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. <Damn! He's too strong,
I can't block, I'll have to win on speed alone.>

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. <Too easy.>
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. <He wants to overpower me, and he's
expecting me to parry again. Does he really think I'm that stupid?>
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."