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.