, their fear of the fire overwhelmed by their fear of the pain they would feel if they disobeyed. Ranma smiled, as he reached out and tapped lightly, quickly, again, and again, and again. Lord Ereth stared in shocked fury, as one after another his dogs stopped fearing the Huntsman's call, and gave in to their exhaustion. They had been forced to run well beyond their limits to catch up after Ranma's swift flight, and once released, they fell quick victim to their torpor. Finally, he released the Huntsman, who immediately turned and strung his bow, loosing an arrow at his Lord.

Ranma was surprised at this reaction, but quick to respond, he tapped it with his ki, and the arrow fell to dust before it reached the Lord Ereth. Then he spoke again. "Huntsman, stop. I did not free you for you to waste yourself in revenge. Get hence, before the dogs begin to awaken, and remember your treatment of them, as you so clearly remember the Lord Ereth's treatment of you. And you, Lord Ereth. You made the wrong choice. Will you make the wrong choice again? Else do as I asked in the beginning, and get thee gone from here." The Huntsman turned and fled, not going near the Lord Ereth or the boy.

Lord Ereth snarled in fury, and ripping his sword from its sheath, leapt at Ranma. Ranma's bow again became a sword, and it flared suddenly, golden flames licking the blade. He met the Lord's headlong charge, and turned it aside with the slightest movement. The hunted man, standing beside the Lady, stared in wonder, as the black-armored Lord lunged again and again at the boy, who stood wreathed in flames, and turned aside each attack without even seeming to try.

Ranma was feeling distinctly grateful that this Lord had clearly allowed his own skills to lapse, by using others to soften up his prey before killing them. He was not even as good as Roga and Kyris had been. His blade, however, was magical, and Ranma worked hard to ensure that it never came in contact with him, concerned about what it might do.

Recognizing the manner in which the Lord was blindly attacking, Ranma fueled the Lord's errant rage, taunting and insulting him, practicing the long unused skills he had learned from his father. He knew that in doing so he would probably have made an enemy for life, but he felt that it was not worth trying to make this cold, hard man a friend. After all, the man felt it necessary to magically enslave even his own servants... not a promising sign.

As Ranma taunted him, the Lord Ereth pushed himself beyond his limits in his fury, and quite suddenly, his body just stopped, and he collapsed into sleep, lying spent upon the stony ground.

Arkus cried aloud in fury. Once again his hopes had failed him. He had not dared touch Ereth's mind, for he would know it, being used to mental control of his own slaves, but he had not needed to. Ereth had behaved just as Arkus would have wanted him to, attacking all out. But the boy had just stood there!

Arkus was not a martial artist, and didn't really notice the boy's movements, minimal as they were. To him, it was as if Fey simply stood, and yet nothing the Lord Ereth did could touch him. Was it the fire that somehow forced the blade aside? Arkus had never seen such fire, and definitely never seen the Dragon Fang glowing with golden flames before. He was furious, but impotent in his rage, powerless to take more direct action for fear of inviting retribution from his Lady.

Ranma turned to look at the Lady. "What shall I do with the dogs? And the Lord?" The flames died about him as he sheathed his sword, and he rose lightly through the air. The Lady dropped her magical shield as he approached.

She smiled at him. "What do you think you should do?" She asked, eyes twinkling, then warned, "Considering how dogs operate, if you leave them here, they will likely kill kim, and form a pack, operating similarly to a pack of wolves."

He sighed. Another test. Always it was another test. She was nearly as bad as his father, for whom everything must be an exercise in training. He considered. "I could place upon them a compulsion to seek their birthplace. If I read the situation aright, these are not dogs the Lord Ereth bred, for if they were, he would not have needed those magical chains upon them. I think he stole them. If I did that, then I could safely leave him here. He will recover consciousness quite shortly... under half an hour, I'd say."

"That will do nicely. You have made me proud again, my Lord." She smiled at him, then watched in silence as he went about his work. Then they watched together, waiting patiently, until the first few dogs awoke, and began to leave. When they saw that each took a different but definite direction, they decided that all was well, and he wafted them gently to the road.

He bowed to the man, who stood beside his horse. "I thank you again, good sir. You stopped and offered aid to me and my companion, though you did not know us, and though it put you at great risk. I would reward you, if I could. Is there anything you would ask of me?"

The man looked at him, finally able to really see the boy, now that he had banished his armor, and again wore his simple black silks. He knelt before the boy, unsheathed his sword, and held it before him, and bowed his head. "Only that you accept my sword in your service, Lord. I have nothing now. Those I loved are dead, and I cannot return to my home. I am nameless, and have nothing but my life, and were it not for you, I would not have that. I offer my life to you now. Will you accept it?" He looked up slowly and saw the boy's eyes swimming with an unnameable emotion.

Ranma looked up at the Lady, and she nodded at him. He remembered her description, one night in the study, of what it meant in this land, to be without a name, without fealty. To be Nameless in this world was far worse a fate than to be ronin in Japan. Though it sounded as if the man were offering him something, he knew that in reality, he was asking to receive something worth much more to him. Ranma sighed. It should not be so, that a man's name be worth more than a man's life. But he could not change the whole world, only his small piece of it.

"Give me your name, sirrah, and I shall give you mine." Ranma said quietly.

"I am called Beorn, Lord."

Ranma took his sword, and touched him lightly on each shoulder with it. "Then rise, Beorn of Fey, and take up your sword in service of the Lord of Fey." He gave the sword back to Beorn, who rose slowly, tears of gratitude glistening in his light brown eyes. "But now what am I to do with you? I shall have to find a place for you, when we return. But I cannot send you back without me... They won't know what to do with you. Oh well, I guess you shall have to accompany us to see the dragon. What do you think, Lady?"

"Indeed, he should accompany us." She smiled at Ranma, and he knew he had done well. Again, he felt the unfamiliar delight of having won a battle he had not been aware of fighting.

"T-to see a d-dragon, Milord?" Beorn's face turned pale again, but Ranma was looking at the Lady, and didn't notice.

"Yes. We are going to visit the Lady's sister, to seek her aid with a problem I have."

"Oh." was Beorn's response.

Loyalty

After about three more hours of traveling, they stopped to rest and eat their midday meal. Beorn was about to pull some travel jerky from his pack, when he noticed that Lord Fey had already built a fire and placed a small metal platform above it. Working with silent grace, he pulled a mat from nowhere, and lay it before the fire, then laid out on it, in turn, a small pheasant, a smaller quail, a pigeon, a variety of spices. Beorn turned back and recinched his saddlebags. Apparently his jerky would not be needed.

With blurred motions, Fey had the birds plucked, gutted, and deboned, before Beorn turned back around. To Beorn it seemed like magic... in nearly the blink of an eye, the birds were suddenly bare of feathers. He watched now, as Fey diced the spices with incredible deftness, and rubbed them into the birds, a slightly different mixture in each.

In mere moments, each bird was stuffed with the next, and the last stuffed with a crumbling mix of bread cubes and spices. He placed a pan on the stove, and filled it with water, already boiling, that seemed to pour directly from his wrist. He set the birds in the water, then put the spices away.

Fey then pulled out a number of vegetables and cleaned and sliced them. This time, Beorn was watching, as he saw a mound of vegetables become, with a sudden blur of hands, a number of perfectly sliced and separated piles of food, that in moments were in another bowl, being tossed lightly with leaves of lettuce and cabbage, and coated with a golden oil full of spices.

Less than ten minutes after he began, Fey cleared the fire away, and the three sat around the mat, eating perfectly cooked and seasoned bird flesh, that somehow managed to taste well-roasted, in spite of having been boiled before their eyes for less than ten minutes, and a succulent salad, crispy and fresh, and richly flavored.

To say that Beorn was astounded, amazed, and astonished, is to do grave injustice to his true feelings. Here, on a dusty road far from home, in the middle of nowhere, he had just eaten his fill of the best meal he had ever had in his life, cooked for him by the Lord to whom he had sworn fealty. His Lord had served the food, even to him, showing not the slightest concern that Beorn was supposed to be his servant, and not the other way around.

Shocking as it was that a noble Lord knew how to cook, and that he would choose to do so, even with a woman present, but he cooked better than anyone Beorn had ever known. Was there anything his Lord could not do? Beorn resigned himself to his fate. If he had to die at the hands of a dragon in the service of his Lord, at least he would die happy and well-fed. His Lord had even managed to pull a feed-sack of good oats from somewhere to feed his horse while they ate.

---

That night, Beorn again watched as Fey made a savory repast. He was no less astounded at this, then he had been at the previous meal. He had just about convinced himself that in some way it was his Lord's way of cementing his hold on his new servant. He had thought he understood it, and though it seemed distasteful, he could not really object. It had in fact worked at first, had made him look on the Lord Fey with new eyes, to really desire to serve him, instead of merely feeling thankful that he would not have to be Nameless.

He really had felt, in spite of his Lord's demonstration of power, that his own selfless actions had earned the acceptance of his service. Almost, almost his Lord's actions at the midday meal had made him feel that it might be a true honor, that he might have been granted more than he deserved. But his past experiences had shielded him somewhat, and made him look at what he was feeling, and consider the effect it would have on him. When he realized the depth of devotion he had almost reached, he had realized that that must have been its purpose... to induce in him that devotion to his Lord. He didn't realize that much of this was Arkus's hand, as they were walking, and the Lady's attention was distracted. When they stopped, Arkus had withdrawn, leaving the seeds he had planted to bear fruit.

Now, as Beorn watched his Lord again, this time with an eye for his face instead of his hands, he realized two things. First, that his Lord truly did enjoy making a well-cooked and delicious meal, but that he hated doing it for some reason Beorn could not discern. Second, that the reason his Lord did this, in spite of the way it made him feel, was his absolute devotion to the Lady, and had nothing whatsoever to do with Beorn. Beorn had considerable experience judging the motivations of those around him, and he could also see, finally, that the reason that Lord Fey disliked it, was precisely and solely because he enjoyed it. He enjoyed it, and for some reason felt he should not, and it was his disappointment in his own feelings of enjoyment that marred his features as he worked.

When he served the meal, Beorn was surprised to note that the complete and total unconcern about serving his own servant was not feigned. His Lord truly did not look on him, or his Lady, as servants, but as equals. For some reason, this frightened Beorn. It shook his world-view to the very core.

He was less surprised when Fey began to play his flute for the Lady. Beorn was a little bit startled when Fey pulled his sword from its sheath suddenly, but settled down when it became a golden flute. Nobles were often taught one of the arts as children. He was impressed with his Lord's skill with the instrument, and at the ease with which his Lord could evoke emotions with his music, but this again was within the realms of his expectations, if not the realm of his experience.

When he watched his Lord begin his kata, he grew interested. This was nothing like the tiny motions by which he had exhausted and defeated the attacks of Lord Ereth. This was real fighting skill, and he grew steadily more impressed as Fey increased his speed. He had not yet grown fast enough to break the sound barrier, but he moved with such speed that he became a blur at times. Beorn wondered if this was an Art his Lord would be willing to share. Beorn would love to learn it.

Journey's End

They rose with the dawn, and ate a simple meal of cooked grains, supplemented by some sweet ripe fruits. Beorn wondered again where his Lord could be obtaining such succulent fresh fruits and vegetables from. When he asked, he was nonplussed by Fey's simple reply. "The kitchen gardens and the orchards, of course." Of course, where else?

That morning, after traveling for two and a half hours, they saw in the middle distance the walled towers of a city. Ranma turned to his Lady. "Are we headed there?"

"We are, Lord Fey," she replied.

He huffed at her. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"It is your title."

"Yeah, I know. But I have a name, and you know it."

"Yes, but you have not told it to Beorn. It is not my place to reveal your secrets, Lord Fey."

"What's so bloody secret about my name? Alright, fine, if that's what's making you behave like this. Beorn, my name's Ranma, and I'd prefer you both use it." He huffed again, and continued walking to the city.

Beorn looked a bit non-plussed, but followed in silence. His Lord wanted him to use his given name? Oh well. If it was his Lord's will, then so he would do. Lord Ranma didn't sound too bad, anyhow. Certainly an unusual name. He wondered whether it meant something.

The road became steadily more crowded as they approached the city, and passed numerous crossroads. Several times they were forced to step quickly to the side to avoid the passage of a noble's carriage. Beorn was of a mind to insist on the same rights for his Lord, but the Lady touched her hand lightly to his arm, and looked into his eyes. "Ranma does not wish the attention, Beorn. He was not born a Lord, and is uncomfortable with the role."

Beorn eyed her, then nodded dumbly. Not born a Lord... of course not. Nobody was born a Lord... they inherited it upon the death of the old Lord. Then he realized, combining her words with a comment his Lord had made during the fight with Lord Ereth. She meant he wasn't born a noble. Somehow, when he killed Lord Fey, he came into his title. No wonder he treated them like equals... but no, that didn't explain his attitude to the Lady. He didn't seem in the least in awe of her. If anything, the devotion in his eyes when he looked at the Lady was tinged not with awe but with sadness, as if she were a beautiful bird, trapped in a golden cage.

They passed through the gates without difficulty, and entered a large marketplace. The Lady said they should get rooms at an inn before moving on, and led them briskly through the marketplace. She paused suddenly, when she realized that Ranma had stopped. He was standing at a glass-smith's cart, staring at a crystal rose. She went over to him.

The vendor, an old woman, wrinkled but still standing tall, and with the appearance of one who was once beautiful, spoke up. "You like the rose, child? There is a story about it. Many long years ago, a great sorcerer fell in love with a beautiful dragon in human form."

Ranma started, staring at the Lady, who wore a bemused expression. "He gave her a rose like this one, as a token of his love. But his rose was not just crystal, like this one. It was crystal, but it was alive too, and every month, the rose would blossom, and then its petals would fall, and finally the bud too would fall, and then a new one would grow until it blossomed."

"I know," he said softly, "I've seen it."

"What do you mean, child?," the vendor asked sharply. "There was only ever the one crystal rose..." Then she realized what he must mean, and the anger left her voice. "Ah, you mean you've seen a rose like this one before, and heard the story? I am sorry for telling you what you have already heard."

"No, no," Ranma protested, "I've seen the rose you spoke of." His eyes held the Lady's. Tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks. "It sits alone in a crystal vase in a locked, walled garden in the grounds of my castle. Its petals are blood-red, and the water in the pool beneath its stand is full of them, hundreds upon thousands of petals. But the Lady it was given to never goes to look at it."

The vendor looked peeved. How dare this young sprout mock her story. "Don't tell me such stories, boy. The Lord of Fey castle is...," but she was interrupted by the soft voice of the Lady.

"Dead. The Lord you speak of is dead, and Lord Fey speaks the truth. I have not been to that walled garden since the day he died."

The vendor gasped in awe, and dropped to her knees, bowing her head to the ground. "I'm sorry, Lord Fey, Lady. Please forgive me. I meant no harm."

"It is alright, please, stand up." Ranma insisted. She stood slowly, looking at the Lady with awe and sorrow in equal measure in her eyes. Ranma turned back to the Lady. "Perhaps, dear Lady, it is time you had another rose to look upon." Ranma gathered his ki, and thinking back, picturing the twists and turns of the magic that he had seen in the original crystal rose, bound the threads and strands together, trapping some of his ki within it, and plucked from the air a white crystal rose in full bloom, and bowing, handed it to the Lady. "Take this, my Lady, as a token of my word. I _will_ free you from your bondage."

The vendor gasped in awe, and the Lady reached out her delicate hand and took the rose, tears still falling silently from her eyes. She reached out and held Ranma to her for a long minute. "Thank you, my Lord and my love."

Ranma turned to the vendor, and looked at her with stern eyes. She shivered under his youthful gaze. "You reawakened my Lady's pain with your story." His voice had grown suddenly hard and cold. She quaked before him, fearful her life had reached its end.

His young voice became suddenly soft and sweet. "And thus you gave me an opportunity to ease it. I thank you."

Again he gathered the magic bonds, but twisted them in a different way, and did not trap his ki, though he used it to guide the threads, and he plucked from the air a second rose, whose petals alternated between red and white.

"Take this, with my blessing. Its petals will not fall. But when a couple comes to you, let them both touch it. If the petals turn red, then you know they are in love. Pluck the blossom from the stem, and sell it to them, and another will grow in its place. And if one alone come to you, and ask for the story, tell them all, and then let them touch it, and if it turn white, then know that their heart is pure, and sell them the blossom."

He bowed to her again, and they turned and left, leaving her with a fortune in her hands, gaping after them.

The Lady looked at him, hiding her emotions behind a veil of curiosity. "That was a most impressive speech, Ranma. Will the bloom truly do what you say?"

"Certainly," he replied. "It was a simple thing to remove the single strand that caused the petals to fall. Beyond that, adding a simple resonance to touch was easy, I just sort of made it sensitive to ki. I guess it would have been harder if I hadn't gained such a mastery of my ki when I learned the Tai Chi Chuan."

"Indeed. Your mastery of both ki and magic makes you quite formidable, and equally unusual." Her words were complimentary, but calmly and baldly stated. Inside, she was struggling to hide her true astonishment. Once more he had truly surprised her. It was extremely rare, of course, for someone to learn magic as easily as he did. He could often replicate her feats after a single observance, something veritably unheard of. She had realized that it was his ki abilities that let him so easily dispel magic, and had suspected it played a part in his amazing ability to duplicate her effects so easily.

Yet she had never imagined that he would so easily be able to not only replicate, but extend and innovate upon a magic whose casting he hadn't even been able to witness! Many were the wizards and sorcerers who could go no further than reproducing effects they were painstakingly taught, or learned from aging manuscripts and scrolls. Few indeed were the gifted individuals who could truly create new spells. Yet Ranma had understood and replicated a spell over a hundred years old simply by observing the after-effects of its casting, then immediately, and with no real time to plan or study, taken it in a new and unique direction.

Further, she knew that at the time it was cast, it had been a major effort for Lord Fey, taking him several months, and leaving him weak and drained. Ranma had cast it for the first time with a wave of his fingers, from an at the least several week old memory of the original, then done it again, in a different fashion a few moments later, and showed no signs of strain. It hadn't looked hard for him at all.

She felt a momentary shiver of fear. Maybe she should insist he give up on freeing her? No, she couldn't, and he wouldn't. Yet for him to succeed, he would have to be able to see the female principle... She felt again that sensation of fear. If Ranma, with his spectacular ease, were to see both the warp and woof of the tapestry of existence, would anything be beyond him? It was a very good thing they were going to see her sister. The thought of someone with that much power, insane, was terribly frightening. She also realized the importance of never teaching anyone the combination of skills that gave him this frightening power over their reality.

---

A week and a half later, they were making their way, much more slowly, up the slope of a mountain. At the Lady's insistence, they set up camp well before nightfall, and built a large fire. Beorn was worried they would attract bandits, until the Lady told them they were getting close to her sister. "It is very unwise to surprise a dragon. We must be obvious in our approach, so that she has time to study us. If you get to close to a dragon, before she has decided you are potentially not a threat, she will attack with her full fury, just to be sure." She smiled benignly at Beorn, who just cringed. Not even Ranma's excellent cooking soothed him this night, knowing that they were exposing themselves to attack, precisely so that a dragon would notice them.

Arkus was no longer watching them. They had passed into the domain of an elder dragon, and he could not risk catching her notice. He was driven to distraction, however, by his curiosity. What could they possibly want to go there for? Were they actually going to meet the dragon? Or perhaps there was something else in the region, that they were seeking. Facing a dragon would be foolhardy, even for the new Lord Fey, and this dragon had not been responsible for any recent depredations, that he was aware of, nor was it known to be guarding any particular priceless artifact.

Arkus was spending many sleepless nights, fretting over their incomprehensible behavior. They had taken on that worthless man that had been Ereth's prey as a companion, and even he had come to damn near worship the boy, in spite of Arkus' coaching. He should have been suspicious enough to resist. Was this possibly the form the boy's gift had taken? There were no answers, only more questions.

The next day, the small group trekked higher, and again they stopped early, and built a large fire. This time, Ranma brought out his golden flute, and poured his heart into it, trying to calm himself, and find his emotional center, before he was forced to face his own fears. Ranma's senses were stretched to their limit, so he was the first to notice the stealthy approach. It took his mind only a moment to put together the clues, and recognize the panther for what it was. Almost the same moment his extended senses registered 'CAT!' they responded, 'no, dragon'. He could feel his fear curling in his belly, and deliberated half-lidded his eyes, focusing his attention on the ki-dragon winding around the lithe form.

Beorn yelped when a sudden blue blur sailed over the fire and past him. Ranma simply watched the silky panther, with a coat the color of a dusky sky, and kept playing. But now he was playing to the cat, a light air that seemed to sing of butterflies, and sunshine. The cat growled, low and deep, refusing to be influenced, and Ranma returned to a more serious air. The panther eyed him for a long minute more, then turned and padded to the Lady. The Lady reached out, and took the panther's head in her hands.

"This is foolish, my sister. Ranma's fear is not a plaything. It has a terrible power." The cat just grinned, and lay its head in her lap. A moment later, she was a gorgeous blue haired woman, wearing a tight bodysuit, a rippling midnight blue, her head still in her sister's lap, staring up at her eyes.

"Its been far too long, my sister. You know I would have come for you, and killed that fool Lord, had you only asked."

"I could not ask it, and you know it well, sister my love. And I will be wroth with you if you kill him now." She lazily stroked her sister's blue hair.

Suddenly the blue haired woman stood, and in a flash, she was seven feet tall, and wearing blue armor. She scooped her sister up into her arms, and silenced Ranma's cry of dismay with a glare. "You've had her to yourself for too long, boy. She'll be close enough, have no fear for her. But tonight, she's mine. We have a lot of catching up to do." Ranma remained tense and ready, until he saw the Lady's elegant arms rise up to drape around her sister's neck, and hold loosely, Then he bowed deeply to them, as the blue-armored figure leapt into the air, and away. He sat again, and returned to playing his flute.

In a high tower of her hidden castle, Alana's sister lay her gently on a bed, and pulled up a padded chair beside her. Alana looked at her. "What would you have done, Sylie, if he had succumbed to the fear?"

"I would have killed him."

Alana choked back a sob, "No, Sylie, you mustn't. I love him!"

"I know you do. But I understand the workings of the spell. It can't bind to a dragon. As long as he lives, you risk his death, and being bound to another. If I were to kill him you would be free of your bonds, completely."

"No," Alana sighed softly, "I wouldn't."

"What do you mean?," cried her sister. "I have seen the magic... it has not changed. Why wouldn't you be free?" Her sister was visibly upset. She had half-planned on failing to free the boy of his fear, and being forced to kill him in self-defense... now her plan was in danger.

"I love him, Sylie. I love him with a love that goes far beyond what that damned spell made me feel for Fey. I love him, Sylie, as a mother loves her son. He makes me so proud. You should have seen him, Sylie," she said, sitting up and taking her sister's hands. "Facing up to Lord Roga and beating him by fighting him to exhaustion, then refusing to kill him... happily accepting blindness for three months, because I asked it of him... Facing Lord Ereth and his Huntsman and hounds, and winning without injuring a single one of them. And Sylie, in Wintersdark, you remember the old lady that sells the crystal roses?"

"Yeah. I never liked them making money off your love and your pain like that... but I've bought a few of them. They helped me remember you," and tears were in her eyes now, glistening drops of liquid gold, "remember why you left me."

"Well, she told him the story, like she tells everyone. And he tells her he's seen it. That's the first time I realized he had found the locked garden. It shouldn't have surprised me, I guess. I know he can jump that high easily. He knew right away who the story was about. And then, Sylie, after he told her he had seen it, and described it, and told her I never went and looked at it again, he gave me this!" Alana pulled out the white rose.

"My word! Did he create it on the spot?" she asked in wonder.

"He did... from a several week old memory of the end result, he created this white rose with a flick of his fingers, Sylie. You remember how exhausted Fey was after he made me the red rose, don't you, Sylie? Ranma just turned, and did it again. He gave that old lady a ki-sensitive rose, whose blossom would never fall on its own, with red and white petals, that he says will turn red if touched by two people in love, and white if touched by one person pure of heart. He created that spell, a ki-sensitive spell, not two moments after casting the original spell the first time! And it didn't strain him in the least, Sylie. He mastered one of the martial arts from his world, Sylie, in three months, and took it beyond what these withered old men could do, men who had spent their lives studying it! He took their art, and thought about it, and used it to teach himself to fly."

"That little stripling can fly?"

"Indeed, he can. He's been my wings ever since. He mastered the Shining Darkness in five days, Sylie. I think that's why he didn't go crazy when you barged in on us like that. He must have been focusing on the dragon in your aura."

"Alright, enough already. You can stop extolling the virtues of your son, now, Alana. I'll help him, and I won't hurt him. But I don't want to hear another word about him. I want to talk about you and me, now. We've missed far too much of each other's lives, Alana."

"I know, Sylie. I know."

Pride and Fear

The next day found Beorn, Ranma, Alana, and Sylie standing in what appeared to be a large gymnasium, within a castle mostly hidden within the granite of the mountain.

"I want you to demonstrate your speed for me, Ranma," the Lady Sylie said. "I need to see if you are fast enough to do this the swiftest way, or if I shall have to seek slower means."

"Very well, Lady," Ranma replied, and moving to a clear area, he began his kata. At first Sylie was shocked at how slow he was moving. Then she realized that he was merely starting slow, and was steadily speeding up. She allowed the eyes of her human form to relax into dragon eyes. Her dragon eyes were very sharp, not only able to perceive small things at great distances, but able to perceive the very movements of air itself, to see the little eddies and crosscurrents thrown off by Ranma's movements.

This was an adaptation that aided the dragon in finding those rising columns of hot air that could lift one higher into the air without expending great effort, and to avoid those sudden temperature inversions that could cause a column of air to move downward with sudden force, so dangerous at low altitudes.

As he continued to speed up, she grew steadily more impressed, as she could see the air being compressed by each blow, sending shock waves rippling from him. When he finally managed to move fast enough to punch _through_ one of those pressure formed shock waves, causing a sharp crack to echo through the room, she was astounded. He had not yet begun to fill his body with ki, to enhance speed and stamina. This was natural speed. "He can move faster than air itself," she gasped in quiet awe. The Lady Alana just smiled in pride. "Faster!" Sylie said aloud.

Ranma sighed, and focusing within, found his center, and let his ki flow out from it to fill his limbs, strengthening them against the strain of cracking the air, and increasing their speed. Within moments, the room was filled with the sound of rolling thunder from the hundreds of sharp cracks as Ranma's movements shattered the very air. He was moving so fast, even Sylie's dragon eyes were hard-pressed to track his flying fists.

It didn't help that the air around him was becoming steadily more distorted. His every movement would send a shockwave of air traveling outward, decreasing the air pressure around his body, and increasing that of the air just beyond it. As it did so, his body met steadily less resistance, and was able to move faster. Soon he found that he could not catch his breath, and stopped. The high pressure air around him fell suddenly into the low-pressure rarefied air around him, and Ranma found himself dead center of a single thunderclap that shook the walls.

Beorn was the only one not deafened, as he had found the rolling thunder unbearable early on, and stuffed his fingers in his ears. The Lady Alana just rubbed her ears thoughtfully, smiling proudly at Ranma. Ranma, for his part, was gasping for breath. Ordinarily, he could have gone far longer without even breathing hard. But he had significantly reduced the amount of oxygen in the air about him. It had been like exercising vigorously on a mountain peak. Sylie for her part was shaking, her head ringing, her mouth hanging open in shock. It was several minutes before anyone was able to speak.

"Well, I guess you're fast enough, anyway." Sylie said, laughing weakly. "Catch your breath, and then we'll begin."

---

Sylie had him sit lotus style, and focus on his emotional center. Then she lightly laid a hand on his temple, and reached into his mind. She spent some time getting familiar with it, so that she would be able to reach him at a distance. She felt around the edges of the jagged wound in his mind, the darkness where he fled to escape the cats, and realized with startlement, that this darkness was not related to the cat that appeared when he fled into it. The cat was elsewhere in his mind... playing with a young girl? What on earth was going on in this poor boy's mind? Who had done this to him?

Sylie decided not to mention to Alana that the girl was awake in his mind. She would want to do something about it immediately, and Sylie knew it was too early. He needed to heal first, or he would retreat into the darkness to hide from the pain, and might never come out. Even after Sylie finished with him, the darkness would be there. It would be a long time in healing, if it ever truly did.

Once she was confident of her connection to his mind, she pressed a tight suppression on his fear, holding it back. Then she roused him, and led him deeper into the castle, to a room where the Lady and Beorn waited. And she showed him the large window, and the huge room it looked out on. He looked on with interest, displaying no fear, no qualms at the sight of the pack of lions. He looked at her with surprise and delight. "I'm cured? Already? I don't feel afraid!"

She smiled sadly down at him. "No, child, you are not yet cured. I am simply preventing you from feeling your fear. I am going to let you fight it, slowly. You are going to go out there, and play with them. Get used to the idea that they aren't fast enough to touch you, if you don't want them to. Then, when you are at ease with them, I will loosen my grip on your fear, just a bit. And then we will see."

"Oh," he said, sighing. "Alright. I should go in there now?"

"Yes, child."

He leapt lightly from the window, landing on the dirt covered floor nearly twenty feet below. The dirt was deep. He couldn't see the real floor anywhere, and in places the dirt made dunes, five or six feet above the level he stood on now. He leapt to the top of one, and looked over at the lions, resting on large rocks, panting in the heat. He glanced up, and was surprised to see the sun, hanging high overhead in a deep blue sky, with no clouds.

Alana looked at Sylie. "Sylie, dear. Why did you have this room ready? Have you known we were coming, and why, for so long?"

"No, love. I was trying to see if I could adapt them to a desert environment. Out that window, that isn't really in the castle, anymore. That's a window to a desert some three hundred miles from here. They hunt these lizard things that burrow in the sand. They're one of my more successful experiments. It seemed an appropriate method."

"Thank you, Sylie."

Ranma moved slowly towards them, but the lions did not seem inclined to attack him. They just looked at him, panting. One of the large males, with a heavy dark brown mane, yawned suddenly, mouth gaping open, exposing long sharp teeth and a rough tongue, then shutting with a sudden snap.

"Play with them, huh?," he muttered to himself. He moved slowly down the slope towards them, and approached. As he got closer, he could see that behind one of the rocks, several cubs were engaged in a tug of war over a dried bone. "Sure. I'll play with the kids, and see how the parent's react."

He grinned, and shifted forward suddenly, blurring between the larger cats, who snarled in surprise, and he grabbed the bone, placing his hand in dangerous proximity to three jaws, teeth flashing as they snarled at one another, then snarled at him. He pulled lightly on the bone. One of the resting females leapt down, as soon as he appeared by the cubs.

To the lions, he appeared to be a large male baboon. While lion cubs are actually in the gravest danger when near an adult male lion, baboons are a constant threat to any young animal. Large male baboons are noisy, agressive beasts, and will kill and eat almost any young animal, even a lion cub, if they can get at it away from its parents. For a baboon to attack cubs near adult lions was tantamount to suicide, and not something any of the lionesses had ever experienced, but their instincts on how to deal with baboons near their young were unequivocal.

She loped towards him, then stopped, and gave a deep, full-bodied roar, mouth wide and gaping, hackles raised, ears pointing straight up, tail lashing back and forth. Baboons, while agressive, prefer to attack the weak or injured, and will generally give way before any animal in its prime, other than another large baboon.

This baboon reacted strangely. It seemed not the least put out by her roar, and in fact, reached into her jaws to grab a scrap of meat caught between her teeth, and toss it to one of the cubs, who caught it happily, before being pounced upon by the other two. She growled at it, and sniffed. Unfamiliar scent. Looks like a baboon, but acts different. She was wary now. Anything that doesn't behave like it should is a potential threat, and an unknown. She snorted at it, and growled, then turned and nudged the cubs away from the dangerous unknown.

Sylie collapsed with laughter when Ranma grabbed the piece of meat from the lion's jaws in mid-roar. "Wow! I didn't expect him to be at his ease nearly so swiftly. Alana, are you sure we should remove his fear? If he's afraid of nothing, he might be well-nigh unstoppable."

Alana just nodded. Sylie finally managed to suppress her laughter, and drag herself back to her feet. She reached out, and eased her hold on his fear, just a little bit.

The lioness turned, smelling suddenly the acrid scent of fear on the baboon. She roared at it again, and the scent strengthened. Now her instincts knew what to do, and she crouched as if to pounce, raised her hackles, and gave another roar, trying to look as threatening as she could.

Ranma could taste the fear in his mouth, but it was a manageable fear. He grew angry, angry at himself for being weak enough to be afraid, angry at the lioness for trying to make him afraid. And he reached out... but not for the darkness. He reached out for the Neko-ken, and gathered it to him, and dropping to all fours, he answered her with a roar of his own. Even using the Neko-ken, he still felt the fear, but his anger was stronger.

The lioness paused, puzzled. The baboon was gone, vanished, and now a male lion was challenging the pack. Where had he come from? She hadn't smelled his scent before. She tasted the fear in his scent, and knew him for a loner, desperate to earn a place in a pack.

The massive male leapt to his feet at Ranma's challenging roar. An outsider male was challenging him for dominance. He turned to face the beast, and gave an answering roar, a deep full-throated roar that shook the sand, a roar that Ranma felt shake his bones.

Ranma was furious now. They were playing on his fear, trying to strengthen it, to drive him mad, just like the cats in the pit. They weren't going to. Not this time. This time, he would win. He roared back, and this time his ki was in his voice, and the roar caused the sand to swirl, dust devils forming and spinning away, and the watchers in the high room held their ears, and felt their bones shaking within them, and the stones quivering and shifting around them.

The big lion leapt from his perch, and loped towards the outsider. He stopped, a few meters away, and crouched. Ranma followed his lead. The big lion leaped, reaching for the neck, the jugular, to end this quickly. He knew that if he was too injured in this bout, one of the lesser males in his own pack would challenge him, and kill him.

The smaller challenger twisted away from his attack, moving with blinding speed between his claws, past his jaws, to rake sharp claws along his belly. So quickly, it was over. The big lion knew he had lost. Opened as he was, he would be swiftly set upon by the other males. Ranma roared his dominance, and the other males cringed at the strength of it.

Ranma felt sudden shame, as in her shock, Sylie gripped tighter, banishing his fear. The big male had not been trying to drive him insane. He had been protecting his pack. Ranma padded over to him, and licked the long gashes in the huge lion's belly. He didn't know much about healing... but he focused his ki, and traced the wounds, and tried to urge the severed edges of flesh to come together again. Licking at the wound again, he watched with delight as his will overcame the wounds, and the flesh knit itself back together. Soon, he was licking what looked like old scars. The big lion stumbled to his feet. He was confused, and tired, but alive, and he knew he had been beaten. He crouched before Ranma, tail slung between his legs, acknowledging Ranma's dominance of the pride.

Sylie gasped, and turned to Alana. "Damn, only seven and already the boy's got a harem." Alana flushed red. "Seriously, Alana. Have you taught him healing magic yet? Of any sort?"

"No, I hadn't gotten around to it. He doesn't need it, you know. Fey's clothing includes powerful healing spells, and he heals unnaturally fast anyway."

"So he just successfully healed that lion of a life threatening wound, without ever using healing magic before? That's... hard to believe, I mean... wow."

One by one, the other males, and then the females, came to Ranma, and acknowledged the dominance of the small male. The lioness who had pushed the cubs away watched him lope to them with sad eyes. As every challenger before him had, she knew that the new dominant male would kill all the cubs, and might drive off one of the younger males, to ensure that his would be the blood that continued.

She was understandably confused when Ranma returned to playing with them, trying to steal their bone. Not only should he have killed them, but ordinarily, if a cub got between a male and its meal, it would be killed out of hand. Yet he just tussled with them, almost as if he were a cub himself. If he were a cub, then why challenge for dominance? Confusion reined among the adults, as Ranma and the cubs played.

For nearly a month, Ranma lived with the lions, in a constant state of Neko-ken. A few times, one of the lionesses attempted to entice him to mate, lured by the thought of his strong blood, but he didn't understand and didn't respond. When he didn't challenge the big male again, nor shove him aside for the first of the hunt, the older lions started thinking of him as a cub, a young male. He had earned a place within the pack, wherever he chose to take it.

He hunted with them, and as he spent more time in the Neko-ken, it changed as well. Gradually, his aura became constantly visible, and by the fourth day in it, his arms and legs were no longer reaching the ground. He moved about, suspended in his aura, which seemed to have a physical presence. Shortly thereafter, the watchers observed him dragging a dead lizard back to the rest of the pride. His teeth were clamped about the throat... except they weren't really very near it. Instead, it seemed to dangle from the glowing blue teeth of his aura.

His aura steadily sharpened, shifting from a blue glow that surrounded him, to the well-defined shape of a large male lion, which he seemed shrouded within. It reached the point where the aura seemed to have real fur. At times the watchers observed the other lion's rubbing against his aura, and it seemed to support them as if he were a real lion, and at times, the aura's hackles would be raised. When he lay on a rock, panting in the heat, and a cub leapt on him, it landed on the blue aura, and went no deeper.

Sylie would have worried about the effect of the constant cat-state on his young mind, and indeed, Alana was nearly frantic about it at times. But Sylie's connection to him allowed her to see that his human mind was working the whole time, seeing it as an exercise in strengthening his Neko-ken, and analyzing the behavior of the other lions, to better fit himself in the pack. When Alana became too concerned, Sylie would stand by her, and vocalize his thoughts, letting her hear how human he sounded, as he pondered the intricacies of his pack's behavior.

At least once a day, Sylie would come, and release a little of his fear, and he would fight it. At those times, he seemed even more like a member of the pack, as he became ruled by his emotions. He grew steadily stronger, and slowly became able to stand more and more of the fear. Just after the first month ended, Sylie finally released her hold on his fear completely. She left him feeling the full effects of the fear for the next whole day, and when by the end of it, he was still responding playfully to the cubs, she decided it was done. His fear was still there, he still felt it, but it no longer held any power over him.

She called out to him, then, and he loped across the sands towards the high wall, and when he reached it, he banished the Neko-ken easily, and leapt the twenty feet to land lightly on the balls of his feet on the stone windowsill. He jumped lightly down, and ran to Sylie, hugging her tightly, crying tears of joy as he sobbed his thanks. She smiled down at him, finally beginning to understand what Alana saw in the boy.

She flew them back, in full dragon form, the three riding lightly on her back. Beorn was quite nervous about it, especially since there were no ropes, but Ranma had centered himself and them, and showed no fear. Beorn nearly fainted when Sylie performed the first barrel roll, but when he realized that he hadn't fallen off even when hanging upside down, attached by nothing at all, he finally managed to relax, and enjoy the ride.

Sylie made a beautiful dragon, long and slender, with glittering dark blue scales. She was wingless, and curled through the air as if pushing against it the way a snake pushes against the ground. The journey was surpassingly swift, reaching Fey Castle in only five hours.

Ancient Perversion

The Lady Alana suggested to Ranma that he should begin training others. Beorn definitely wanted to learn, and those guards he had traveled with had begged him to train them. Ranma informed her that as the heir to the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, it was inappropriate for him to teach another school first, and he could not teach his school until the living founder gave him a license to teach.

So the Lady Alana searched his world, and found a cave on a mountainside, covered with wards, wherein there lay bound and sleeping an ancient perversion. She guided Ranma through the casting of a complex spell that wove quietly between the wards, and drew out the sleeping master.

Master Happosai awoke suddenly, and found himself in the middle of a chalk circle. He noticed the young boy first, and immediately dismissed him. Then he noticed the beautiful lady standing behind him. "Hotcha! Hot Mama!" He cried, leaping to glomp her, only to bounce off the air between them, above the chalk circle. The boy just grinned at him, and waggled his fingers in the air. Happosai felt a sudden surge of pain whip through him, causing his heart to skip a beat.

"We will have none of that, Master." The young boy's voice was at odds with his grinning countenance. His face was light, but his words were calm, hard, and cold. "You are offered a choice. You may have three months of freedom, in which to train me and license me to teach the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, and then return to the dank hole from which we summoned you, or you can return there right now."

Happosai collapsed in laughter, only to receive another whip of pain. Sullenly, he straightened, and stared at the boy. "The Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu is the study of a lifetime, boy. How can you expect to master it in three months?"

"I have been trained in it since I was five. I was awarded my eleventh dan in Tai Chi Chuan after my third month of study in it, having never used it before. You have three months. There are additional conditions."

"Oh? Huh. There is no eleventh dan in Tai Chi Chuan. What conditions?"

"There is now. I took it beyond the skills of the masters who taught me. The conditions are, you will touch no woman while you are here." The Master spluttered in protest, but was ignored. "You will be provided with recently worn feminine undergarments," and here the boy's face was twisted in a look of disgust, "as required to maintain your strength. No more questions, Master. You have your choice. Make it."

"Alright, alright. You're insane if you think you can learn it that fast, but three months is three months. I'll teach you. But I won't license you boy, unless you can beat me!"

The boy waved his hand. "Follow me. I will show you the dojo, and we will begin."

"Hey, damnit! I'm the Sensei here, kid!"

---

Arkus found the situation infuriating. The boy finally got away from that damned dragon, after far longer than he had expected, and now he was closeted with a pervert. Master Happosai's mind was far too dirty and perverted for Arkus to stand touching. Indeed, he bathed for five hours straight after first reaching out to the man's warped mind. He stayed far away after that.

It was well into the second month of the training when Krall learned that the boy had managed to return to the castle without any of the numerous warriors lining the border of Farallon detecting his passage, nor any in Farallon itself being aware of it. He was infuriated by the failure of Friss's plan, but avoided a precipitous reaction when even as he prepared a vengeful strike against the boy, Friss returned with news of the defeat of Lord Ereth at the boy's hands.

The possibilities immediately sang to him, for Ereth was the acknowledged Master at binding men to his will. His were the best assassins, for they would stop at nothing, and feel no pain. Nothing less than utter destruction would prevent them from achieving their goal. Doubtless Ereth would seek to eliminate the Lord Fey, and if Krall simply waited, he could have the kingdom with no blood on his hands.

Ever since the peace with Farallon had come about, Krall had wondered how to get around their Mage Tower, for he had little doubt that they would seek to use their black arts to divine the perpetrator of the deadly event. If he could achieve his goals while remaining honestly and legitimately uninvolved, so much the better.

---

The Master was pleasantly surprised as the weeks, and then months passed, and Ranma quickly absorbed everything the Master had to teach. Happosai still had no expectation or intention of licensing the little snot, but on the morning of their final bout to determine the fate of his license, Happosai did make a concession. "Fey, my boy, I hate to admit this, but you make me wish I hadn't promised Genma to let his son Ranma be my heir. You would have made a great heir. I'll tell you what. After I beat your ass here and get away, I'll find the boy, and train him for just three months. It ought to be fair, after all, he'll have been trained by his father all this time. Then, I'll let you two fight to see who becomes my heir."

"Entirely unnecessary, Sensei. Ranma is your heir. I would not stand in his way." Ranma was grinning inside. Boy, wouldn't Happosai be fuming when he learned the truth. Ranma had found it was great fun to tease the old man.

Happosai was incensed that the boy refused his offer. "Enough chatter, boy. Hiyah!" Happosai sprang to the attack with a sweeping kick, a feint that succeeded, letting him get close enough to use his pipe. He performed his signature move, using the pipe, charged with ki, to redirect the boy's momentum, expecting to send the boy flying high into the air.

Best to end this quickly, and get away before they sent him back to that damned cave, he thought. His shock was complete, when the pipe trick ended with him embedding himself into the soft earth, completely gone from sight. He began to scrabble frantically, desperate for air, when he felt a gentle strength cradle him, and lift him back to the surface.

"Haven't you ever been told never to try to move a Tai Chi Master, Sensei?" The boy's infernal grin mocked him. Happosai groused to himself. He'd thought the boy was pulling his leg about the Tai Chi, after all, everyone knew there were only ten dans. But obviously it had been a feint within a feint, and the boy really was a master of Tai Chi. Happosai had to admire the boy's quick wit.

Happosai sprang back to the attack, then bounced backwards, and leapt into the air. "Happou Dai Karin!" he shouted, throwing several bombs at Fey. A light breeze blew past, and their fuses went out. "Huh?" Happosai sputtered. "That's not supposed to happen."

He pulled out another, bigger bomb, with a lit fuse. He threw it at Fey, and it stopped an inch from his hand, hanging there in front of him. He had only time to whimper, before it went off, throwing him backwards. He was picked up and brushed off by Fey. "Come on, Master. Don't give up so easy."

"Who's giving up," snarled Happosai, and leaped back to the attack. While he often used his special attacks to win without risk to himself, he was a genuinely skilled martial artist. But he had never faced an opponent like Fey before. No matter how fast he punched, or kicked, or blocked, he couldn't touch Fey, and Fey seemed to tap him at will.

Fey did not do as he had done with Lord Ereth, however. He knew better than to solely use the Tai Chi Chuan against Happosai. He used the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, using Tai Chi only to redirect Happosai's attacks, and to leap again before touching the ground, and rebound in mid-air. The rebounds were the worst for Happosai, as he simply couldn't seem to anticipate them, for there really was no warning, and no way of telling at what point in a leap Fey would suddenly redirect his motion in absurd defiance of gravity and inertia.

Fey wasn't punching hard, just letting Happosai know that his defenses were open. This just infuriated Happosai, and like so many before him, he exhausted himself, running on the fumes of his anger, striving to connect with Ranma, and failing, while Ranma whipped about him, seeming to penetrate his defenses at will.

Ranma, for his part, was absolutely delighted at the speed and reflexes he gained by using the Neko-ken. When he had first learned to invoke it, the only real advantage he had gained was the ki claws. After living in it for a month, it had matured, and he was now gaining all the advantages he once gained in his insanity, and more. His speed was far greater, and his senses and reflexes were both more finely tuned. He wondered what the old Master would say if he realized how he was being beaten.

Finally, after going all out for nearly five hours, exhausting his impressive chi reserves, Happosai collapsed to the ground, worn out. "Alright, damn you. You're unnatural, you know that? But I'll give you your damned license."

Ranma grinned at that, but internally, felt very grateful that the old master had finally been worn down. Ranma had been forced to almost completely release his Juushin Jisei Juuryoku, the gravity field he was using to train, to keep up the ki needed for the Neko-ken.

True to his word, Happosai gave Ranma a license to teach, and gave him a grandmaster's belt. Still, he warned Ranma, "Fey, my boy, you have a license to teach the Happosai Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, or the Saotome. But if you teach some weird mix, with that Tai Chi, and the way you fight, don't you go calling it the Happosai, or the Saotome school. Call it what it is. The Fey school of Anything Goes, and be proud to teach it. Now send me home, and let me rest."

So was founded the Fey Dojo, wherein was taught the Fey Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu. It was not long before Ranma's classes were swelled with men, both from his own troops of soldiers, and the neighboring five kingdoms, and a number of wandering warriors. He focused on those who showed the most promise, and set them to teaching the others, so that he could return to his own training. Though he had mastered the Musabetso, he still could not begin to free his Lady.

Assassin

Ranma was practicing a kata in the garden, his senses wide open, soaking in the health and vitality about him, when he felt a sudden darkness, a presence encroaching on the edge of his range, and heading with disturbing directness towards his position.

He released the kata, and gathered the Juushin Jisei, ready to either change his position instantaneously, catch and hold any thrown projectiles, or immobilize an opponent. Thus prepared, he extended his senses, ignoring the noise the approaching being made, focusing on the sixth and seventh senses, to give him a better idea of what he faced.

As the being approached, Ranma identified it as a human male, under the influence of spells that Ranma easily identified as Lord Ereth's style, though he could not be absolutely certain of the caster. He was wielding a sword with little skill, holding it as if it were a club with which he intended to beat something.

Ranma allowed him to approach within visual range. When the man, upon seeing him, began a rushing charge, brandishing the sword, Ranma summoned the Dragon Fang and Dragon Armor, delighted at the opportunity to practice. He released the seventh sense, and the Juushin Jisei, intending to learn what he could.

Meeting the man's charge, he was staggered by the man's adrenaline and drug enhanced strength, and embraced the Neko-ken to give him enough strength to throw off the attacker, and break the dead-lock of their swords. He released the Neko-ken immediately, not wanting to be so far out of his opponents league, and instead focused ki into his limbs to enhance his own strength.

He motioned for the man to attack again. "Come on, let's see what you've got."

He quickly grew frustrated, as the darkly dressed black-haired man was attacking without subtlety or finesse. Deciding that it was not necessary to coddle this attacker's self-esteem, Ranma turned the Dragon Fang into a bokuto. Piercing easily through the defenses, a bit of ki focused into the tip exploded outward as the bokuto contacted the man's chest, sending him hurtling backwards some thirty feet, to crash into the ground.

Ranma grimaced in sympathy, then sighed when the man got back to his feet and charged again. "Oh, come on, can't you at least fight with some skill?"

Ranma slapped the sword with the Dragon Fang, setting it to ringing, to loosen the man's grip, then executed a simple, and easily avoided, disarm. The man didn't even seem to notice the move, much less defend against it, and so lost his weapon. He growled, and punched out at Ranma, who clipped him on the skull with the bokuto.

"What's wrong with you?" He demanded. "How stupid can you be, attacking me without a weapon?"

The man said nothing, but launched a kick. Ranma almost avoided it, but at the last moment, chose to take it, focusing ki at the point of impact, to demonstrate the futility of fighting him in that manner. The kick impacted with no visible effect. When the man simply punched again, Ranma sighed.

"Alright, fine, we'll fight without weapons then." He dismissed the Dragon Armor and the Dragon Fang, and caught the next punch, spinning the attacker past him, and kneeing him in the gut as he passed by.

He slammed an elbow into the man's back as a follow-up, driving him into the ground. The man rolled over, stood, and attacked again, with a high kick, uttering a low growl. Ranma punched at the leg, but used more strength than was needed, misjudging by the way the man seemed unaffected by the bokuto strikes, and the man's leg snapped.

"Ah, damn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that," apologized Ranma, then he gaped, as the man's leg visibly straightened with a faint crackling sound, and the man put his weight on it to send a kick from the other leg hard into Ranma's side.

Ranma was so surprised by the man's failure to react to his leg being broken, that he did not get up a defense in time, and was sent sprawling. He leapt back to his feet, meeting the incoming charge, and flipped the man over his back, spinning to face him, and catching his assailant with a hard kick to the back as he stood again.

Ranma glanced about, noting that several guards had approached, but per his orders, given some months back, were not interfering in the fight in progress.

Ranma eyed the man's leg, noting that it showed no signs of being broken now. Wanting to verify this peculiar behavior, Ranma steeled himself against his own objections, and with a sharp kick, snapped the man's leg again. Since he did it this time while the other leg was in the air, the man collapsed to the ground.

Ranma watched in sick fascination, as the bent leg straightened, and crackled, then the man stood again.

"Magic, got to be magic," Ranma said, looking for any reaction on the face of the man. Seeing none, he blocked the next kick, and reached out with his ki. He continued to block the man's attacks almost absently, as he considered the weave of magic about the man, and then tapped the weak points, released the magic bonds.

He noted that more effort had been put into strengthening the magic against dispelling, but it was of a type he had seen before, designed long ago, a pattern that strengthened a spell against traditional dispelling magics. Unfortunately for the caster, it did little to hinder Ranma's unique method of disrupting the threads of magic.

The man shook his head lightly, then grinned an evil grin. "Die, Fey!" He leapt forward, and Ranma smiled. His opponent was at least attacking a little less blindly now. Then he sighed, as he assessed his assailant's skill level, and noted that he was still no threat.

Ranma was considerably surprised, when he placed a sharp blow to the man's shoulder, striking hard, spinning the man, and the man showed no signs of pain. There was no more magic... so why wasn't he feeling the pain.

"I will defeat you, Fey, and my reward awaits in paradise," he hissed, laughing as he attacked again.

Ranma grimaced at him, striking his arms, sending the punches wide and opening him up for a hard palm strike to the chest, that sent him nearly ten feet back. "Isn't it obvious yet that you can't defeat me. I would think that you would have noticed that you are consistently being beaten?"

"Hah! I don't even feel your punches, you cannot defeat me!" The man laughed in triumph, which seemed definitely premature to Ranma, who hit the man's skull with a hard spin-kick, sending him flying to the side.

"There, did ya feel that?"

Ranma was a bit perturbed when the man denied it, and attacked again.

Getting tired of the apparent futility of the fight, Ranma considered breaking a few limbs, now that the magic was gone, and asking if he felt that... but he wasn't really that cruel. Instead, he focused the Juushin Jisei again, and gripped the man, lifting him from the ground, and immobilizing his limbs.

Reaching out with his sixth sense, Ranma focused on the man, trying to see why he felt no pain. It took a while, but finally Ranma was able to focus his senses in such a way that he was able to feel the presence of foreign contaminants, toxins in the man's system.

Ranma sighed, and drew up the weaves of magic to make the man's paralysis permanent, until the weaves should be released, and turned him over to the guards.

"Take him to a doctor," he ordered, "find out what drugs have been used on him, and see what you can find out from him once they're purged."

As they left, Ranma returned to his kata.

---

When Krall learned of the Lord Fey's new Dojo, and the training that he was offering not only to his own troops, but to outsiders from the Five Kingdoms, Krall perceived it as an excellent chance to infiltrate some spies and assassins into the castle.

He was disturbed when his men, secreted amongst crowds of other potentials, were uniformly turned away. As soon as he saw the first reports indicating that every single plant, not just most of them, had been turned away, he called off the plans.

There were only two possibilities he could see that would explain this. One, somehow the boy had strong enough magic to detect the intentions of the men, and was only training those who were properly loyal to their leaders. The second, more likely, and far more frightening possibility, was that the Lord Fey, or more likely, the Lady Alana, had spies amongst his own ranks, that had leaked the identities of his men.

The purge that followed took Krall's forces several years to recover from, for it was led by Friss, and he had, unbeknownst to Krall, his own ulterior motives, and pressed his suspicions harshly, using the purge as a tool to eviscerate Krall's forces.

The Mage Tower

When during a battle against a team of Krall's raiding bandits one of the Court of Farallon's mages fell defending a town several months after Ranma entered his eighth year, he decided, at his Lady's urging, to take the opportunity to join the throng of young wizards eager to achieve a position at court. He conceded to her desire, reasoning with himself that by putting himself in a position to observe so many other wizards, he would expand his own skill, and get closer to his goal of freeing his Lady.

He had spent enough time concentrating on his martial arts. It was time to give magic a clear focus, and improve in it as quickly as he could. He had by this time trained several of the best students, Beorn among them, to mastery of the first dan of his school, and he left them to further instruct his troops.

Arkus had spent the intervening time busy with a project for his Lady. He was quite annoyed on his return, to see them preparing for a journey. That was as nothing compared to his fury, though, when he realized their goal. He was not aware of the contest, and could only assume that the boy was going to take classes at the Mage Towers. There was no way he would be able to scry and ply his influence near there. It was far too dangerous. He would be forced to ignore the boy until such time as he finally left the Towers.

The Lady traveled with Ranma, and again they received an escort at the border. This time, many of the men were ones who had trained under him, and the looks he received were of respect and honor, instead of fear and hatred.

They did not go now to the capitol city, but took a new route, to a city that grew out from the banks of a large river, and swallowed a nearby hill. On the brow of the hill stood a large wall, that encircled it. Within the walls was built a mighty compound of stone, with rising spires, and lowering halls that reached deep into the hill.

They were offered accommodations in the noble's quarters, which the Lady accepted, but Ranma declined. He chose instead to live in the barracks, with the other potential magelings.

As he saw the first of the mages, Ranma realized he could detect their magical power, much the way he could see a martial artist's aura, though they were not the same thing. He also realized that he could not see the aura of the Lady Alana. Deciding she must be suppressing her aura, he focused on doing the same.

A young lady, demurely dressed, led him with down-turned eyes down long halls of stone, to an open courtyard, and across it. Within the courtyard were numerous young men, both common and noble, practicing small magics, trying to impress one another with their skill.

He realized immediately that he was beyond all their skill, and worried that when tested, they would immediately release the others, leaving him with no-one to watch. But he held his silence, as they passed through the young men, and a path parted before them, as if the young lady held a power, hidden in shadow, that they could sense, though he could not. She led him down a quick flight of steps, and into the barracks, a long row of small rooms, and showed him to the one that would be his and one other boy's. He dropped his pack by the bed on the right, and turned to see her leaving.

"Lady, wait a moment, I would ask you something," he requested. She turned towards him, and raised her eyes to his chest. She was a second year student, well beyond the strength of most of these young whelps, and as a student of the Mage Tower, she need not respect the distinctions of nobility and commoner. But being second year, she was strong enough to sense power, and she could feel the unimaginable power that rippled around the young man, though he was clearly suppressing it. She did not realize that she was detecting his ki aura as well as his aura of magic, leading her to an inflated view of his power. Though she had not been told who he was, she had recognized the Lady from descriptions they were given in history classes. She was the Lady Alana, and by extension, given the stories of the defeat of Lord Roga, this boy must be the Lord Fey.

She feared what he would ask of her. As a Lord, he was beyond the strictures of nobility, and though he was not in his own land, he was recognized as a Lord here as well, by order of the King. He could give her nigh any order, and she would have to obey him... even... even if he ordered her to share his bed. She almost hoped he would. He was handsome, and strong, and powerful. Though it would not be a bad life, being the consort to such a one, she dreaded being his plaything, to be cast aside when no longer wanted. So she had sought to avoid catching his notice... and failed.

Ranma simply hoped that from this young lady he might receive an answer to the question that had perturbed him since his very first lesson in magic. "Lady," he asked, "how is it that you hide your power?"

She stared down in confusion, not yet daring to meet his eyes, nor look upon his face. "Hide my power? I don't understand. Do you mean... you cannot see it?" When he nodded, she was even more confused. "But, if you cannot see it, then how did you know it was there?" In her confusion, she finally raised her head to look at his face, and looking down at him, his eyes captured her, held her in their crystal blue depths.

"I could see that the others, there in the courtyard, could sense it. They moved out of your way, without you saying or doing anything, yet you were not even looking at them." He wore a puzzled frown, she saw. "Yet I feel no power in you. How are you hiding it from me?"

"But, but I'm not," she gasped, suddenly terrified. So much power, in one so young. If he didn't believe her, who knew what he might do? She hadn't realized, until she saw his face, that he was not merely short for his age. He was truly young. Most of the men in the courtyard had been thirteen to seventeen, with a few twelve year old prodigies. But even the immense power this boy had could not disguise that he was no more than eight, nine at the most. Such youth was generally accompanied by a lack of emotional control, and bad reactions to being thwarted, particularly in the children of power, those whose positions meant they had never been denied anything they desired.

"Then do you know why I cannot see your power?" he asked, trying to find a different way of coming at the question, that would give him the answer he sought. She shook her head mutely, trying desperately to stifle her fear. She wanted to shake, to run and cry, to flee from the terrible power standing quietly before her. She had a little brother, seven and a half, and his temper tantrums were terrible. Picturing this boy, with his unimaginable power, throwing a tantrum because she couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, left her feeling weak with terror.

"Oh well," he sighed. "I am sorry to have kept you, Lady. Please forgive me." She nodded, and backed away. When he made no move to stop her, she turned and fled. Her master found her in her study, sobbing, huddled in the corner. The strong woman, still beautiful in her middle age, her youthful looks assisted by her spells, bent to gather her protege in her arms. It had been her choice to have her student meet the young Lord of Fey. She had not expected this result, and felt a sudden surge of anger, that was as swiftly swallowed by her fear.

"What did he do to you, my child?" She asked, rocking the girl in her arms. She had cared for the girl for years, and looked on her as a daughter, but even to defend her, there was little she could do to one such as the Lord Fey.

"Nothing," the girl gasped out between sobs. "It's not him, its me. I looked in his eyes, Liliana, and he's so young, but he's far stronger than anyone I've ever met, and he's a Lord, and he could have ordered me to do anything, and I would have to obey, and I was so scared, because I couldn't answer his questions, and I kept picturing him throwing a tantrum like my little brother, and, and..."

"Shhh... its alright. And what did he do?"

"Nothing... nothing... he just asked me how I hid my power from him. And I didn't know what he meant, and I was afraid he would be angry, because I was hiding something from him, but I didn't know what I was doing, or how to stop, and I was so scared... but he just apologized. He said he was sorry. I ran away. He's got so much power, Liliana. How can anyone so young be that strong?"

"How did you know he was a Lord, Ariana? I know no-one told you." That had been quite deliberate on her part. She had not wanted a potential friendship spoiled from the start by issues of rank.

"I recognized the Lady from the history classes. She's the Lady Alana, the dragon that the old Lord Fey bound. And he fits the description of the new Lord, the one that defeated Lord Roga."

"You didn't call him Lord, did you?," Liliana asked sharply.

"No, I didn't. I got the feeling he didn't want it to be known. He was offered a place with the noble-born, with his Lady, but he refused it. Why else would he want to sleep in the barracks? He is pretending to be one of them. I don't know how he will explain his age, though. Surely they will try to bully him. He's the youngest there, by far. I hope he doesn't hurt them too badly." Held in the arms of one she had come to look on as a mother, Ariana had finally begun to calm down, to recognize that though her fear was well-founded, it had not come to pass, and the boy she had feared had in fact shown considerable emotional control.

Liliana smiled at the child in her arms. "I see your wits have not been addled by your fear. That was well thought out, child. Now calm yourself. You need not fear this boy. I have spoken to the Lady Alana. He may be young, but he has an iron will. He will not lose control."

---

Ranma sighed as the girl ran off. Probably he had made her late for something. He hoped she wouldn't get in trouble because of him. He realized that he didn't even know her name.

He unpacked quickly, putting clothes in the small dresser, and a pillow and blankets on the bed. He had done his best to make sure that he had everything a normal youth would have. He certainly didn't want to flout his differences. He wanted to fit in, to get to know them, so that they would feel comfortable showing him what they could do.

When he had the room looking the way he wanted it, he turned to leave. Just at that moment, a boy stepped into the doorway. He looked about eleven or twelve, and was wearing dusty travel clothes, and carrying a bag that looked like it had seen better days. When he saw Ranma, he smiled. So, he wasn't going to be the youngest one here. That was a relief... even if this kid did look like a noble. "Hi, my name's Arran. What's yours?"

"Ranma. The left bed is yours." Ranma sat on his bed. He would wait, and get to know this boy, before going to the courtyard. Best to see if he could pass for normal now, with just one, rather than risking it with everyone right off the bat. He had noticed one difference already. Ranma had had a guide, this kid hadn't. Or if he had, his guide had left before he opened the door. He tucked his legs up lotus style, and reached out with his ki, to observe the magic going on in the courtyard, while he waited for his roommate to get settled in. He also released the Soul of Ice, knowing that a lack of emotional response would seem strange to children his age. He looked up when the boy plopped down on his bed, sighing.

"So, Ranma, I guess you're a prodigy like me, huh?" He asked, lying back, looking up at the ceiling.

"A prodigy," Ranma asked curiously. "What's that?"

Arran sat up, looking over at Ranma. "You don't even... oh, man. Well, uhm... I guess a prodigy is somebody that's kinda naturally good at what they do. You know, learns it easier than normal people?"

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I'd be one of those, then." Ranma replied.

"So, uh, what kind of magic do you do?" Arran asked. "I'm an illusionist."

"An illusionist? What's that?" Ranma asked. It sounded interesting.

"You don't even know the schools? I would have thought that would be the first thing they taught. It is everywhere I've heard of. What kind of magic do you do?"

"Uhm... I dunno. Martial, I guess."

"Martial? That's not a school. What do you mean?" Arran was puzzled now. Why was this boy here? He didn't seem to know _anything_.

"Uhm, well. You know... attacks and stuff," Ranma replied, diffidently. He was feeling a bit annoyed. This boy made it sound like he didn't know anything, when Ranma was fairly confident by now that he could duplicate most of the magic going on in the courtyard.

Arran goggled at him, slack-jawed. Finally he regained control of his mouth. "Wow! Most schools don't start teaching attacks until like the third or fourth year. Who taught you?"

Ranma was definitely feeling confused now. "Uhm... well, uh. Attacks were the first thing I was taught... or well, no, I guess she was trying to teach me defense, really. But I can do all the attacks she showed me."

"Who? Who taught you? Who's she?"

Ranma sighed. He'd really put his foot in his mouth now. He was disappointed with himself. It had been a really long time since he had let his mouth trip him up. After learning from Tenchi, he had found that he had to really stop and think to talk like that, and sometimes he realized that he really just shouldn't say it at all. But this kid was talking a lot like Ranma had before Tenchi, and Ranma had followed him, lapsed into easy speech patterns, trying to be comfortable, and friendly, and wham, foot in mouth time again.

He couldn't just suddenly start talking like Tenchi again. Arann would think he had been offended, or something. But he really needed to think before speaking. I can't lie to him, I can't say I don't know her name. If I tell him I'd rather not say, that'll just make him more curious, and others are bound to ask the same questions. I need a good answer. Aahh. I could say that she's a sorceress who found me, and I just call her the Lady. Yeah, that might work. "Uhm. I just call her the Lady. She found me, and took me in." Good, Arran was nodding. I guess maybe that's not unheard of.

"Are you here to live and train, or are you here for the competition?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, uhm... the competition, I think." That's weird, Arran thought. He sounds so uncertain. Almost like he hadn't realized that it was a competition... You'd think he hadn't heard a hundred stories about the competitions... but who around here hasn't?

"Where are you from, Ranma?"

"Uh...," Ranma caught himself about to say Japan, "Um... Fey. I come from Fey," he replied, hoping that would be enough. He didn't know the names of any towns in Fey. He'd have to learn more about his nation when he returned.

"Oh, a slave, huh. I guess you're lucky the old Lord died. I heard he was real jealous about magic users."

"A... A slave?" Ranma asked. Where had that come from, he wondered.

Arran looked at him, shaking his head from side to side. "Boy, she didn't teach you much except magic huh?" he said, sounding sympathetic. "Everybody knows that all the people in Fey are slaves. Its not like Farallon, where most people are freedmen, and own their land. That's why Fey isn't a King, he's a Lord. He doesn't rule Fey, and the people in it. He owns them."

Ranma sat numbly. He was in shock. Why had Alana never told him this? He didn't want slaves. He didn't want to own people. "Uhm, yeah," he said, "she never, uh, told me any of that." She sure hadn't, and he meant to find out why!

He sat in silence for a minute, wondering why Arran was looking at him so strangely. "So, uh, Arran. You uh, wanna practice or something? Like those guys in the courtyard?"

Arran face contorted even more. "Practice? Ranma, those guys aren't practicing. They're competing. Haven't you ever seen a magic duel before?"

"Uh...," Ranma thought desperately. He had fought Lord Ereth's magic upon the stone... but did that count? Oh well, he couldn't admit to having seen that without admitting who he was, so, "Uhm... no?"

"Oh, geez. You're hopeless. Look, the idea is one guy does something, and keeps casting it, and tries to keep the other guy from dispelling it. Then you switch sides. Usually you got a third person there, to judge. And the winner is usually the guy who manages to keep from being dispelled. If you can't prevent yours from being dispelled, and the other guy does, then he wins. If neither of you can, then the guy with the more complex spell wins... although it really should be a tie. So now that you now, you wanna try it? I'll start, you try to dispell it."

When Ranma nodded, Arran concentrated, muttering, and moving his hands in arcane gestures, and the form of a songbird appeared between them. "Now try to dispell it," he said, "And I'll try to stop you."

Ranma had watched the threads come together, and seen their form, and he gave a light tap with his ki, and the threads fell apart. Arran gasped. "How... but... but you didn't cast anything! You didn't do anything!" He looked nonplussed, but quickly firmed his face, and began casting again. He wasn't going to be beaten so easily by the youngest guy there. He just wasn't. He was supposed to be a prodigy, not this darned kid. He summoned another bird, an eagle this time, and put twice the time and effort into it.

Ranma had realized that he had erred, and while Arran cast, he watched the courtyard, and saw the other boys were dispelling by weaving their own threads to attempt to pull apart the other boy's creation. It looked a lot harder than just tapping the right spot, but Ranma did want to fit in.

So this time, he mumbled and waggled his hands for effect, while he drew up the threads, wrapped them about Arran's creation, and pulled. It fell apart almost as easily. Arran gasped again, and Ranma cursed inwardly. He had done just what the other boys did. Why had it worked so damned easily?

Arran just gritted his teeth, and tried harder. He worked three times as long, and formed a wild stag between them. Ranma lifted a single thread this time, and used it to tug on one of Arran's. Arran gasped, and Ranma was shocked at the look of sudden strain on his face, as he broke into a sweat. Ranma tugged again, and the spell fell apart. "My God, you're strong," Arran gasped. I can't do another one, he thought to himself. "Ok, now you try," he said.

Ranma nodded, and gathered the threads. He duplicated Arran's eagle, and watched intently as Arran gathered numerous threads to tear at it. He noticed, now that he was observing only a single attempt, instead of many at once, that the action was far more indiscriminate. It was more like Arran was throwing the threads at it. He realized then, that Arran couldn't really see the threads, and so couldn't control them, the way Ranma could. Nonetheless, it worked, and his image fell apart. He realized that he wasn't sure what Arran had been doing to hold it together. Certainly, he had felt nothing when Arran tore his apart.

Ranma formed another, and this time, having watched how Arran's threads had pulled against his, he wound them together in such a way that each thread would resist pressure against the next, and the fall away spot was buried in the middle. The stag appeared between them. Arran tried, but his threads fell upon Ranma's and then fell away, achieving nothing.

"What?," he gasped, nonplussed by the complete lack of any response from Ranma. Sure the guy might be strong, but he ought to feel the strain, at least. Arran concentrated harder, and Ranma saw wave after wave of threads crash invisibly upon the little stag, and now the internal twistings and resistance of the threads made the stag seem almost alive. Ranma and Arran stared at it as it snorted, and reared, and lashed out with sharp hooves, before standing trembling, once Arran had ceased his attack. "My God," he said again, reaching out his hand towards it. "You made it real," he breathed. His hand touched the stag's back, and he felt the fur, before it snorted, and dashed away through the air, to hide behind Ranma's head.

Ranma felt frustration twisting in his guts as he looked at the awed expression on Arran's face. He had tried so hard to be like them, to fit in, and failed, completely. Arran was surprised at the suddenly crestfallen look that fell on Ranma's face, and the look of utter frustration that followed it.

"You didn't even mean to, did you?" Arran asked. Ranma shook his head, irritably.

"Look, Arran. I'm sorry. I just don't know how to do all this stuff right. I don't want people thinking I'm different, and treating me different. I just wanted to be like all the rest of them." He gestured out the door, in the direction of the courtyard.

"Hey, I won't tell anybody. But you're gonna have to do something about that, or it'll be darned obvious." Arran pointed at the deer, which was snuffling about in the air, looking for grass. "Its just too bad it wasn't a bird, or a fire lizard or something. Then you could just say it was your familiar. Its unusual to have a familiar this early, but not as much as having a deer running around your head."

Ranma looked up at him. "You mean it? You won't say anything?" When Arran nodded, puzzled at Ranma's serious, dark expression, and the budding hope in his eyes. "Hmmm. What's a fire lizard, Arran? I've never heard of them."

"I'll show you one," replied Arran. He cast again, and Ranma studied the little creature. It was like a little dragon, thin and long, but it had a fatter midbody, more like a lizard, really, and two extra limbs... long thin wings, like a bat's.

Ranma looked at the stag. Already, he could see the threads fading, falling back into the tapestry. But they were changed. The thing was holding its form, even as reality reclaimed it. He realized with a start, that Arran was right. Soon there would be almost no magic about it, but it would still be there, still be real. Already it was almost too late to touch the release, and undo the knot.

Ranma reached out, with real gentleness now, realizing that he had made this thing, and he was responsible for it, and he reshaped it into a lizard. He focused on even smaller details, making it not just the appearance of a thing, but the reality. He made sure it would have cohesion, resistance to dispelling magic, then thought back to his time with the lion pride, and gave it a playfulness, like the cubs. He considered the animals he had gutted and eaten with his father, and the way bird's bones fit together, and he knitted a skeleton of light, flexible something, not quite bone, but close.

Arran watched in silent wonder, focusing his mage sight, as he saw his roommate doing something extraordinary. Fire lizards weren't real. They were a story, a myth, and Arran had been half-joking.

Ranma wasn't joking. He was steadily crafting, creating, making them real. It was almost frightening. He realized then that he had been terribly foolish. He had been joking, but he had known how little Ranma knew. Ranma had believed him, that if he made it a fire lizard, people would believe it to be his familiar. But everyone, everyone except Ranma, that is, knew they weren't real. It was too late, too late to warn Ranma. He was already finishing it, adding the last touches...

Ranma had noticed the magic fading in it, and decided that it wasn't fair, to a creature born of magic, to lose it so easily. So he poured his ki and magic into the creature's heart, and tied it there with magic bonds, that it too might remain a thing of magic, even as it became real. Like the real dragon he had met, he gave it a breath of flame, and lines that would feed its claws and teeth with ki, that it might be strong enough for its prey.

Finally, he was done, just as he heard heavy feet pounding in the corridor outside. He took the little fire dragon in his hands, and held it to his body, warming it with his own heat. He heard a strangled cry of alarm, and looking up, saw Arran backing away from a large man standing in the door, red-faced.

"What is the meaning of this?" the man roared. Ramna could see innumerable faces trying to see around him. The boys from the courtyard. "Who's been casting spells of creation here?" He glared at Arran, assuming immediately that the older boy had to have done it. Even he was far to young to have such power, and the other boy was younger still. He was about to shout again, when the fire lizard, hitherto unnoticed by him, let out a soft creel. He turned to stare, and saw the golden creature cradled in the younger boy's arms.

"I guess I did, Master," replied Ranma. "It was an accident. Arran was trying to show me how to compete with magic, like they were doing in the courtyard." He pointed behind the Master, who whirled around. The boys scattered. The Master turned back, sighed and pulled the door shut behind him. He sat heavily on Arran's bed.

"Its alright, boy," he said to Arran. "I won't bite." He turned back to Ranma. "Let me see it," he commanded, holding out his hands. Ranma reluctantly handed over the little lizard, who creeled again in hunger. Ranma pulled a hunk of meat out of nowhere.

"Here, I think he's hungry," Ranma said, holding out the meat. The Master stared at him for a minute, then took the meat in his large hand, and fed it to the little creature. The Master examined it with his magesight, rubbing one thick calloused finger on the creature's head, behind the ears, and watching it push its head into his caress, and feeling it purr against his hand, and looked up in disbelief.

His voice was tinged with anger. "You expect me to believe you created this, this creature, by accident? Preposterous."

"No, no, let me explain," Ranma replied quickly, to forstay the Master's anger lest he harm the lizard. "It was a stag, or an image of one, that I created in mimicry of Arran's, that I accidentally made real. I've never done it before, I didn't even realize what I had done. Then Arran said I needed to do something about it quick, and I realized that the threads were falling back, but holding their shape. He said that it was too bad that it hadn't been a bird or a fire lizard, so I could claim it was my familiar. I made him show me what a fire lizard looked like, and then I made it like one. "

"You expect me to believe that this is only the second real thing you've ever created?" The Master raised his bushy eyebrows, his disbelief obvious.

"Well, yes. I mean, I created the two crystal roses, but they weren't real in the way it is. And its not the second, its the first. I didn't unmake the stag, I just changed it. I modeled it after the lion cubs and the dragon I met."

A sudden light of recognition lit the Master's eyes. "Aaaaahhh... Now I understand. You are Ranma Fey, aren't you?" He asked, his voice softer now.

"Yes, Master, I am." Ranma winced as he noticed Arran's stare. Arran was just realizing the implicatios... why Ranma had been surprised when Arran thought he was a slave... why he didn't want to say who had trained him. This little boy was the Lord Fey, who had defeated the champion of Arran's hometown, Lord Roga. Arran suddenly dropped off the bed, to his knees, and placed his head on his hands, on the floor. Ranma groaned. "Why'd you have to go and say that, Master? Arran," and he reached down, and lifted the boy bodily to his feet, "didn't I just get through saying I didn't want to be treated no different than anybody else. What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Fey," rumbled the Master. "I should have realized your intentions. Arran," he said, and the boy looked up at him. "You will say nothing of this to anyone." Arran nodded. "You will, of course, continue to help the Lord Fey fit in with the other boys. Explain the competition to him."

He turned back to Ranma. "I had hoped to have a chance to talk to you, before you came here, but I was held up." He settled back on the bed, but reached out, the lizard cradled in a single large palm as he handed it back to Ranma. Ranma took it in silence. "I hope you understand, Lord Fey, that though we will permit you to enter the competition, and stay here, none of this will have the slightest effect on the outcome of our decisions."

"Yes, I know," Ranma replied softly, with just a hint of sadness, "I realize that you can't have an outside Lord on your council. I'm not here for that. I'm here to learn as much as I can from watching the magic cast around here, so that I may in time learn enough to free the Lady. No-one else can do it, but I, so it falls to me to find a way. I appreciate your willingness to let me stay and observe."

"I am afraid you misunderstand me, Lord Fey," and laughter rumbled in his belly, "The reason you will have no effect on the outcome is simply that a place on our council is yours for the asking. You need win nothing to get that."

"What?" Ranma looked up at him with wide eyes. "But why?"

"We heard what you did with Lord Ereth, Lord Fey, how you faced him and his hounds. You freed them with an ease that no Archmage of Farallon could ever achieve. If only in your powers of dispelling, you have already earned your place on our council." Arran gasped. He had heard stories of the terrible Lord Ereth, and his Hounds.

"And now, you demonstrate that you have equal power in creation. I tell you, Ranma, not one in a thousand mages has the power and skill to create a truly living being, as you have done. A fascimile of one, certainly, a simulacrum, a thing that seems real, easily. But to truly create life? Twice over you have earned your place. If you will, then after the competition is over, and you have seen all you want, you will come and join our circle."

Ranma just gaped at him. Arran looked timidly at the Master. "Master, why do you say 'truly create life'? How can you tell that this fire lizard is more alive than that stag that he made?"

The Master laughed again. "Two reasons. First, the little creature seems to be Lord Fey's familiar. How he managed that, I'm not sure, but the link between them is there, clear as day. Second, its female, and its pregnant. Anyone can create a thing. Lord Fey has created a new race!" With that startling pronouncement, he stood and left.

Ranma looked down at the lizard he held. "Arran," he asked, looking up, "What's a familiar, anyway?" Arran fell off the bed in shock.

---

While Ranma's creation of the fire lizard had pretty much blown his pretense of being like every one else, he had also realized that with the range of his additional senses, he didn't need to be very close to anyone to observe their use of magic.

So when he and Arran walked out to the courtyard, and he heard the conversation just stop dead as everyone turned to look at him, he ignored them. He just looked around, picked a spot that looked good, and made a standing leap forty feet to settle on the edge of the roof over the barracks, looking down on the courtyard. He sat there and watched the boys, stroking his fire lizard.

The few boys who had been planning on razzing the youngest boy for getting in trouble with the Masters so soon after showing up, were silenced by his leap. Most of them were using mage sight, a necessity in their competitions, and there had been no hint of magic as he made that leap. If he was that strong, they wanted nothing to do with teasing him.

Ranma watched for a minute to be sure that Arran wasn't being excluded, but it looked like he didn't need to worry. Several groups invited him over. Ranma realized they were probably pumping Arran for information about him, but he wasn't worried.

Still stroking the lizard, Ranma extended his senses outward, until he could see all the activity in the field. Focusing now on one pair, now on another, Ranma began to notice subtler details about the boys' activities. He recognized that some of the boys were achieving identical effects with fewer threads and less power. Examining the differences between them, Ranma slowly got a feel for what the important parts of the spells were, and what was just extra.

Eventually, he began to experiment himself, conjuring creations in the air before him, to see how his capabilities compared with theirs. At first, his creations were clumsy, little better than those of the people he was watching. After several hours, as boys came and went, he had discovered that he could accomplish the most complex things they were doing in the field with a single thread, twisted about itself in a complex fashion. He also realized that as with his ki, as he practiced, he was steadily able to use less power to achieve a similar effect, by being more precise about his placements and pressures.

He also began to perceive the different schools of which Arran had spoken. While all the dispellings bore similarities, one to the other, he could perceive distinct classes of conjurations. Some were conjuring images, like Arran had done. He assumed they were the illusionists. Others were conjuring balls of fire or water, or summoning clouds of insects, while still others needed a forth participant, upon whom they cast some effect, while the other contestant attempted to dispell it.

---

When the competitions finally began, Ranma quickly rose in their ranks. He was careful to always use magic to dispell their conjurations, rather than his ki, to avoid charges of cheating. He only ever had to make one creation per contest. They never succeeded at dispelling his creations. He had gone to one of the Masters, who had carefully explained the theory behind creating real things, so that even though he still used the techniques of hiding the weak point in the center, and using countervailing resistance in the threads, they did not become real.

He underwent some individual testing with several Masters. One of them was able to determine that the lizard was in fact not Ranma's familiar. The large Master had simply seen the connection that had been the result of Ranma fueling the creature with his ki. Over time, the patterns of the lizard's ki flow changed to suit it, and the connection disappeared. The only thing that kept the little beggar with him, was the lion like personality. She looked to Ranma as the pack head, the chief lion... her mate.

He didn't face any real problems in the competition, until the second to last round. There, he faced one of the three girls who had entered. They were housed in a different portion of the complex, and he had not seen any of them before. This girl was about fifteen, well-developed, and quite pretty, with long black hair, a finely featured face, and flashing green eyes.

When she crafted her creation, he could not see it with his ki. He could see the delicate butterfly with his eyes, but to his ki-sight, it simply wasn't there. When he tried an educated guess with a single thread, the sudden look of pain on her face told him that he could destroy it. But unlike the boys, who felt no pain when he used a thread to simply touch the same spot he would touch with his ki, he would have to tear her butterfly apart, and it would hurt her terribly as she struggled to hold it together. He hurt inside already at the pain he had caused her.

He wanted to concede, but the girl grew furious at him. The Masters agreed with her. He had the power, they knew, and they could only assume he was refusing to use it because she was a girl. She was right to be angry at such unfair treatment. He tried to explain, but they didn't understand that he could dispell the boy's creations without causing them pain. All dispellings caused pain, they insisted.

Growing grim, he nodded. If he could not see her magic, maybe at least he could sever the connection. He concentrated, drawing up the threads... and suddenly she was frozen, unmoving, not even breathing. Her hair didn't respond to the wind... it was as if she had fallen out of time, and its inexorable pull no longer reached her. The Masters were quite disconcerted, but before they could react to save the girl, Ranma had dispelled her butterfly with a massive dispelling, that actually tore the air about the butterfly, becoming briefly visible, then gently drawn her back.

She had merely been confused, and hurt at being treated differently just because she was a girl. Magic was supposed to be one field where that didn't matter, where a woman could be as powerful as a man, or even stronger. She hadn't even realized what he had done. To her, it was the same as with the boys... he concentrated, and her butterfly was gone. To her, it proved his lie, that he had had no reason to treat her differently. But the Masters knew otherwise, and were astounded and afraid. They withdrew Ranma from the contest, fearing the consequences if they pushed him too far a second time.

They did let him enter the second competition. This one again tested the mage's ability to perceive and counteract the works of others. It was a long series of archways, doors, and openings, each bound by a magic user. They were successively harder... the first few were locked by cantrips cast by students, then real spells by first year students, on up to masters as you got deeper. The final door was locked by a combined spell cast by the top mage and the top magess of the council. No-one was expected to go all the way. You were judged, rather, on how far you got.

Ranma was the last to go, and all the Masters gathered to watch. This would be a sight, as Ranma was already justly famed for dispelling the magic that bound Lord Ereth's hounds.

In actual fact, it was a bit of a disappointing spectacle. Most of the other mage's attempts had been quite showy, as they tried to break through with sheer force of magic.

Ranma, in contrast, simply walked, and as he approached each door, each obstacle, it swung wide, or rolled upwards, or otherwise removed itself from his path. Not until the third to last door did he slow. This was one enchanted by a magess named Marla, and he simply stopped, and looked at it. He tried the door handle, and it refused to open. There was open muttering among the Masters, who were finally beginning to realize that there was in fact something different about feminine magic to this young man. There was no other reason for this door to be any different, and in this case, it was quite impossible for it to be any matter of prejudice with the boy. After all, he did not know who had cast the spells, and had no way of knowing that he was facing a female's work... unless there truly was a difference to him.

He punched the door, and the ringing of the iron resounded in the hall, drowning out Marla's gasp. She was not defending her spell, as the young girl had been, but she kept a light touch on it, wanting to see how he worked. She had felt his blow, a purely physical thing, but it had reverbrated through her magical construct.

Now he looked at the door, and looked around him. Then he centered himself, and pushed at the door. This was a quieter thing, and several of the Masters heard Marla's gasp, and saw her turn pale. The door did not open... no, rather, the entire construct, the entire line of doors, a construct of heavy iron and stone, slid several feet down the hall. Most of the Master's mouths fell open. Ranma looked slightly annoyed now.

He brightened, seeming to come to some realization. A sudden blue light flared about his hand, as he plunged it through the door. Marla fell to the floor as if shot. Several Masters rushed to her side, the rest watched in awe, as Ranma forced his other hand in beside the first, gripped the iron, and tore the door in half like a sheet of paper. There was a sharp crack, as Marla's spell failed, and she fainted.

They revived her in time to watch as he walked curiously through the second to last door, as if wondering why it wasn't harder than the previous one. He came to the last door, then, bound with cords he could see. Something felt familiar about it... like when he had looked and seen the chains that bound his Lady... there was something else there, something he couldn't see. Again he tried to touch the right spots, but the strands failed to separate. There was something else there, something holding them together.

He tried again to force his hand in, but the dual bindings resisted his ki claws. Gathering himself, and finding his center again, he placed his hands on the door. Centering himself to the floor, the portion of the construct beneath him, so that he was applying force to this piece of the construct, instead of the construct as a whole, he began to push.

Liliana and Mardo both grimaced at the strain, then gasped, as Ranma suddenly put the force of the Tai Chi Chuan behind himself. It was still not enough. He summoned the Neko-ken, and poured ki into his limbs. The Masters stared in awe, as he glowed a brilliant blue, in the form of a great cat. He strained harder, and sweat appeared on Liliana and Mardo's faces. The Masters were looking worried now. This was unheard of, to break so strong a spell with mere physical force, but they could see on Liliana and Mardo's faces that the spell was feeling great strain. They were watching with magic sight, so knew that in spite of the strange aura and sheer power, he had not yet employed any magic.

Ranma reached deeper yet, focusing on how he had extended the Neko-ken, and reached beyond that, even deeper, and drew up strands of magic into himself, into the pool of ki that fed the Neko-ken. That caused a truly interesting result... the ki and his body merged, as he swelled into a much larger form, grew hair and powerful claws, and teeth lengthened in his mouth. In moments, he looked like a six-foot tall tiger taken human form, and he pushed with his greatly enhanced strength, ki-filled limbs, and the power of the Tai Chi Chuan, and the doors burst asunder. Liliana and Mardo collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

Ranma turned, and roared his triumph, soaring with the rush of the Neko-ken, and something greater, and his roar shook the city. Then he noticed his hands... er, paws, and his rather greater height. Thankfully, he had been wearing clothes that merely looked normal, but were actually that same garment that had attached itself to him upon Lord Fey's death, and they had grown with him. Nevertheless, several of the female mages grew faint at the sight of him, huge and muscular, and well, sexy as hell.

Ranma stared down at himself, confused. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, and he hadn't the foggiest clue how to get back, until he finally noticed the threads of magic trapped in his ki. He brushed them casually aside, and suddenly fell back to his previous height. He grinned. That had been pretty cool, really, once he knew he could get rid of it.

His smile faded, as he walked slowly back towards the entrance. That last door had been so like his Lady's chains. He had not been able to free them. He had destroyed the chains, assuredly, but only by destroying the door as well. Not until he could face such a door, and open it without harming it, would he be able to free his Lady. What were these bonds, that he could not see, these threads that escaped his vision?

Liliana and Mardo revived shortly thereafter, and stared at the scene. Casting that door had been a personal yearly exercise for them. They were of the mutual opinion that every magic user should attempt at least once a year to surpass themselves, to cast something more powerful than they had cast the year before. After all, if you were capable of it, then it at least showed that you were steadily getting stronger, whether it actually assisted in that increase of strength or not.

This casting of the door was their personal best effort, each year. Every time this contest came around (the contest occurred yearly to measure the progress of the students, irrespective of whether there were openings on the council or not) they tried to surpass each other in binding the door. Every year, they had to devote considerable effort to disbanding the bonds. They would only do so, of course, after any Master who was interested had a go at it. At least one a year did, often several. It had never been broken though. The bonds had never been released, except by the two of them, working in tandem.

This boy, this mere child, had not only destroyed the doors, and burst asunder a spell that combined the ultimate power of two of the top mages on the council, he had not used any magic directed at the spell itself. The other watching Masters had been clear on that point. He had only used magic to increase his own strength. He had broken their most powerful spell, with directed physical energy, nothing more.

---

Ariana was assisting the other second year students in cleaning out the extra barracks, that had held the contestants during their stay, when she stopped outside one of the doors. Had she just heard a sob? She pushed lightly on the door, and it swung quietly inward. She stifled a gasp, as she realized what room this was, and who that was, lying on the bed. She had heard from Liliana what he had done. He should be out celebrating somewhere, triumphant, like the roar she had heard. Liliana had said that was him.

Yet here he lay, facedown on his bed, crying into his pillow. She entered the room quietly, noticing that the other boy's things were gone, and closed the door behind her. Muttering below her breath, she cast a warning and holding spell on the door, then turned to look at the boy.

His power was no less than it had been, so he hadn't burnt himself out, as she had heard one could do by trying to use too much power. She sat tentatively on the side of the bed, and lay one hand lightly on his shoulder. She felt his sobs cease instantly. He rubbed his face from side to side on the pillow, then pulled himself up, folding his legs up lotus style, to sit, looking at her, dry eyes a deep blue in his tear stained face. She had been about to try to comfort him, to ask him why he was crying, when she had felt him stiffen. She had drawn her hand back, and watched as he sat up to face her. Her fear came back to her. Iron will, Liliana had said, and he was showing it now. His pain was gone, vanished behind an emotionless mask.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, looking at his hard eyes. "I didn't mean to disturb you, I just... I heard you, and I thought..."

"It's alright, Lady. It's nothing," he said in a quiet voice, as his eyes softened. "You know, Lady, you left so quickly last time... I never learned your name."

"Oh! I'm sorry. I'm Ariana. I'm a second year student here." She tried to smile at him.

"A pretty name," he replied. "I thank you for your concern."

"Please... won't you let me help? Tell me what's wrong... please," she pleaded him. It frightened her, this mask. If he was hiding such pain, what else might he be hiding... and what would happen to them all when he could hide no more? She turned to face him, pulling her legs up beneath her. "I want to help."

He sighed. "There is nothing you can do, Ariana. I already asked you, you could not answer me."

"What?" Ariana was confused. What had he spoken to her about... Ah, yes... but how could her hiding her aura be causing him such pain. "I don't understand... you can't see my aura, you said that... but why should that make you cry? It didn't stop you from opening the last door. No-one's EVER done that before!"

"Yes," he said with bitterness, "But I had to destroy the door to do it." Finally, the mask had dropped, and she could see the pain in his eyes. She wanted to reach out to him, but held back, out of fear. She didn't want that mask to reappear.

"I don't understand. You've done something no else has ever done. How can that make you so sad?"

Tears started trickling down his cheeks again, and she could no longer resist. He looked just like her little brother, when he was hurt, and she reached out, and pulled him, unresisting, into her lap and held him while he spoke, not seeming to see or notice her, his voice low and quiet, and unaffected by his tears.

"I did what no one else has ever done... but I am the only one who can possibly do what I must do. I have to free her, but I can only see half her chains. It was the same with the door... I could only see half the chains. If I could have seen them all, it would have opened for me as easily as all the other doors did. But I could only see half, and I could not undo a single knot. I broke the chains, but only by destroying the door. I cannot do the same with her. I cannot allow harm to come to her... but I must destroy her chains. Yet I cannot see them." Ariana was crying now, not really understanding who he was speaking of, but feeling his pain at his unability to free her, whoever she was, feeling herself resonate with the deep pain that laced his voice.

"What do you mean, when you say you can see chains? What do they look like?"

"After I learned the Shining Darkness, I began to see threads in magic things. Its like there is a background to everything, of these threads, and magic is when these threads are drawn up to form something."

"Weird. That sounds kinda like the tapestry theory of magic... but that's just a theory, an idea. Nobody's been able to prove it."

"Really? Cool, I didn't know that."

"You weren't taught any magical theory?"

"Uhmm... not really. She just kinda pounded me with magic attacks until I started being able to feel their weak points, and break them. After a while, I was able to feel more points, and then to even feel where the magic was coming from. Then I duplicated one of her attacks, by the feel. After Master Kagano blinded me and taught me the..."

"You're blind?" she interrupted, shocked. "He blinded you, and then taught you? That's awful!"

"No, no, its not like that. I'm not blind anymore. It was temporary, to help me develop my sixth and seventh senses. Once I had mastered the Shining Darkness, I was able to actually see the threads. That's why I was able to do so well in the competitions. I can see the threads, and see the weak point, and I just have to tap it with a thread of magic, and the construct falls apart. Until I fought that girl. I don't know her name. She got really mad at me for some reason. I couldn't see her magic at all. I destroyed it finally, with sheer blind force."

"That's amazing! You really see the threads?"

"Yeah. That's how I created her." Ranma pointed to the head of his bed, and for the first time, Ariana saw the golden fire lizard, sleeping on the far side of his pillow.

"You... you created her? My word..." Ariana was in awe. The little creature was absolutely beautiful, and the slow rise and fall of her chest made it clear that she was alive.

"Yeah... it was kind of an accident..." Ariana gulped and looked at him wide-eyed. He had created that beautiful creature... by accident?!? Whoa... too deep, change the subject.

"Uhm... Ranma, why are you still here? Everyone else who came to the test has either returned to their homes, or been given rooms in the student quarters. You must have passed the tests, given what you did on the second challenge. Surely they're going to let you in?" Ariana hoped he wouldn't say they were going to refuse him a place because he was the Lord Fey. She thought her teachers were above such pettiness.

"Oh... well, no, not really. We're just going to be here another week. Apparently they've got to wait for Master Ikoju to get back before they can in... de... deduct me?"

"Induct you?" Ariana gasped. He couldn't mean what she thought he meant... could he? But then again, if he could create that fire lizard by accident, maybe he did belong on the council.

"Yeah, that. Master Mardo told me before the competitions began, when I made her," he pointed again at the sleeping lizard, who shifted slightly, wings rustling. "that I could have a place on the Council if I wanted it."

She gaped at him, though he couldn't see it. He still didn't seem to notice, or at least to have reacted, to the fact that he was sitting in her lap. She didn't realize that that was because he was in fact used to it. Whenever he got emotional, or tried to retreat from her, the Lady Alana would pull him onto her lap and cradle him, as if to remind him of the first time she had done that, to remind him that he had already opened up before her, poured out his fears to her. It wasn't that he didn't realize he was sitting on her lap. It just hadn't really dawned on him that this wasn't Alana he was talking to. Oh, he realized it consciously, but subconsciously, it was all so like his conversations with Alana that his defensive reactions never kicked in.

In this position, facing away from the person he was speaking to, cradled and held by them, he could both feel assured of their love and yet, since he couldn't see them, he could pretend to himself that he was alone, and so it was okay to be open. He was still trying to bury his pain and fear behind the wall of ice, but he was not yet strong enough to hold it in. He could not bear to see the pain in Alana's eyes, though, so he spoke of it, only while sitting on her lap, facing away, where he could not see her.

"Mardo and Liliana spent some time explaining to me what the duties are, that would go along with the position. They didn't seem too bad, and it would give me a chance to observe some really powerful casting. I think I'll come back next year, before the competition, to watch them cast the door, and then I'll try to open it again. Maybe if I can manage to open that door without breaking it, I'll be able to free the Lady. Someday. I swear it."

"I believe you," she said intensely. He realized suddenly, where he was, and who he was with. This wasn't Alana. Instantly he was out of her lap, standing before her, the mask again on his face, though his eyes were downcast. His face was an emotionless mask... but his body posture spoke to her of... shame?

"I'm sorry, Ariana. I didn't realize... I didn't mean to burden you with that." As he said the last, in a firm tone full of sincere contrition, he raised his eyes to her face. For the first time, he realized she was crying, and the mask seemed to break, and fall from his face as he dropped to his knees before her. "Oh, please, Ariana, don't cry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please don't cry."

She smiled at him through her tears. "Don't worry, Ranma. Its alright. Sometimes it feels good to cry. I always cry when I read a romantic story. You obviously love her very much. Who is she?"

He looked up at her. "The Lady Alana," he said absently, puzzling over her words. Sometimes it feels good to cry? She wanted to cry?

"Oh..." she breathed out slowly. Wow. That was even more romantic... the story of her and Lord Fey was the most tragic love story Ariana had ever heard... and he was trying to free her? "But I thought you freed her when you killed the Lord Fey?" Just like a knight in a story, freeing the beautiful princess. But the stories never had the seven-year old knight freeing a lady several hundred years his senior.

"No. The bonds that trapped her with him are still there. They bind her to me now, and so I must free her."

"Oh... that's wonderfully romantic...," she sighed. Maybe one day, someone would come and try to free her... No, she was going to be a magess, she didn't need someone to save her. It would be sweet, though...

Ranma looked at her curiously. At least she had stopped crying. She thought it was romantic, that the Lady Alana was trapped loving a kid, when she should be free to roam the skies? Weird, definitely weird.

"You should consider staying here. You said she hasn't taught you any theory. Maybe if you learned more of the theory, you might come up with a way to free her?"

"Oh... uhm. I never thought of that. I'm not really good at studying, and school, and stuff. I'll ask the Lady." He jumped up. "Thanks, Ariana," he said, smiling at her, and then with a whoosh, he was gone... through the door, which burst asunder, and cast sparks about. Oh well... a simple locking and warning spell couldn't be expected to stand up to the boy who could take out the most powerful holding spell ever devised. She wondered why he hadn't dispelled it, then realized he must not have been able to see it.

It was then she finally recognized the connection. He hadn't been able to see that one girl's spell, nor Marla's, nor half of Liliana and Mardo's, and he hadn't noticed her spell on the door, and couldn't see her magic aura. She was stunned at how obvious it was. He was blind to the female principle. If the theory of the tapestry was right, then basically he could see only the woof, but not the deeper warp threads.

She sat for a time, pondering the implications of that, only to look up startled, when she felt a sharp pricking on her thigh. She looked down to see the fire lizard staring up at her, one tiny claw resting on her thigh. It creeled at her. "Oh, hello... are you hungry? Or do you just miss Ranma?" She sat stiff as it proceeded to crawl up her dress, to lie on her shoulder, and throttle her neck with its tail. When its tail wrapped about her, she felt a sudden pang of hunger. "Alright, I'll find you some food," she said.

Ranma raced down the halls. He had not seen the Lady since the competitions had begun, and he was eager to speak with her.

In the end, Ranma spent nearly six months in the Mage Towers, learning theory, while at his behest, Alana worked on a plan to free his people from slavery without causing hardship or a revolt. While there, he learned most of the theory of magic. He amazed the teachers by the speed of his learning, and also by his remarkable ability to cast magic from even diametrically opposed schools with ease. It wasn't all magic, though. Since mages inevitably have to deal with nobility, and since they often come from humble beginnings, the mage school had classes for subjects like diplomacy, etiquette, and courtly protocols, that Alana made Ranma take. When he left, the fire lizard stayed behind. He left her in the care of Liliana and Ariana. He had too many burdens to care for a new race, and they were delighted at the opportunity. The secondary reason, of course, was that she had lain her eggs in her nest, and it was thought unwise to move them.

---

When news of the Lord Fey's new position as a Mage of the Mage Towers reached Krall, the blow had been softened by a steady diet of failure. Krall faced the fact that he would simply not be able to eliminate the boy alone. If he wanted to take Fey Castle, he would have to use more traditional means, and that would be most easily accomplished if he had a proper army.

This was an especially harsh decision to have to make, in light of the beating his forces had taken during the purge, which at this point, was still ongoing, though it had slowed significantly. Krall was beginning to question his decision to hand that operation over to Friss, but no longer had the leverage to contest it.

No, he would have to begin a slow process of rebuilding. Well, hopefully he would be able to position himself to take one of these damn countries, then he would be able to seed their army with his own forces, and commence with some serious training. However he accomplished it, he would avenge his loss... perhaps at the right time, an alliance with the Lord Ereth would provide sufficient force.

Or even more interesting, perhaps he could convince the Lord Ereth to move against the damned dragon that had taken the boy and the Lady Alana past the forces arrayed against him. If the boy went to the dragon's defense, it would leave his own land undefended.

No matter, it would be five years at the least, more likely six to nine, before he would be in a position to execute either plan.

The True Neko-Ken

When the time for the annual competition came around again, in Ranma's ninth year, he and the Lady prepared to return to the Mage Towers. Ranma had spent the intervening time working on magic with the Lady, learning to perfect his own style of casting. On his own time, he had worked out innumerable uses of magic that would fit into his fighting style. Of course, he was unsure whether he would ever use them, as he preferred to fight on his opponent's level, but it was part of his family's style, to take everything that he had learned, and integrate it into his style.

He also spent time in training the masters in his Dojo. Then too, there was the young man who had appeared one day, a Nameless, who had asked for training, claiming to have been sent by an oracle who had told him to seek training under the Lord Fey. He was on some quest for vengeance, and had left after training for only six months, but he had promised to return, when Ranma offered to give him his name. He claimed that he could not accept the name of Fey, until he had attained his vengeance for the loss of his former name, and his family. He was of particular interest to Ranma, for Li, which was the only name he would give, was oriental. Up to that point, the only people of apparent oriental origin that Ranma had encountered had been his Lady, and her sister.

They did not prepare for a long journey this time. His studies with the mages there had borne little fruit, but he had learned what he they could teach him, and they would not stay there long. Instead, they prepared what they would need for their stay in the Mage Towers, and on the day the competition was to begin, Ranma led the Lady Alana to the scrying room.

There, he filled the basin with water, calmed it with his ki, then drew up his power, and focused it into the basin. When the water cleared, they could see the main entrance of the Mage Towers before them. Ranma used it to guide his ki as he wove the threads together about them, and when he released the threads, the paths of their return opened a path between places, a doorway in the air, through which they stepped, from his summoning room, into the bright sunshine that poured down upon the open courtyard. They were greeted by the Magess Liliana.

This time Ranma did not object to the rooms they were offered in the Nobles' Hall. He was quick to ask Ariana to guide him to where the young wizards were practicing though. This time, she did not walk with downcast eyes. Instead, she held her eyes on him, taking in the changes a year had wrought. In the two years he had been with the Lady Alana, he had filled out and gained several inches in height. Now he looked his age, instead of younger. The difference in their years was still too great for her to look on him as more than a friend, but she felt some pride in him, the pride a sister might feel for a brother who has done well for himself.

He had missed last year's competition amongst the students of the Mage Towers. The competition he had attended had been more like an entrance exam, and the competitors had been trained by outsiders. The ones he watched now, as he sat again in his familiar perch above the barracks, though these were not the same barracks he had lived in, were definitely more skilled, and he was delighted at some of the things they were able to do.

When he joined the Masters to watch the first rounds of competition, he was surprised to see that many of them had a fire lizard on a shoulder or carried in the crook of an arm. "Your children have become quite popular, Ranma," Liliana assured him. "They make excellent familiars. They are remarkably intelligent, and can be taught simple magic. Not to mention lighting candles with their breath." Her eyes glinted with humour, for a silvery lizard rested upon her own shoulder, and its eyes glinted iwth a mischievous light. He smiled back, and turning from watching the success of his accidental creation, fixed his eyes and his ki sight on the contests going on before him.

The next day, he went with Ariana to watch Liliana and Mardo again cast the doors. "You know," Ariana said to him, laughing softly as they watched the preparations, "the ironmongers in town call on the blessings of the great Tiger Fey now. Their coffers were filled with gold when they had to work for several weeks to craft these new doors, for the last and third to last challenges. It was many years ago, the first time they crafted these. They praise you, because you destroyed the doors, and forced them to be reforged, for the first time since they were created."

Ranma groaned, then sighed, and said, the sadness evident in his voice, "Perhaps this will be the year that I can open the door without destroying it." He moved closer, and focused his mage sight and his ki, as Mardo and Liliana began to weave their spell.

When it was complete, Ariana again turned to him. "You know, the Masters decided this year to open your trial to the public. I hope you don't mind. All the city heard your roar that day, and it took the Masters considerable time and effort to prevent a panic. Also, all the students will be there to watch. Liliana said it's to keep us humble. More of the doors this year have been enspelled by women, to give you more chances, and because you have really made the Masters recognize that there really is a difference."

"Its ironic, Ariana. I will be humiliated before a whole city, when I fail to open that door without destroying it. Yet they will cheer, and think that I have triumphed. At least you will know. You will understand that I have failed again."

"Don't be so negative. You might get it this time," Ariana scolded him. She hated to see anyone looking so depressed.

He smiled at her, but it was a sad smile. "I need no false modesty, Ariana. I have watched the casting. I do not yet know enough, or see enough, to open these doors the way I need to. Perhaps I will be able to use less force, to be more gentle. Nonetheless, I am still far from being able to free my lady. You know, I never really thanked you for what you did for me the last time."

He looked up into her brown eyes, and smiled at her. "Thank you, Ariana. The training I received here a year ago was well worth having, and I appreciate it, and the comfort you gave me. I still regret laying my burden on you, but I am glad you were willing to help me bear it."

She smiled down at him, thinking how much he looked like her little brother when he smiled like that. It was too bad he didn't smile more often. "I'll be there for you again, Ranma. Come to me, please. Don't run and hide again."

"I will," he said, and his eyes held a promise to her, and he always kept his promises.

Over the next several days, Ariana was rarely far from him. She was his designated guide for his stay, and she enjoyed his company. After one of the competitions, as she led him back to his room, she asked him, "Ranma, I heard something from a guy I met in the city guard a few months ago. He was in the border guards, and he said that when they guided you through Farallon, to the other side... well, that you played a flute every night?"

"Yes, I did. I play for the Lady. Given what she has had to give up by being bound to me, I do what I can to give back. I cook for her, and I play for her, and I take her flying. Why do you ask?"

"Well...," Ariana flushed, embarrassed. "I just... wondered why you never played while you were here?"

"Oh. Well, the flute I play is really the Dragon Fang, and the Lady said it was impolite to bring weapons here. So I haven't anything to play."

"If...," and Ariana flushed again. He did this for his Lady, he said, because of what he had given up. Why would he want to play for her? "If I could find a flute for you, would you play for me?," she asked in a rush, then turned away to hide her embarrassment. He didn't seem to notice.

"Sure, that'd be cool. Then I could play for the Lady again," he replied.

A short while later, Ariana was sitting on a couch in Ranma's room, while he settled himself in lotus position on the bed. He was holding a metal flute that she had borrowed from Liliana. He fingered it for a moment, examining the differences between it and his normal instrument. Then he put it to his lips, and began to play.

Ariana found herself riding an emotional roller coaster, as Ranma poured his heart into his music, his eyes closed. He played his his joy at soaring in the clouds with his Lady, his pleasure in the delight she took in their regular flights. Then he focused on the pain he felt each time they landed, and he knew that she could not do this except with him, because of him. He played his fear that he would never be strong enough to free her, a fear that was deep within him, but one he never dared put into words. He poured his hope into the flute, his hope that the door bound by Liliana and Mardo might one day open before him, and tell him that he was ready.

He poured himself into his playing, and when he finally stopped, it was several minutes before Ariana realized it. As she came back to herself, she suddenly became aware that he had stopped, and was looking at her curiously, and that there were tears trickling down her face.

She jumped up and swept him off the bed, hugging him and swinging him around. "That was wonderful, Ranma! Thank you." She finally set him down. He looked a little dazed. She grinned, and bent over to kiss his cheek, before stealing from the room, leaving him there with a look of confusion on his face. He had been curious to see her reaction, stunned to see her tears, and confused by her seeming happiness and enjoyment, in spite of her tears.

"I'll never understand girls."

---

The heavy doors swung wide before him, and Ranma, the Lord Fey, dressed at the Mages' encouragement in the Dragon Armor which he had summoned from its resting place in his hall, entered the long hall slowly, taking in the challenge before him, the long sequence of locked and magically held openings. He heard the swell of cheers, and the sibilant but muted roar of conversation. He looked to either side, and saw that the long rows of seats on either side, that stretched up and away toward the distant sky above the open air hall, that had been empty when last he was here, were now full.

To his right, on the lower levels, extending on down to the end, were seated the students of the Mage Towers. To his left, in the long flat low-walled observation area, were the Mages. Behind the Mages and the students, on both sides, filling the stands, were the people of the town. He saw one group of heavyset men cheering lustily on his left, shouting out something about tigers, just behind the mages, and assumed them to be the iron-mongers. They, if he again failed in his task, would get a healthy commission to build the new doors. He would disappoint either them or himself today. He suspected it would be himself.

He stepped towards the first door, pausing before he reached it to direct a deep bow toward the watching mages. The door was bound by a man, and he tapped lightly with his ki. The bonds fell away, and his ki pushed the door open before him. The crowd's roar grew muted as they settled in to watch.

He stepped lightly to the second door, an oaken thing. He could sense nothing about it, so assumed it had been bound by a woman. This was only the second door, so it would not be strong... He reached out, and opened the door. It resisted him, but he gave a sharp tug, and it opened. The spell cracked the air as it failed, and the door fell to dust, leaving him holding the doorknob with a startled expression on his face. Laughter swept the crowd, as he tossed the doorknob over his shoulder. They could not see his face behind his helm, not from this distance, but his posture had left no mistake as to his surprise and startlement.

The next door again gave easily before him. When about the next, a heavy wooden door bound with iron bands, he could again feel no magic, he guessed they must have decided to simply alternate male and female. He decided that he didn't really want the door too near him when it did whatever it was going to do, so he stepped back. Remembering Ariana's request to put on a good show to keep the city people happy, he allowed a blue glow to gather about his hands, then thrust them forward. That was just an act, as what he really did was to center himself to the construct, and when he thrust his hands forward, he used the Tai Chi Chuan to give the door a mighty thrust. It burst from its hinges, flying forward to shatter in a flare of crackling energy against the next obstacle.

Ranma stepped through. The next door was again one that he could open simply, but he had heard the crowd's sigh when he had simply walked through as the door opened before him on the last male bound door. Oh, well, he decided, if they want a show, I'll give them one.

Again, the crowd watched in awe as a blue glow gathered about his hands, only to lance forward in a stream of blue light that struck the door, shattering it. He had released the door's bonds before attacking it, so there was no backlash.

They followed their pattern, alternating, as he steadily worked his way through the doors, to the cheers of the crowds. When he reached Marla's door, he gave her a warning glance, to which she nodded, before he repeated his previous manuever, smiling as the crowds gasped in awe as he tore the heavy iron apart like paper. The cheer that went up from the ironmongers was heard over the rest of the crowd, as they shouted with one voice, "Tiger Fey!" He shattered the next door with a single punch, then stood before the last door.

He tuned the crowd out, as he sought to release the door, touching here and there on it, trying to use what he had seen. But it was no use. He would not be able to free it that way. Giving up, he heard the crowd chanting, "Tiger. Tiger." He decided to give them what they had come to see.

He stood before the door, and called up his aura, which licked about him like blue flames. He waited as surprise and awe quieted the crowd, then focused, and drew on the Neko-ken. His aura became like a half-tiger, surrounding him, obscuring him from view with its blue spectral appearance. It seemed solid and real, though blue flames still licked and rippled across it.

He drew up the threads of magic into himself with more power this time, and again, he swelled into the image, becoming the half-man, half-tiger creature again. He was taller this time, nearly seven feet. The Dragon Armor still hugged his muscular curves, causing many of the watching women to feel the heat of desire. Focusing, he drew again on his ki, and now blue fire flickered about his form again.

He thought about that for a minute... He had taken on the form of his ki, but his ki was still about him. A sudden idea struck him... it would be hard, but if he could pull this off, he'd really give them a show. He concentrated, and his aura flared up around him, surrounding him completely in blue flames. He reached again for the Neko-ken, wondering what shape it would take now that he already was a cat. There were gasps and mutters around him now, exclamations of awe, as his aura formed into a nearly ten foot tall shape, reptilian, with huge wings that lanced out from behind him.

He reached again, and pulled up more threads, pouring the magic power into this new pool of ki. And again he grew, and changed, becoming physically, a ten foot tall scaled dragon-man, with a twenty foot wingspan. He stretched his wings, marveling that they actually moved. It was one thing to take on the form of a tiger... but he had actually given himself a third pair of limbs, and they worked! He realized suddenly that this had been a bit foolish. What if the Dragon Armor hadn't formed holes for his wings? That could have been quite painful.

He looked over to the mages, a peculiar draconic grin on his face, as curls of flame escaped his mouth, and saw the blank, glazed look on Alana's face. Suddenly, he felt shamed. In his haste, he had not considered what pain it might cause her to see that he could take on a draconic form, and she could not. He turned back, determined to get this over with quickly, to save her further pain. He didn't realize that her look was not glazed with pain, but desire. While the magic was happy to let her feel maternal love for the little boy, when she looked upon the one she loved and saw a powerful dragon, it returned full force as a bestial desire. Her eye's were glazed with hunger, and she was not alone in that.

Ranma looked at the doors. He could snap the magic and open them with a single punch, he realized. He wondered what the backlash would be like... he grinned. His fist slammed into the doors, and they burst asunder, as flame gouted upward, enveloping them and him in searing flames. He didn't feel the heat of the flames, only the heat of his triumph, as the cat and draconic urges he was feeling forced him to lean his head back and roar to the heavens in exaltation!

His ki filled draconic roar shook the hall, reverbrating in the excited crowd's bones. Even as his roar faded, and the primitive urges he felt from the cat and dragon bodies were sated, his shame and failure came home to him. He banished the dual forms, and collapsed to his knees, crying hot burning tears of shame. Alana, who had leaped down and run towards him when he roared, the flames of desire overcoming her, stopped suddenly when he became human again, but immediately returned to her forward motion, maternal concern now her driving force. She reached him just as Ariana did from the other side, and she saw the genuine concern in the young woman's face as she looked down on the crying boy.

"We've got to get him out of here. If the iron-mongers or the Masters come and try to congratulate him while he's like this, I don't know what he'll do," Ariana shouted to be heard over the din of the crowd.

"Help me carry him," Alana replied, "He's heavy with his armor on." She reached out to him, then drew back. "Careful, its still hot from those flames. We've got to cool him off first." They both cast wind spells then, drawing the heat away from his body, until they could lift him between them, and spirit him away from the hall.

They brought him to his room. He collapsed into sleep as soon as they lay him on his bed, having become only just aware enough to banish the Dragon Armor somewhere along the way. They worked quietly together, removing his outer clothing, and getting him under the blankets.

Alana and Ariana sat by his bed. Ariana told Alana of finding him and comforting him after his seeming success the previous year. Alana, in her turn, after making Ariana promise never to tell Ranma, told her of his early life, and what had happened to him that prevented him from being able to sense feminine magic.

Ariana began to question her about other things Ranma had said, and Alana soon found herself telling Ariana the whole story, from the first day that Ranma had come to her, and freed her from Fey only to bind her to him.

Time Well Spent

When they returned to the castle, Alana spoke to him about what he had done. Under her guidance, he started studying the power, extending on it, and coming to understand it. She showed him the traditional ways of using magic to change forms.

He found that when transformed using traditional means, most of his power was unreachable. He could take on the form of almost any animal, but while in the form, about the only magic he could accomplish was to allow himself to return to his normal form, or take on a different form. He could still access his ki though, and while he could not channel or use as much in the smaller forms, he could use his ki claws, and he could use the Juushin Jisei Ryuu techniques.

In spite of the disadvantages, he spent time in a number of forms over the next year, amongst training with a number of masters, and teaching in his dojo.

He became a garden snake, in his own gardens, and learned to slither, to move by pressing himself against the ground. He learned to track scents, and interpret the information his heat sensitive glands gave him.

He became an adder, and learned how to strike, to coil his body in layers of tension, before throwing himself forward with blinding speed to sink his fangs into a target, pouring in the venom that would disable it.

He took the form of a constricting snake, a boa, and practiced by wrapping himself around stone statues and applying pressure until they crumbled to dust within his powerful coils. He also learned, in the beautiful ten foot body of the boa, to climb trees, and move from tree to tree.

A lizard, next, small and lithe. He learned how to focus on his environment to get his skin to shift in shade and color, and make himself nearly invisible against almost any surface, and how to use his claws to race across the ground, and to scale vertical surfaces at nearly equal speed.

He entered a pond as a snake first, learning to swim as such, then as a fish. He didn't care much for being a fish. Most of the other fish would leave a snake alone, but as a fish, he was constantly darting away.

He moved to mammals, and became a ferret. He liked that... it moved much like a snake or lizard, but he had more energy, less desire to just sit in the sun or shade and do nothing.

Though Ranma didn't really think of himself as a predator, he quickly learned that taking predatory forms was the best way to avoid other predators, though it didn't always work.

It was during this time that Arkus returned his attention to Ranma. Initially he couldn't find Ranma, until rather suddenly a garden snake ballooned into a young boy. At first, he was delighted. Ranma was putting himself in real danger. With only the most minor of tweaks, Arkus should be able to get him near something truly dangerous to whatever form he was in, and then, snap, it would all be over. But the boy seemed to glance around as if irritated by something, and reach out as if to flick it away.

Arkus' mirror proceeded to explode, sending shards of silvered glass everywhere. Arkus swore. Obviously the boy had reached a level of awareness equal to that of that damned Master, but he was far more powerful. Arkus decided that when he recovered and managed to replace his mirror, he would have to have a basin installed. Water was much safer for scrying on the brat.

Finally, Ranma moved on to birds, and learned to fly. He learned to hover as a hummingbird, spent considerable time as a crow learning both to fly for long distances, and more importantly, how to behave as part of a flock, then moved on to the larger birds of prey, learning to soar, and to seek and ride the thermals, the rising columns of air that could lift him high into the sky. He also learned to employ the curiously disjoint vision of the eagle, the normal sight surrounding a little circle of magnified vision. He learned to spot movement on the ground far far below him, and enter a dive that would take him straight to that point, before snapping back out into a strong upward climb.

His ki forms, on the other hand, were vastly more powerful than the traditional forms. He never took dragon form around Alana again, fearing to cause her pain, but he studied it, and learned to fly with it. He discovered that he could not take just any form with this technique. There seemed to be something peculiar specifically about tigers and dragons. He supposed this wasn't unexpected, considering the place they held in Chinese mythology, symbolizing the yin/yang duality.

Unfortunately for Arkus, Ranma had mastered these mere two forms, and moved on with his studies by the time his new mirror was obtained, and a basin installed for water based scrying.

The time passed quickly, now that there was no more need to go on long journeys. The masters started changing faster, staying with him for only two months, then just one month, before telling him that they could teach him no more, and moving on.

Between the masters, and with the help of a few of them, Ranma learned ot fight in his animal forms, to adapt his art to their capacities, and in turn, learned new moves for his normal form based on the natural fighting patterns of the animals he became, a process with overall reminded him of some of the varieties of Kung Fu he had learned.

---

In his tenth year, Ranma again faced the Mage Tower challenge. This time only the Masters and students of the Mage Tower were in attendance. Ranma walked easily through the male doors, but focused on using magic on the female doors. Instead of using his ki, or his strength to get through the female doors, he used his magic to destroy the spells. It was an impressive spectacle, but nothing on the scale of what had happened his ninth year.

He spent considerable time in front of the last door, and was able to weaken the chains, and undo a few knots, and push the doors open using only his strength, the Neko-ken, and the Juushin Jisei, not bothering to transform. This was enough of a victory that he willingly joined the celebration afterward.

Alana, having fewer options now, in terms of skilled masters, or new arts, managed to find a theme for the year's masters that greatly appealed to Ranma. These were masters of martial arts based on various extremes, mostly extreme natural environments, and they took advantage of his powers, to have him bring them to remote places, to train in those extreme conditions.

This also marked a year of constant activity on the part of Arkus, though indirectly. He had successfully summoned a powerful demon. To avoid the restrictions his Lady had placed on him, and delighting in the appropriateness of the boy's choice of training regimens, he summoned a demon capable of summoning elementals, spirits from planes of elemental extremes, and binding them to natural elements, and set him to torment the boy, and destroy him if possible.

---

Ranma sat in lotus position before a large basin of water, across from Master Tufi, a small man with a long blue beard, and blue hairs, and a constant aura of cold about him. Master Tufi was peering into the water, and describing his requirements, as Ranma guided the view, searching for a location that would fit the needs of this Master of Winter-Elemental Martial Arts.

"Mountains are good, yes, but what I am really looking for, young teishi, is a good glacier..."

"What is a glacier, sensei? I am unfamiliar with the term," replied Ranma, momentarily releasing his control of the scry, so that the view stilled.

"A massive sheet of ice, teishi, sometimes a mile or more thick. Look for a more northern range of mountains, rather than a mountain alone, and perhaps we'll find one."

Ranma nodded, and resumed his concentration, as the view in the scry blurred and stilled in a constant cycle, as the search continued. Finally, it settled on the edge of what looked like a thick crinkled wall of ice. "Is that a glacier, sensei?"

"Yes, very good, teishi. Now, find a cave in the mountainside near the upper rim of the glacier somewhere."

Master Tufi was grateful for long experience in schooling his expressions, when a few minutes later, after locating a cave meeting Tufi's requirements, Ranma casually opened a doorway leading onto the sheet of ice. Ranma hefted both packs, his own and the Master's, and Tufi led the way through the opening, out onto the sheet of ice.

Ranma covered his eyes, startled at the dazzling white glare. Tufi spun to face him, eyes glinting with amusement. "You'll get used to it, teishi... or go blind."

Ranma nodded in acknowledgment, and slowly pulled his hands away, allowing his eyes to adjust. Tufi motioned toward the cave. "Come on teishi, we'll set up camp first."

Ranma dismissed the doorway, and followed the small man. As he did so, he focused his sixth sense, observing the ki flows in the older man, trying to see what he was doing to adapt to the cold environment.

As they set up the tents within the protective enclosure of the cave, after Ranma assured Tufi that he could sense no sources of ki in the unlit depths, Ranma focused on attempting to mimic the ki flows, as well as trying to guess the purpose behind them.

When Tufi led him back out onto the glacier to begin the lecture, Ranma felt he was already well on his way. He had managed to mimic some of the flows, and noted that his feet no longer felt cold. It was not that they were warm, for if anything, even less heat was escaping to melt the ice on which he walked, rather, it was as if the ki flows were preventing the escape of the heat.

Tufi turned to face him. "Now, teishi, you will need a strong control of your ki for this. What you must do..." He broke off, looking closer at the boy, then laughed aloud. "Well, I see the Lady was right. You are indeed a prodigy... I see you have already begun to get the idea. Very well, teishi, start a simple kata, and I will instruct you as you do so."

When Ranma nodded and began one of his simpler katas, one which did not involve any of the aerial aspects of his school, Master Tufi continued. "What you must do is use your aura to prevent the escape of heat from your body. Most people when trying to deal with the cold, try to shield against it, in some way, or increase their own heat. This is the way of foolishness, teishi. The way of wisdom, is to recognize that cold is the absence of heat, and that it is the flow of your heat into the chill that surrounds you that causes you to feel cold, not the cold invading from outside. Seek not to prevent the cold's entrance, but to prevent your heat's exit, and you will succeed."

Tufi watched, and made occasional comments, as Ranma sought to perfect the technique. Whenever he erred, he could almost feel the heat rushing to leave him, and several times he slipped when an accidental wave of heat through his feet melted the ice below.

Tufi was considering the next step in the training, when the demon summoned by Arkus acted. It summoned an air elemental, and sent it to attack Ranma.

Ranma felt a tingling, and got a sense of approaching danger, but saw nothing to concern him, up to the very moment that what felt like a massive and powerful fist slammed into his chest, sending him rocketing across the ice to slam into the rocks by the side of the cave.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, and extended his senses to get his bearings. He sensed no attacker, no ki, even as he was hit with a powerful uppercut, that sent him twenty feet into the air, and slamming back onto the ice, cracking it where he hit.

This one was more expected though, and he had had time to focus his ki into his limbs, and so was able to leap directly to his feet. Invoking his mage sight, he looked about him again, and this time he was able to make out the movements of the indistinct figure in the air.

Tufi was moving quickly towards the wall, away from the fight, unable to sense what was attacking his student, but not yet willing to intervene.

Ranma tensed as it approached, then fired a three-punch combination that led into a spin-kick. He hit nothing, and in the middle of the kick received a blow to the leg that increased his rate of spin, nearly causing him to lose his balance completely. He recovered, and focused again until he could once more perceive his attackers approximate location.

Remembering the dragon form's peculiar ability to see air currents, he focused the Neko-ken, and drew up the magic into himself, swelling into his tiger form, then past it into his half-dragon form. The first thing he noticed was that he was suffering no heat loss, though he had been forced to allow that flow of ki to lapse to summon the Neko-ken.

Not questioning his good fortune, he eyed the enemy, and was shocked to see that it seemed in fact to be composed of air currents. He had expected to perceive it by the air it displaced, not to discover that it was air itself.

Grinning, he thought of a technique that would probably have an impact, and when it approached again, its fist driving forward, he punched as fast as he could, cracking the air, and sending a series of compressed shockwaves through the air towards the creature. Indeed, its advance halted, and it writhed, as if in pain, then rose up, coming down towards him from above.

He dove out of the way, and as he rolled, he released the Neko-ken, banishing the dragon form. Useful as the sight was, if the dragon form was immune to the cold, he would not be learning what he needed to learn here by fighting in it. He leapt back to his feet, and wove a quick skein of magic to give himself dragon sight in his natural form.

He focused on it again, just in time to receive a heavy blow to the face, followed by a strike to the chest that slammed him into the large slabs of rock that jutted up through a portion of the glacier, which actually were the tip of a rocky spire the glacier had flowed around.

He felt a chill creeping into his limbs, and groaned as he rose, realizing that he had neglected, on releasing the transformation, to reinstate the protective ki flows. He did so, but still felt cold. Realizing that he had lost too much body heat, he focused on pulling heat from the air, to replace what he'd lost. After all, if his heat had escaped into the air, then there must be heat there to be regained, he decided.

The air elemental, irritated that this mortal shrugged off its powerful blows, began stirring the air, creating a vortex that drew up snow off the surface of the ice, creating a visible white funnel, then directed it at the mortal.

Ranma was distracted from his concentration on the ki technique necessary to regain his body heat when he was suddenly surrounded by swirling ice crystals. Contrary to the air elemental's intent, the driving snow did not draw any heat from Ranma, for his protective Tainetsu Hoon Shiirudo, or Body Heat Insulating Shield, was still active.

It did serve to confuse his senses. With the swirling air all about him, he could not detect the elemental... but nor could it attack him, for though it could form the funnel easily enough, it had no desire to fight through it.

Ranma stumbled forward, but the funnel remained with him. An idea hit him, and he shouted, "Juushin Jisei Senpuu!," as he used the Juushin Jisei techniques to spin his body about his own center of gravity in the opposite direction of the funnel. His body blurred into the tight spin, countering the force of the wind, and negating the funnel. When he released the spin, the snow had all fallen about him, in a tight circle, and he could see the air elemental coming towards him.

Deciding the technique might work as well on a creature of air, as on the air itself, when it approached, he shouted again "Juushin Jisei Nekki Senpuu!" He flared his ki aura as he spun this time, to provide the Nekki, or Hot Air, portion of the whirlwind. The air spun about him, and as it picked up his heat, it began to melt the ice beneath him, drawing it up as water, that froze again into snow as it reached the upper regions of the swirling wind.

All the watchers, Ranma included, were surprised at the result. Given the intense cold of the air around, the rising hot air from around Ranma cooled quickly, and fell again to the outside of the rising hot air, to be sucked in again at the bottom. The effect was more of a horizontal convection cell than a whirlwind, a cell that was watery in the interior, and swirled with snow at the outer edges, while the center air around Ranma, when he stilled, was calm. The air elemental was trapped in the cell, spun about and torn by the snow and water. Intruiged, Ranma studied the flow of air with his dragon sight, and began flaring his aura again, as he recognized that the mass of air would continue its behavior as long as it had a heat source in the center.

He continued to flare his aura until the air elemental disappeared from within the cell. He switched, immediately to the new technique he had been trying to use just before the elemental had attacked again, what he was thinking of as the Hainetsu Kyuuin, or Waste Heat Absorption move. With his ki built up, he found the missing link in his attempt, and in a mere instant, the heat from around him was sucked in.

He was not ready for the speed of the technique, as he had been focusing a greater amount of ki to try and get it to work. When he finally hit the right focus, that mass of ki acted much more quickly than he was expecting, and he felt a great rush of heat through him, and fainted from the exertion, not even noticing the peculiar half-torus of ice with which he was now surrounded.

Master Tufi managed to pull Ranma from the center of the partial torus, and drag him into the cave. He was disturbed to note that the boy had a fever, but remembering what the Lady Alana had told him of the youth's healing abilities, decided not to overreact. He simply sat by the boy, feeling his forehead occasionally, waiting for him to awaken.

He was surprised when after only an hour, the fever broke, and Ranma's temperature returned quickly to normal. The boy woke soon after, sitting up slowly.

"That was most impressive, teishi. That was indeed the next technique I had intended to demonstrate to you, but you must be careful with it. You should draw the heat in much more slowly than you did, lest it overcome you."

"Yeah," groaned Ranma, holding his head, "I kinda noticed. I didn't really mean to..."

"Yes, I suspected as much. Rather like a tug-of-war, pulling as hard as you could, and when the rope suddenly came loose, you fell hard, hmm? Anyway, once you learn to draw the heat in, then you can both use it to prevent your own loss of heat, and to recover heat that you've already lost before starting the technique. More important, of course, is the ability to use the gathered heat to attack."

The conversation continued as they ate the dinner Tufi had prepared during Ranma's unconsciousness.

"Attacking your opponent with heat is one way, though of course, if they're good enough, they'll have no problem absorbing, deflecting, or dissipating the heat. More valuable sometimes, is using the heat to attack the environment."

"What do you mean, sensei? Why would I attack the environment?"

"Well, for example, if you were fighting someone on the ice, you could send a wash of heat at ground level where the enemy was standing, or about to land. If you're quick enough... well, I once saw a fight where one participant managed to melt the ice they were on enough that the second landed in it up to his waist, then pull the heat back out before the he was able to react, leaving him encased to his waist in a block of ice."

"Then too, that technique you demonstrated a short while ago used heat to fuel the air, didn't it? You generated that heat from your battle aura, as far as I could tell, but if you had collected the heat already, you could have simply used it as fuel, rather than expending so much ki."

---

His next master took him to a desert. The first time he tried a kata on a sand dune as his master instructed, his first leap sent him two feet into the sand when he landed, causing a sandfall along the side of the dune, and burying him to his neck, in the end. He had been able to lift himself out with the Tai Chi Chuan, but his master wouldn't let him use his Tai Chi extension to the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu to avoid actually landing on the sand. Instead, he forced him to learn to land on the sand, without disturbing a single grain.

Once he had learned this, the same master suddenly had him take them to a lake, where he showed Ranma that the same technique would allow him to fight over the water. Ranma would land lightly and leap again immediately. Eventually, he was able to do this while leaving only the tiniest of ripples to spread behind him, and cross the whole lake without getting wet.

It proceeded like this for most of the year, as he got used to fighting under all sorts of strange conditions, including fighting a running battle along a knife-edged ridge near the peak of a mountain, and another aerial battle over a field of pikes driven into the ground, point spearing upwards. He learned to fight while balanced on a live bamboo as the master caused it to sway beneath him, and similarly on a rope crossing a thousand foot deep gorge over jagged rocks. He fought on the side of a volcano, as superheated jets of steam roared up from fumaroles, and lava oozed about them. He chased mountain goats across rocky crags, and learned to fight underwater, while avoiding sharks and barracuda. He even spent time fighting one master on slick rocks covered with damp stringy mosses over deep still waters while the master flung rocks into the beehives that riddled the rocky walls about them.

Arkus found his life extremely frustrating, as the boy was put in one hazardous, even deadly, situation after another, and survived each. But the boy was nearly always completely alone, with no one but the master, and sometimes Alana, near him. No one on whom he could bring his influence to bear, while the elementals the demon summoned just seemed to be treated as part of the boy's training.

---

For most of his eleventh year, Alana brought in ki masters, and he learned to do ever more complex things with his ki, including starting fires, concealing his presence, moving through solid objects without disturbing them, and infusing any ordinary item, from a fan, to a piece of cloth, to silverware, with ki, making it a deadly weapon.

He also learned pure ki attacks, though he never found it necessary to do the shouting that the masters used. He learned how to use his dominant emotions to fuel ki attacks, increasing their power, ranging from his confidence in himself to his depression over his inability to free the Lady. He also learned how to counter ki attacks, to draw the ki from inanimate objects used against him, and how to use minor amounts of ki to counteract much larger attacks.

Then they went deeper, and he learned to control the movement of his ki, even after it had left him. He also learned to generate pure ki attacks without the crutch of emotion, and to control their nature, so that he could have them affect only inanimate objects, only animate objects, deal a crushing blow, explode in flame, or slice through objects like knives. Ranma found it particularly interesting that while it took more willpower and concentration to use pure ki, it was less draining, and could be used for longer periods of time with less strain than emotion fueled ki. Later masters taught him to draw ki from his surroundings to fuel his blasts.

Again, he came closer than the year before to releasing the doors without destroying them, though still not close enough.

Arkus was even more annoyed this year than the year before, as nearly every master that came along noticed his attempts to observe. One caused his pool to fill with ink, another caused it to boil, giving Arkus severe burns. At least once, it was the boy who noticed it, and reacted, causing the waters to flash instantly to steam, turning his scrying room into a sauna. Arkus was really infuriated by that one, because somehow the steam caused bubbles to appear in his mirror's silver lining, ruining it yet again. Arkus stopped watching in disgust. It would be some time before he returned to the boy. He was often busy with his Lady's work, anyway.

---

As his twelfth year approached, Alana seemed to be having more difficulty finding masters who could train him. Shortly after his birthday, he reluctantly agreed to take on other sorts of teachers.

Some consolation came when that year, he was invited to seal a portal. He spent considerable time on it, focusing equally on sealing the doorway, and on resisting any attempts to negate the spell, while hiding its weak point deep within a web of tricky twists that would turn aside force brought from most angles. They tested his door for strength, and it was placed in the second to last position, a signal honor.

The rest of the year was spent learning rather peculiar things. He spent several months learning various styles of martial arts cooking. One of the strangest of these was the Art of Pastries, taught to him by a Frenchman with a ridiculously large nose. Watching this man whip up a quick batch of thick icing, throw a heavy glob of it in his air, then slash at it with a heavy knife, his arm a blur, only to have a perfectly formed rose land on the cake, was a real marvel. Many of the finer pastries were formed of innumerable delicate layers, resembling sushi. This semblance was further brought to home when the next master was the master of Silent Sushi, not to mention a ninja.

Several months were then spent under a single master, who taught him to play a number of instruments in the heat of battle. He showed him how to infuse them with ki to prevent their taking harm, and make them useful as weapons... a ki-filled violin makes an excellent bow, as long as you have multiple bows handy, a curious attribute... as well as how to infuse the notes themselves with ki, to carry his emotions on them.

He was taught to use this as a weapon, to bring an enemy to tears, or to rally the spirit of his troops while striking fear into their enemies. He found it could even carry the ki healing technique he had learned in the Neko-ken retraining he had undergone with Sylie, radiating healing power controlled by his music.

He could enter the garden, and control which plants were in bloom by the tones of his music, or make the blossoms of a rose plant open and close individually, each in tune with a single note.

He was also introduced to the power of the vibrations produced by some instruments. He learned how to perceive the resonance frequency of a physical object, much as he had learned to find their weak point, and how to sustain that resonant tone on any instrument until the object destroyed itself.

He also learned, with his master's guidance, though it was new to the master as well, to use the power of the Juushin Jisei to play instruments without touching them. Having accomplished this, he was encouraged to focus and meditate until he could play several instruments at once.

Once he finally got the hang of playing the multiple instruments, he quickly improved in his facility with them, and by the time his master left, he could play on at least one of every instrument in a modern orchestra in a way that would make any conductor proud, while himself standing and doing the conducting.

After the master had left, he had taken nearly a month off of that schedule, and worked with the Tai Chi Chuan eleventh dan, the Juushin Jisei, exclusively. Having realized its power through the demonstration he had given, he managed several more feats with it. He managed to cause the air to vibrate, to produce sound. Eventually he could reproduce the sounds of most of his instruments, without needing the instrument, a technique he termed the Genshindou Gakki Gihou, or Fundamental Vibration Musical Instrument Technique.

He also managed to get used to handling multiple weapons with the Juushin Jisei, until he reached the point that he could spar against five non-existent opponents, each wielding a different weapon.

Shortly thereafter, he realized that he had been steadily increasing his effective weight for years on end, and consistently tying up a larger and larger amount of ki in holding that weight.

He took his leave of the Lady, temporarily, and went to a desert, far from any cities. There, he began to slowly ease off on the weight. Almost instantly, his aura bloomed in size and power, and he found that he had to stop, and bring it back under control. By the time he finished releasing the Juushin Jisei Juuryoku's hold on himself, he realized that his ki reserves were unbelievably huge. Nonetheless, he was able to conceal them.

As soon as he began a kata, he discovered that he actually had to concentrate in order to move slower than the speed at which he cracked the air. Further, he had to concentrate in order to remain on the ground. If he thought of other things for but a moment, he would look down, and find himself floating above the ground. A mild flexing of the leg muscles, and he would be hundreds of feet in the air.

He spent some time learning to fly like this, and found that he indeed preferred it to flying with the Juushin Jisei. It seemed more natural, and took less concentration.

Before returning to the castle, he reengaged the Juuryoku, and weighed himself down until his available ki reserves were once again as they had been before he had released the Juushin Jisei Juuryoku.

---

The next competition at the Mages Tower saw Ranma's door as the most powerful holding spell in the challenge, surpassing for the first time, the combined masterwork of two of the most powerful Mages of the Tower. Though he still failed to open their door without damaging it, he came much closer.

Ranma was in his room, waiting for Alana to return, so that they could go home, and begin his training again, though he truly had no idea what was left to learn, when someone knocked at his door.

"Enter," he said, and the door opened, and Ariana stepped in.

"Ranma, they want you in the Council Hall. Alana is there already. She said to wear the Dragon Armor, now hurry, come on, I'll show you the way." He nodded, and focused, reaching out to the castle with his ki, until he found the Dragon Fang, where he had carefully stored it. He gently released the wards and seals he had protected it with, then called it to him, and summoned the armor. He gestured for her to lead, then.

She led him quickly down the halls, deep within the complex, to the base of the central tower, where they came upon heavy iron doors. The doors were already being opened by a guard, who was standing to their right, turning a large wheel with heavy thrusts. As it turned, it ratcheted against a lever in the floor, and the doors shifted slightly further apart. Within moments, they were in the hall, and the doors swung shut with a loud ringing sound behind them.

Ranma stepped forward, looking resplendent in his armor, and saw with surprise that Mardo was no longer sitting at the head of the U shaped council table. He had moved to the right, and Alana stood behind the pulled out central chair. As Ranma moved forward, Mardo stood suddenly. Ranma stopped, as Mardo bowed to him. He was confused, and worried. The rest of the assembled Masters then rose as well, and bowed, and then all said as one, "Hail, ArchMage."

"Huh? What?" Ranma was flustered. What were they talking about? Mardo was the ArchMage, and had been for years. Ariana was at his elbow then, guiding him around the table to where Alana held the chair out for him. They pushed him to sit in it, then pushed his chair forward. Ranma just sat there, looking stunned, until the mages cheered suddenly.

"Come now, Ranma, no false modesty. You've earned your place," Mardo said to him, grinning.

Ranma remained a bit dazed, as the new realities of his position were explained to him. As the ArchMage of the Mage Towers, he held a rank of Lord in all of the Five Kingdoms, second only to their Kings. Quite nearly the position of influence that the old Lord Fey had sought by force, but Ranma had earned it, and it was freely given.

---

Ranma spent most of the next six months with Mardo, learning his new duties, and meeting the other Kings, and the various Lords. He learned a lot about weather magic, and how the ArchMages had protected the Five Kingdoms against hurricanes, tornadoes, and other such disasters. He also learned how to lead and guide other mages in casting. He found that even though he could not see their spells, the female mages had no difficulty following his lead, for nothing hid his power or spells from them.

Arkus meanwhile spent countless hours raging at the terrible injustice of the universe. To be thus handed the position Lord Fey had so often sought to take by force... it was humiliating.

Ranma also learned how to act at court, how to deflect flirtatious ladies, enamored of his power but uncaring about him, how to avoid giving the useless, foppish, hereditary young lordlings any offense that could be misconstrued into a reason for a duel, how to dress properly for the court, how to eat properly in noble company, and numerous other things. He found himself wishing dearly for more martial arts lessons, even cooking or singing, until he discovered painting.

Cooking was considered demeaning, and the nobles detested it, and singing or playing instruments meant constantly being invited to perform here or there. Painting, on the other hand, was a solitary thing, though he would have to avoid those females who wanted to be... immortalized.

Alana found him a tutor, grateful that he had found something to occupy his time while he learned what was necessary. He learned quickly, and found himself quite skilled at it. Wielding a brush was not that different, he found, from wielding a sword, and a little ki in the paint gave his art a vibrancy and life to it that was unmatched.

Alana found herself more than glad he had found something to learn, when he gave her a beautiful painting of her sister. It showed her as a human, reclining cradled in the paws of her as a dragon, coiled about the canvas, one arm delicately resting on the back of the head of her as a panther, with her castle as a backdrop. It was beautiful, and perfect in every detail, and made her realize how impressive his memory really was.

When they finally returned home, Ranma decided that this was an area that he could explore further, since Alana was finding that locating masters who could train him was getting progressively more difficult.

He went from quarry to quarry, carving out stone for his own use, paying the foreman on site, and carrying the huge blocks of stone off on his own back, much to their shock and surprise. With this stone, he began to teach himself to sculpt. At first, he used tools, as the books in the library suggested, but after a while, he switched to using a simpler, more effective technique.

He would use his ki claws to carve, and sculpt the images. Then, when it was carved, he would use his Juushin Jisei techniques to send sand swirling against it, polishing it to a high gleam.

---

Shortly after his fourteenth birthday, Ranma grew tired of sculpting. He had moved beyond simply stone sculptures, to using his ki and the Juushin Jisei to coat them with metals, then cut and rebond them, to form metal sculptures, and eventually to using his ki to heat and protect his hands, so that he could work with silver and gold as if it were putty, but he was ready to move on.

Considering, he finally hit upon something that would be well worth learning, that was close to the martial arts, and could be made into an art form, not to mention being an opportunity to extend his magical abilities.

Alana found masters to train him, and so Ranma took up the art of weaponsmithing. He learned the wood based arts first, the art of spear straightening, of fletching and bow-making. From there he progressed to the metals, learning how to purify them, mix them, hammer and form them.

He focused on Japanese style weapons, though he learned a few other styles as well.

The masters who taught him were all impressed by his skill and strength, and the speed of his learning. But all were more impressed, at least at first, with the fact that he heated the metal with his own hands, to the point of holding ingots in his hands until the metal melted through his fingers to flow into the mold.

Then there was his remarkable ability to use the seventh sense to sense impurities in the metal, and to use the Juushin Jisei to remove them from the mix even as it flowed through his fingers. Not once did any of his masters have to show him how to deal with flawed metal. They never encountered any.

Dragon Fang became a golden forge hammer, and pounded weapon after weapon, as Ranma mastered the art of folding metal to make katanas and other blades.

Finally, a master came, who when he was finished teaching Ranma, had sighed, and said, "Well, boy, I've taught you all I can with what we have. It's too bad there are no more dragons, though. I would dearly have liked to have passed on the art of making weapons from dragon scale before I died, and I would have been proud to teach it to you."

He was quite perturbed when Ranma vanished from in front of him, and spent some time puttering about looking for him, when Ranma returned, holding a single scale as big as he himself was. "You mean like this?" he asked. The old man gaped at him for a long minute, then a single tear rolled down one cheek.

"How... how did you..." he sputtered. Dragons were dead and gone, and dragon scale unobtainable.

"I asked the Lady's sister, and she gave me one of her scales. She's really nice once you get to know her."

"One of her scales? She's a dragon?!?"

"Yup. Now are you going to show me how to work this, or what?"

So was forged Ranma's final masterwork. He remembered the one thing his father had mentioned about his mother... her katana. Genma had shivered every time he had said it, but it was the only thing Ranma could really remember about her.

When the old man said that only dragon breath was hot enough to melt dragon scale, Ranma nearly gave the man a heart attack by promptly taking his half dragon form, placing the scale in a large stone container, and melting it with his breath. "Hmmph, I guess you're right." His voice in this form was much deeper, and seemed to carry its own echoes.

At the master's rather timid suggestion, Ranma retained the dragon form as he beat the cooled scale into a sword. To the master's astonishment, Ranma proceeded to beat the sword continuously for a week, never stopping. Ranma himself was surprised at his own stamina. The final blade had been folded exactly forty thousand times, by Ranma's count, and it was a thing of beauty. The old man helped Ranma forge a portion of the remaining scale into a proper hilt.

Not knowing what else to do with the remaining scale, Ranma proceeded to make a matching wakizashi, only this time, he studied the Dragon Fang first, and tried to match the weave of its magic within the new blade as he hammered it.

When it was finished, it would indeed take the forms that Dragon Fang could, though it held always a metallic deep blue appearance.

---

In his fifteenth year, he proceeded to the next obvious step, and took up the art of armor-smithing. He started with leather, learning to work it, boiled and hardened, or still pliable and filled with metal studs.

He learned to make simple metal strips, and punch holes through them and sew them together on a backing of leather to form both splinted and banded mail.

He learned to make chain mail, to force metal through successively smaller holes until he had a long thin bar, then hammer it around a solid but thin round metal post, before cutting it off into rings, and linking them together in a weave.

Then he learned to make plate. He spent much time here just studying the different varieties. He had to learn what all the pieces were, how they fit together, and how they were connected to allow proper movement.

He also had to learn how to properly measure the person they were being fitted for, to properly size each piece, to insure a proper fit that wouldn't chafe.

He had to learn all of this for each of the varieties, for partial plate, field plate, full plate, and so forth. He also learned how to make a variety of styles of each, and then how to make helms in a wide variety of styles.

Finally he practiced on his dojo's masters, and his bodyguard, making for each a customized suit of armor. He found as he prepared for this, that by a proper infusion of ki at the right point, the armor could be made to carry some of its own weight, making it seem light and easy to work with.

Again he finished out the year with a masterwork, a work of dragonscale. His dragonscale armor was full body, made for the Lord Roga, whom he invited to come and live at the castle while it was being crafted for him.

Culmination

Early in his sixteenth year, Ranma came to the decision that it was time to try and free the Lady Alana. He told her not to invite the next Master. He was going to need the next three months... She acquiesced, though he did not tell her why he wanted this. The rest of that day he spent wandering amongst the halls, looking for the right place to do this. Finally, he selected a room. It was deep in the castle, it could be readily warded from scrying, and it was large enough to hold the Lady Sylie. He hoped that Alana would not be much larger, though it would be able to handle some difference.

That night, at dinner, he was silent, responding in mono-syllables. Though unresponsive, he was not unattentive. In fact, he spent most of the meal staring at the Lady Alana, his eyes flickering with blue fire. She guessed what he was about, and did not press him about it. He was examining her chains, looking more closely than before, trying to follow the courses of the threads, and predict where the other threads would need to be, to complete the pattern. He was still wholly unable to see the other threads, but he had some reason for hope.

The next morning, he spent several hours in the study, sketching the bonds from memory, and then drawing possibilities for the feminine bonds on thin onion-skin sheets, laying them over the male bonds, trying to guess the best match. When he could remember no more he went to the gardens, and practiced a kata to clear his mind, and prepare himself. He noticed once again the small, low-walled garden, that held only a single column, on which sat a single vase, in which rested a pure white rose, a promise still unfulfilled.

Filled with resolve, he went to the room, and spent several hours cleaning it, removing all foreign materials. He scrubbed the stones, and then used his ki to create a wind that dried the room quickly. Then, locking the iron door securely, he sat in the center of the room, in lotus position, and released his hold on his aura.

It swelled, and filled the room with a blue glow. He relaxed his seventh sense, and focused on the sixth. He reached outward with this sense, and whereever he came upon life, he held it with his ki, and using a single thread of magic, moved it to the outside of the room. If it was too small to thus grasp, he focused his ki, and burned it out.

He relaxed his sixth sense then, and focused his seventh. He focused on the small holes and pores in the stones, and filled them with his aura, until it truly filled all the room, down to the smallest crack. Then he focused, found his center, and began meditating. He meditated for five hours, letting the rock bathe in his ki, becoming steadily more attuned to him. Then he stood, and still bathing the room in his ki, he used his ki claws to carefully care glyphs of warding and protection into the stones, one after another.

He began selecting the purer stones, and put glyphs of power on them. Over the next several weeks, he would steadily charge them, that when necessary, he might release their power to replenish his own.

That evening, he again watched the Lady Alana with his ki gaze from the moment she entered the room. This time, he did not proceed to his bed, but went directly to his study, where he again drew the chains from memory. He did not look at the previous drawings he had done, at all, nor did he try to draw the possible female chains. That would wait until the morning. Finally, he went to his bed, exhausted, and slept a dreamless sleep.

The Lady struggled, as she tried to get to sleep. She was striving to fight her growing feeling of hope. She knew he could not free her. He could not see the female principle still, she knew that. But he knew that too, and yet he was still determined to try. She had heard from Mardo and Liliana. He had opened the door, finally, without destroying it. He had become the cat again, just to be able to let out the roar of triumph, but that power had not been necessary. It was hard to hold on to her hope, but she knew that she had to. When he failed, he would be crushed, and if she too were crushed under a weight of disappointment, she would not be able to support him. So she focused on the fact that he had watched them cast the door. It must have made the difference.

When she finally slept, though, she dreamed again of flying as a dragon, only this time, Ranma was with her, a dragon himself, flying about her as if born to it. She felt again, in the dream, the ache of wanting him, so long buried under maternal love, but she recognized it for what it was, even in the dream, and it did not trouble her.

The next morning, Ranma again spent several hours working on his drawings of the chains, trying to picture where the strands and threads of invisible magic would need to go to have the appropriate effect. When he again went to the garden, to practice his katas and clear his mind, he noticed that the Lady was on a balcony above, watching him.

He smiled to himself as he powered through the motions of the kata. He knew that she knew why he was behaving as he was, and he admired her for remaining silent about it, and allowing him to proceed in his own fashion. She was so unlike the teachers at the Mage Towers. She never tried to force him to learn theories that might or might not be anything like the truth. She merely urged him to learn what he needed to know, and he had quickly come to respect that in her. Everything she had pushed him to learn, had come to have importance to him shortly thereafter, in sharp contrast to the theories of the Mages of the Towers. He had done his best to forget much of what they had sought to teach him.

He knew that she did not believe he yet had the power to free her. He knew she was wrong in that. He did have the power... he just wasn't certain of being able to use it without harming her. He was no more sanguine than she about his ability to succeed in this. It was founded on hope, the hope that once he began, and after having seen for himself the innumerable ways that the feminine principle could be wound about the male threads he could see in her chains, he would be able to find the true weaknesses. It was doubtful, but he had to try.

For nine years this coming event had been the single overriding goal of his life. Everything he had done and learned had been focused towards this day. He would pour everything he had into freeing her, and if it killed him... well, then she would be free, and he would have achieved his goal. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he knew now that he would not hold back from it. He would give absolutely everything he had, and more, if it meant her freedom.

He completed his kata, and returned to the inner room. There, he spent two hours charging the first of the power seals, pouring his ki into the spiritual battery in a slow steady trickle. Then he meditated again, bathing the room in his ki. With his ki penetrating the stone that held his power bound within it, it felt like he was holding a glowing ember in his hand, and he welcomed the pain of holding that concentrated power. He knew he would feel pain when he reabsorbed the power, and he wanted to be ready for it.

He went around to each power stone, and carved into each four runes of strength, to prevent the power one held, that shortly all would hold, from overcoming their structure and destroying them before he could use them. This took considerable time, as he had to draw up the magic and bind it into each rune after drawing it.

Finally, he spent time on each of the scrying stones, carving in smaller runes to strengthen each individual stone against one particular variety of scrying. One he bound with a rune to strengthen it against the use of water, the bowls and pools that were the delight of some. To another he added a rune to strengthen it against the use of mirrors, the province of the truly strong. Another he bound against crystals, yet another against the power of the mind. So he went, to each in turn, and added a strengthening rune, drawing up the threads of magic to power each.

He left the room, locking the iron door behind him, and binding it, as he had done the two days before, and would each day after, with a powerful spell of holding, modeled after the work of Mardo, and a spell of warding and shielding.

The uses of iron in magic were among the few things he had learned in the Mage Towers that he had retained. He had learned how iron was anathema to channeled magic, where the magic-user drew on the power the threads held, and used his body as a conduit for that pure power, rather than using the threads themselves. He had learned how to use iron to combat true spells, though to do so was often to destroy everything around them, as well as the spell. He had also learned the proper ways to truly enchant iron, to bind the threads into it, and how much power could truly be held by the iron. An iron-bound spell was extremely difficult to cast for most mages, but worth it to those who could, for the iron's resistance to magic would then fight the dispelling of the power it held.

This pattern of silent dinners eaten with burning eyes, late nights spent drawing on parchment, mornings spent sketching on onionskin, katas watched by the Lady, and long days spent slowly increasing the power of the room continued for nearly two months before all was in readiness.

Finally, Ranma came to the Lady Alana one morning, and told her that he was ready to attempt to free her. He took her to the room he had prepared, and in spite of herself, she was in awe at the power it exuded. It was powerfully warded against every manner of outside interference or scrying, and large enough to hold her true form.

She could see the immense power held in each of the spiritual batteries. She was aghast at it, in fact. Each held nearly as much ki and magical energy as Ranma's body, and she had never seen him as exhausted as he should have been from filling them. She realized he must have been filling them a little each day. There were ten of them, so this room held more than ten times the raw magical power and spiritual energy that Ranma held himself.

There were numerous cushions in a heap on the floor, and he bade her make herself comfortable upon them. When she did so, he sat before her, on the stone floor, and she noticed with surprise that the stone he sat upon was itself heavily ensorcelled. He pulled his calves onto his thighs, lotus style, and began to meditate. In moments, his ki began to flicker, blue tongues of flame licking about him, as his eyes burned with blue fire.

Ranma released his hold on his aura then, and once again, it filled the room. Alana stifled her gasp of awe... his ki was easily dragon strength, and he had no dragon-blood, she knew that. She knew he had grown steadily more powerful... she hadn't realized how very much, though. She still didn't truly know. He had not yet released the eleventh dan, and she could not see the power bound up in it. He focused his sight, looking beyond the physical, until he could again see her bonds. He could see the dragon curling in her ki. It seemed stronger and more vibrant as it bathed in the light of his own, and the chains that held it seemed even blacker in contrast.

The chains reached out from her to lace about him as well, as they bound her to him. He looked deeper, until he could see where the threads were coming from. He selected a single knot, and examined it, seeing in his mind the innumerable onion skin overlays that spoke of how the female threads might mingle and strengthen the male threads.

He reached out with his ki, tapping lightly at the obvious weak point. He knew this would not succeed, and indeed it did not, but he watched carefully, how the knot began to fall apart, and where and how it seemed held together. He focused again on the onion skins in his mind, considering which ones might result in that kind of a pull, in those resisting forces. He tapped again, at another point, a lesser weak point, and again watched the interplay of the visual threads, gaining clues as to where the feminine threads must be.

He teased steadily at the knot touching here and there, watching the reactions, searching for clues to the invisible threads that held it all together. Finally, he began trying in earnest to break the knot, picturing in his mind the complete tangle, male and female threads, and guessing at where the weak point must be.

He could see that he was closer now. As he hit these guessed points, the knot came ever closer to falling apart, but always it resisted in the end. Finally, after hours of exploration, he concluded that the final weak point must be located amongst the female strands, where he could not see to touch it.

Refusing to even consider feeling despair, he moved on to another knot. Surely they could not all be thus. Again he began the delicate process, tapping the knot here, and there, and watching as it tried to fall apart, but was held together. By the time he had given up on that knot as well, he was feeling weak and drained.

He reached out and released the first of the power stones. He bit his tongue, and tasted his blood in his mouth as he fought to stifle a scream. The energy, fresh and rich, burned through him like a fire, through limbs that were too tired to contain it. He lost some of it, burned off to the air, before he regained control, gasping for breath.

He fought down the pain, and grimly selected another knot, that seemed to have more male fibers, less room for the female threads to intertwine, and began again.

Over and over he repeated this process, and each time, his body grew weaker, as the fresh energy raced through his tired system, ever on the verge of collapse. When he released the tenth stone, tears were openly running down his face, but his eyes still burned with blue fire.

Knowing this was his last chance, and he was failing, he desperately tried to reach deeper. He pushed his ki sight deeper and deeper, striving to reach the beneath the layers of male threads. If he could just see the source of the female power, he could trace it upwards, into her bonds. He sunk ever deeper, and as he did so, he slowly released the eleventh dan, giving him the power to reach further still, searching for the ultimate source of the power, until finally he reached too far.

He lost himself in the immense scale of what he was sensing, the deep throbbing power that lay far beneath the tapestry of his world. It was vast and grand, and he was nothing compared to it. Looking on it, he ceased to exist, and became one with this final ultimate power, the power that lay behind all that was, that went beyond this world, or the world he came from, that lay beyond all possible worlds, beyond the planes where the gods dwelt, beyond the pits where demons warred, beyond everything, and he lost himself in it, until finally he heard a voice, a single soft voice, gently calling his name, and he remembered finally, who he was, and why he was, and for its own reasons, the power released him.

He came back to himself then, for just a moment. His eyes suddenly cleared and he could see the Lady cradling him in her arms. "You should have let me go," he said in a harsh whisper, the words tearing his throat as he spoke, "you would have been free, Lady." Then the darkness took him, and he fell into blessed sleep, as his body struggled to recover from his ordeal. He did not feel the Lady's tears on his face as she held him to her.

She had known that he would never give up, unless he finally failed, utterly and completely, and so she had let him try, hoping that when the time finally came, he would be able to move on, to live, finally, for himself, and not for her. Had she ever imagined that he would be so selfless as to willingly accept death to free her, she would have never let him try. "How could I live," she asked softly, knowing he could not hear her, "if I let you die for me?"

She took him in her arms, and lifted him up, and carried him to his bed. Then she called out, in her mind, to her sister, and knowing that she was coming, the Lady sat there by his bed, holding his hand. He looked dead, she thought, were it not for the slow rise and fall of his chest. His skin was nearly black all over, and in places it was burnt and charred, split from the heat, the searing and charring reaching even to the bone.

She had felt him go beyond her, for an endless moment, and when he had, his body had burst into flames, real flames, as it burned from the inside. It was a miracle he had not died. She could feel that he had been changed. There was a fire burning in him still, that she could not put out. Not a fever, really. It was more like a fire in his ki. She didn't know what it was, or what to do about it. So she just sat, and held his hand, hoping.

Sacrifice

When Sylie arrived, she found the castle in a bit of disarray. The Lady had been by Ranma's side for four hours, by that point. Sylie was shocked by his condition. It took her a long time to manage to get Alana calmed down enough to tell her what had happened. She was appalled, but truly impressed. Maybe the boy really did love her.

Sylie did what she could for the boy, healing the worst of the wounds, and bandaging the rest. Then she proceeded to take over the management of the castle, to ensure an orderly running of the household. She took care of everything the Lady Alana usually did, and then she took care of Alana, forcing her to eat, and rest. If Sylie hadn't been there, she figured Alana would have sat by his bed until she collapsed.

Each day, Sylie spent some time trying to heal the boy, and draw him back from the darkness. She guessed that on his own he would have recovered in under a month. His powers of recovery were truly remarkable, but sorely tasked by the massive draining of both ki and magical energy that he had gone through.

It was a week later that he finally awakened, late in the night. The Lady was only just aware of his eyes opening, before they flicked to her, with a blue fire, and he turned away, curled into a ball, crying. He had failed her. He had given everything he had to free her, and in the end, sought to embrace death to free her, and even in that he had failed. The pain of this ultimate failure shattered the walls of ice he had built against his emotions. She had not seen him cry for nearly four years, but now his body was racked with sobs that seemed torn from the depths of his soul, and his pain and anguish seemed to rise from him like waves of heat.

Lady Alana stood, and sat on the bed, pulling her legs up, and lifted him onto her lap. He finally looked whole again. His hair, frazzled and crisped, which had broken and crumbled at her touch that first night, was silky and strong. His skin was smooth and unbroken, and light again. She held him, and rocked him back and forth through his tears, as she spoke quietly to him.

"Ranma, had I known you would go so far, I would not have let you try. Don't ever try to leave me alone again, Ranma. Not like that. Please. My freedom is not worth your life." He tried to protest, but she lay a slim finger on his lips, and he fell silent, except for his quiet sobs. "You nearly died. I know you tried. I will never forget what you did for me. It shames me, that you would go so far, and yet I never told you the truth because I feared it would be too hard for you." He sat up at that, looking into her eyes.

"I knew from the very beginning why you could not see some magic. I know you've learned, on your own, though I never told you. But you still don't know why. I do, and I did then. I am ashamed I doubted that you had the strength to hear this."

"Never, Lady. Never be that. I _am_ weak. I failed you." Ranma protested.

"No, child. It was I who failed you. Never have I seen such strength as you have, strength of spirit and heart, and yet I doubted you, and it shames me. Now hush, and let me tell you now, what I should have told you long ago." He stared up at her, his mind blank. He had no idea what she was going to tell him. He knew why he had failed, knew his blindness. But what could she know, that went beyond that?

"When you first came to me, Ranma, I felt a problem in your mind. I thought that if I gave you my love, I might, over time, be able heal you. I failed... I failed you, Ranma. I failed you, far worse than you failed me." He looked into her eyes, and grasped her soft hands in his, shaking his head in vehement denial of her words. She had not failed him. She had always known, always been right, about what he needed to learn and do. It was he who had failed her, failed to learn as completely as he should, been unable to free her. But she freed her hand, and laid a finger upon his lips again, and he remained silent, and let her speak.

"There is in every person, Ranma, a balance of male and female, the yin and yang your Tai Chi master spoke of. Your ki is in balance, but your spirit and mind are not. You are only half-awake, Ranma. When your father tried to force you to be a man, when he beat you for showing emotion, or crying, or being polite, he kept forcing everything that was feminine in your spirit and mind away, into the depths of your mind where you could not reach them. Its like he just reached out and tore you in two, and now your female half is locked in your mind."

Tears started rolling down her cheeks as she spoke now. He wanted to comfort her, to stop her tears, but he had to hear this, had to let her speak. "Perhaps, had I done more when you first came to me, I might have been able to simply heal you. But I was a fool, and thought my love would be enough, be strong enough. It wasn't. As the years have passed, Ranma, your female half has grown in the depths of your mind, has healed about itself, as have you, and it will be no simple thing to rejoin you. It is like you are two separate people now, male and female... like, like brother and sister. Only she is trapped, sleeping in the darkness of your mind."

"You mean...," Ranma found it hard to continue. He understood, alright, or thought he did. Because of Oyaji, he had a sister, trapped in his mind, but if she awoke, since she was him... well, he could just imagine what it would be like if he suddenly woke up and was a girl. She would hate him. "Oh, Kami-sama. That's terrible. Lady, how can I free her? What must I do?"

"I can awaken her, Ranma, or teach you how to do so, but you must understand that if I do, you will have to share your body with her. It will be hard on her... she will be a young woman, but in a man's body, with a man's memories."

"Lady... Is it possible to set her truly free? To give her a body, that she not be trapped in mine?"

"But Ranma... Don't you see? She IS you! If I awaken her, it would be for you to get to know her, that eventually you could accept her, and become a whole person again. If you can achieve that, then you might be able to cast the spell. If I split you apart, you could never become whole. Each of you would always be only half a person."

"Will it not be cruel to her, to trap her in the body of a man? I would not like to be trapped in the body of a woman. Even if she is me, how can I do that to her? Is there a spell I can cast, that would change this body into that of a girl for her, for a time?"

"No Ranma. You know that those spells cannot truly change you. They only change your outward appearance. You would still be a man inside, and she would feel that."

"Then is there nothing I can do? I want to set her free, but I don't want to torture her!"

"There is... a place... on your world, called Jusenkyo. There is a spring there called the Nyannichuan. If you bathe in that spring, then cold water will give you the body of a young woman, and hot water will return you to your own. It will not manage the changing of the mind though. It would be up to you and her to do that. If you do it, and she becomes too frightened and retreats, or you or she is sleeping when the change occurs, you might each be forced to deal with the other body."

"But she would know that she simply needs water to get her body back. That would work. But what about you? You can send me there... I can send myself back. But I cannot take you with me. I cannot let you die for her."

"You could cast a stasis spell. I can teach you how. I can survive a week without you... But for this, it might be a year or more before you akieved sufficient wholeness to cast the spell. In stasis, I will wait as long as you need. When you are ready, you could come back for me."

"I think I already know how, Lady. I did it once before. I will do this, because I must. I will go, but I swear, Lady, I will return and free you!"