Awakening


Ranma shifted on the cold, hard stone then blinked his eyes blearily.
Where was he? The last thing he could remember was encountering that
wildcat, which had had flecks of white foam around its mouth, and
running in fear, only barely aware of his father fleeing just as fast,
shouting something.

Now he was laying on hard stone. As his vision cleared, Ranma realized
that the stone he was on was the landing of a flight of steps. Somehow,
he had gotten inside a building. It seemed strange to him as well, for
Ranma was used to the traditional construction of Japanese homes and
dojos, thin wood and paper, while this was heavy stone. He shivered at
the oppressive feel of the heavy atmosphere.

He rose unsteadily to his feet then stared down at himself. Where had
these silk clothes come from? He had never had black silk clothes
before. What had happened to his white gi?

As he stared downward in startlement, his eye was caught by numerous
dark splotches on the ground. Kneeling, he touched one, and found it
slightly tacky. His eyes widened as he noticed the dark stains on his
outstretched hand. He jerked his hand back, cradling it as he stared at
it. If the last thing he could recall was a cat, could his confusion be
due to having succumbed to the cat-fist? Could... could these stains
be... blood? Ranma shivered, and turned about, looking at the stairs, as
if expecting to see someone standing there, accusing him. What he saw
instead was a trail of dark splotches on the stairs leading up, like
shadows on the ground, except that they were still, unmoving in the
flickering light of the torches on the walls.

For the briefest moment after thinking of the cat-fist, Ranma felt the
mild hope that the clothes might have come from someone like the nice
old lady that he had met after waking from the cat-fist for the first
time. It was crushed by the undeniable evidence of the trail of blood.
The clothes could not be denied... someone had clothed him. Had he
killed them? 

A moment of unreasoning fear threatened Ranma's sanity before a more
direct fear drove it out. He was in a strange building and might have
just committed murder. He did not know what they did to child murderers
and he had no desire to find out. He had to escape and find his father.

Glancing up the stairs one last time, Ranma firmed his courage. The
possibility that he might be underground did not occur to him, in spite
of the medieval atmosphere, for he had no stories of castles and knights
and chivalry to compare the scene to. Where a Western child would have
instantly thought of a castle or dungeon, Ranma was merely confused and
uncertain.

As silently as he was able, Ranma moved slowly down the stairs, ears
straining to hear any movement ahead of him lest he come upon someone
unawares.

---

Mairi wore a small smile as she walked softly down the hall, heading for
her master's quarters. She still could hardly believe that it had
happened, and had there been any to see her pass, they would have said
she was glowing. She had been a mere maid not a week before and now she 
was Fey's newest concubine. 

He had taken her to bed twice in the last week and now her effects had
been moved and she was heading to join them, moved to the luxurious
suites his concubines shared. 

She had hardly been able to believe it when several of the other maids
had teased her about having caught the Lord's eye. She was well aware of
her low station and she had certainly not sought employment at the
castle with an expectation of bettering herself by tempting a
high-ranking officer, as she knew some girls did. Her intent had simply
been to provide support and funds for her family to keep her younger
brother from having to follow his elder brother into the soldier's
ranks.

She had been fearful at first, when he had made advances to her, knowing
his reputation in battle, but her fears had been unfounded. Ruthless
though he was to his enemies, swift as he was to destroy anything that
held him back from his goals, ready as he might be to take what he
wanted no matter whose it was before, he had been a gentle and
considerate lover.

After she had shared his bed, she had been taken in by the other 
concubines. She had been quite surprised at the lack of acrimony, the
absence of jealousy amongst them, as they calmed her fears and reassured
her. Each of them had a story or two to tell about the Lord Fey, his
likes and desires and how to please him.

She had been very surprised to learn that in spite of having many
concubines, he still shared his wife's bed regularly, and indeed, would
not hear a word against her. One concubine had attempted to use her
position by his side to influence him against the Lady. She was never
seen again, and they would have had no idea why she had disappeared
if had she not blabbed her intent to the other concubines. No concubine
since had been so foolish as to disparage the Lady in the Lord's
hearing.

Perhaps even more surprising was the general attitude of awe and
reverence the concubines shared for the Lady. They spoke of her in
hushed whispers, with great respect. Mairi was told that she should do
all in her power to stay in the Lady's good graces, for it was she who
would protect Mairi's family. She too it was, they told her, who kept
their Lord from growing tired of them. In the absence of her favor, it
would not be long before the Lord when coming to select his night's
companion, would look to the favorless girl and say, "I do not know
you."

It could happen to any, even with the favor of the Lady, but if the lass
was in the Lady's favor, then she would find herself returning to her
family in style, with riches enough to live in comfort, shielded from
the harsher side of life in Fey's land.

Without her favor, the forgotten girl would simply vanish. None of the
girls were certain, but they hinted to Mairi that those girls, without
the protection of the Lady's words to the guards who took them away,
might well end up in the soldier's barracks, to serve their needs.

Turning a corner, Mairi recognized the hallway she was in as one of the
forbidden halls, the halls, of which there were several, that had doors
or passageways leading off, that it would mean death to take. There were
areas in the castle where none but the Lord and the Lord's familiar
Licius could go, under pain of death. She was not surprised by this. Her
former room was in the servant's quarters that hugged the front of the
castle where the castle met the soldier's barrack. Her path from there
to the concubine's wing on the far side of the castle passed through the
black wing, Lord Fey's wing. 

It was a simple matter of practicality. Moving from the white wing, the
servant's wing, to the green concubinal wing, she could either progress
to the left or the right around the castle. To the left, facing into the
castle, she would pass through the officer's wing, trimmed in blue, and
then the prison wing and the armory and finally the Lady's wing. It was
a longer path by far and passed through areas she would rather know
nothing about.

On the other hand, to the right she would pass through the red wing,
where the guests were housed, when Fey had guests. In other words, long
empty halls filled with silence; not the most pleasant of regions to
pass through. 

Moving around to the right but hugging the central black wing, with
which she had a passing familiarity from being taken to the Lord Fey's
chambers, kept her in inhabited regions for most of the journey and the
last portion of it, while largely empty, could hug the inner courtyard
and was therefore sunlit and bright.

Her apprehension was confirmed as she moved down the hall and saw the
deep red wall hanging by an archway leading to stone stairs. The wall
hanging, of a rich red velvet, had embroidered upon it in gold and black
thread the image of a hangman's noose, a headsman's axe behind it
crossing a scimitar embroidered in pure gold, the fabled Dragon's Fang. 

Even as she approached in silence, she saw movement on the stairs, and
froze, as she watched a young boy slip down the stairs and into the
hall. He had stepped out, looking down the hall facing away from her,
seemingly frozen, looking at the two guards standing to either side
of the door at the far end. Her eye caught instantly on the thick black
band around his right wrist, the golden diamond-encrusted rings on two
fingers of his right hand, and the single black band on his left hand.

She was on him in an instant, swinging him up into a hug before he was
aware of her approach. As she hugged him tightly, marveling at how
terribly cute he was, her mind drifted back to her instruction at the
hands of the concubines, and she giggled happily.

---

Sylvan, a beautiful woman with a full figure, nut-brown skin, and 
gorgeous green hair, stroked Mairi's hair with a brush as she spoke.
"Always considerate, is our Lord, Mairi. He is utterly devoted when you
get him alone, yet there is one time in which he will come here, to our
mutual quarters, but not to choose a partner for the night."

One of the other girls giggled at that, "Oh, yes, and he's just so cute
like that. You'll want to just eat him up!"

Mairi stared as the girls all broke out into giggles. Surely they didn't
mean...

"Girls, calm yourselves," ordered Linnai, a brunette of perhaps
thirty-five, still beautiful. Hers was a mature beauty; she had a strong
face filled with wisdom and love, though she wore a knowing grin, and
had giggled at first as well.

"You see," continued Sylvan, "his appearance is... well... malleable,
for want of a better term. He can change what he looks like. And
sometimes... the Lady says it is when things have gone ill for him and
he does not want to speak lest he be harsh with us... he will enter
these chambers in the form of a young boy."

"Then he is not looking to take charge," counseled Linnai, "but to be
comforted and mothered. It can be hard to remember that it is the Lord
Fey when he is like that, and it is best, indeed, to simply forget that
it is so."

"He doesn't talk much when he's like that," commented the girl who'd
giggled first, a slender and youthful, almost boyish blonde named Wren.
"But he sounds so cute when he does!"

"We pamper him when he comes in like that," said Sylvan, "bathe him,
dress him up, brush his hair..."

"Tickle him!" snickers Wren, "that's the most fun!"

"And just generally help him forget whatever has gone wrong. But never,
absolutely never speak to him about what it is. Never ask him how things
are going, or why he is unhappy. Cheer him up, but never seek to know
more than he tells you. That is the Lady's charge and duty, not ours."

---

Ranma nearly jumped out of his skin when he was suddenly grabbed from
behind. He was about to attack, when he heard her giggle. It was a girl,
he had been grabbed by a girl. He stared down the hall. At least the
guards weren't moving. She swept him up and hugged him tightly, and
Ranma shivered. That felt so good, so comforting, after the pain of
fearing he had killed. Genma never hugged him, but he was young enough
still to remember his mother's hugs. This hug felt like that, warm and
comforting. Ranma fought to keep from bursting into tears. How long he
had wanted his mother back, wanted her to comfort him, especially after
being thrown in with those c... those things. He could not cry, it was
unmanly, and his mother would be unhappy with him.

When she set him down again, grabbing his hand, he considered pulling
free and running. Unfortunately, there were guards right at the end of
the corridor, and while they weren't doing anything right now, if he was
to run, she would shout, they would chase, and pretty soon he'd have a
whole slew of people after him. Besides, his legs were a lot shorter
than theirs. How far could he get? Sure his father was training him, but
that didn't change the fact that he was a little boy. He might be able
to take out a single grown man, especially if they were not well
trained, but an unknown number of trained guards?

Ranma left his hand in the girl's warm grasp and followed her. She was
pretty, he noted, with her dark brown hair and warm brown eyes, and he
liked her smile. It reminded him of his mother.

When they reached the end of the hall, one of the guards stepped forward
and opened the door for them. They went down a curving flight of steps.
Though these were stone as well, they were wider, which made Ranma more
comfortable. As they proceeded down, Ranma noted high thin windows. They
looked too thin for him to get through, but there was light coming
through them, which reassured him that he was at least near the outside,
and escape. Not for the first time in his young life, he found himself
wondering where his father was.

This time, however, there were several factors that caused that train of
thought to reach a different station than it had previously. First there
was this pretty lady who had not seemed surprised at all to see him. 
That put his clothes into a different light, making Ranma wonder if
these stains on his hands might not be from food rather than blood.

The second factor was simply the recognition that if the stains were not
blood and the lady was unsurprised at his presence, then the whole
situation fit a pattern in his father's behavior. This would not be the
first time Genma had sold Ranma, only to steal him back again later. 

So perhaps Ranma did not need to try to escape after all. He could just
enjoy whatever comforts offered, practice his art a bit, and after a
while, Genma would come and take him away again.

Ranma reached that conclusion just as the lady paused on a landing and
opened a heavy wooden door, continuing through into another long empty
hallway. This hallway at least was better lit, for the windows were
wider and the sun streamed in lighting the hall with a golden glow. He
tugged at her hand trying to get near one of the windows and to his
surprise she did not resist. Instead she scooped him up in her arms
again and carried him to where he could see out of one of the windows.

The first thing he noticed was a heavy stone wall probably a little more
than a hundred yards away, angling further into the distance. Between
that wall and the one he was standing at a beautiful fountain sent water
flying, dancing, and sparkling in the sunlight in the midst of an
elaborate garden.

He got no more than that moment's look for she quickly set him down
again and took up his hand once more. Walking briskly they passed down
the hallway, took two slight left turns before coming upon another heavy
door. Pulling it open she led him into yet another hall.

This hallway was far more interesting than the one above had been. Where
the other hallway had been mostly empty except for the guards and a few
doors, and the one between empty except for light, this hall was well
lit by both torches and high windows on one side that let in streams of
sunlight. Ranma's attention was momentarily caught by the glittering of
the sunbeams as dust and other contaminants in the air reflected the
light, making the beams seem to have an almost physical solidity. 

He tore his eyes from the dancing motes of light when they passed by a
standing suit of armor. It looked strange to Ranma's eyes. He was by no
means worldly, but he did know what samurai armor looked like, having
seen it on wall hangings. This though, was unlike anything he had ever
seen, like a tall metal man holding a long straight sword in both hands,
point set between his feet.

There were more suits in the hall and occasional alcoves containing
carven statues of men and women garbed in strange fashion. There were
doors as well, but rather than being the sullen seeming heavy wooden
doors bound with iron bands that he had seen in the upper hallway, these
doors looked to be formed of single thin sheets of wood. They were not
shoji, as he was familiar with, and as the woman leading him opened one,
he saw they swung outward, rather than sliding on tracks, but they still
made him feel more at ease.

He followed the pretty lady into the room and started in surprise when
he heard numerous feminine squeals of delight. In moments he was being
lifted in multiple hands. He heard someone clucking disapprovingly; he
thought it was the lady holding his hands, still stained. He felt hands
tugging at his ponytail as he was carried along; his hair fell loosely
against his back. 

He felt a bit nervous when they passed through an archway into a huge
room and he saw an immense pool of water, with a smaller but still large
pool to the side, steaming. It was to this second pool that he was led,
to his surprise. He was used to washing on a stool with cold water, then
soaking in hot water; not that he'd had the opportunity in some time. It
was clearly their intent to bathe him and though Ranma felt uncertain
about it, he remembered well enough Genma's anger the last time he had
been sold and had resisted what they wanted him to do. It had apparently
cost Genma both money and a beating and he'd passed on the beating with
interest.

He gave them no complaint as they drew off his clothes, leaving him with
nothing but the black velvet armband and the rings. He watched as one of
the women spun a large wheel on one wall. It was made of metal, or so it
seemed, blackly gleaming, and it spun easily, with no visible
resistance.  Indeed, after starting it moving, she seemed to wait,
watching him, before finally putting her hand out to stop it, and when
she did, he felt a jerk beneath him. Looking around, he realized with a
start that somehow she had lowered the entire hot pool relative to the
cooler pool, and water was flowing from the cold into the hot. As they
guided him into the warm water, he noted that there was a flow of water
steadily rolling over a low spot in the lip of the pool to disappear
down a grated drain.

He sat in bemusement as they gently washed him, thinking about moving
the whole pool to adjust the temperature. To be sure, he thought, it
beat heating water to boiling in kettles, to pour in cool water until a
comfortable heat was reached, that would remain comfortable for only a
short time.

With something like these pools, they could adjust for a temperature,
and assuming the supply of water was continuous, though he had not the
least clue where it was coming from, the temperature would be constant. 

He noted with mild dismay, difficult as it was to feel concern with the
soothing heat draining his emotions, that the water where the older
woman who had tsked at him was washing his hands was turning pinkish.
Was it actually blood? If so, why did no-one seem to care?

The pretty brown haired lady who had led him down the stairs knelt by
his head and began working a gentle lather into his scalp, and he
realized that the ladies who had been cleaning his back and hands had
finished. For a moment, Ranma thought to himself that if they were going
to treat him like this, then he did not care if Genma never came back
for him. A moment later he berated himself silently. 

"He may be stupid, and I sure wish he'd never heard of the stupid
ultimate technique, but he's still my pop; besides, without him, how'm I
ever gonna find momma again?"

Mairi used a ceramic shell, of which there were several different sizes
near the hot pool, to dip out water and carefully poured it over his
head, washing the lather from his lustrous black hair, being extra
cautious not to allow any to get in his eyes. 

She nodded to the other girls, and one walked briskly to the wheel and
spun it counterclockwise. The hot water, less diluted now, though there
was still a gentle flow of cooler water passing into the hot pool, had a
soporific effect on the young boy, soothing away the aches in his
muscles, and causing him to drift into a blissful state near slumber. 

He was being watched carefully, though, and was drawn from the water and
wrapped in a large fluffy towel before the heat could overcome his small
frame. He hardly noticed, floating in bliss as he luxuriated in the
absence of the aches and pains that had been a near constant in his life
since leaving his mother, when he was carried from the bathing room, and
ensconced on a pile of cushions, as the ladies lay about him, smiling
down at him with a gentle maternal concern.

He drifted off to sleep, surrounded by beautiful women, basking in love
and affection too long unfelt, and for the first time since learning the
dreaded cat-fist, Ranma slept without nightmares.

---

The room was still and quiet. As with all the rooms in the castle, it
was built of heavy stone, but it did not seem so, for the walls were
hung with satin drapes, from which descended numerous finely woven
landscapes. The floor was concealed by a rich carpet whose threads
formed an intricate feast of color and patterns to beguile the eyes. The
ceiling was likewise concealed by innumerable hanging loops of guaze.

The centerpiece of this festive cocoon was a large bed filled entirely
with the soft down feathers of uncountable birds, and covered with
sheets of the finest silk in a deep burgundy.

Lying nestled deep in the embrace of the soft feathers, the lady of the
house slept, but her sleep was neither dreamless nor restful. She tossed
and turned as she had the night long, her sleep disturbed with torturous
memories of her only love's betrayal, the long slow death of her pure
love for him, an invisible descent masked by the love his magic made her
feel. 

She awoke with a start, sitting up, gasping for breath, feeling chills
running down her spine, as her skin prickled. Her first words, rising
from her dreamself, were "Damn you, Fey!" Hearing her own voice shocked
her into stillness, stunned by the import of those words spoken in her
voice. Over a hundred years it had been since she was able to think her
own thoughts about the Lord Fey.

Now, in the course of a single night, that remembered love had soured,
replaced by a withering disgust that stopped just shy of consuming
hatred. Hardly daring to hope, the Lady carefully extended her senses.
As ever before, she felt immediately the chains of impenetrable power
that bound her, forged from her own trust, strengthened by her blood
into bonds that could never be sundered, save by the one to whom she was
bound.

Yet if the bonds still held her, how then could she think such thoughts
of the Lord Fey? It came to her in an instant; the Lord Fey was dead,
and her bonds tied her now to his successor. She pictured Krall in her
mind, filled with savage lusts and bestial desire, a creature of evil
and malice, but filled too with a cruelty that the Lord Fey had never
shown, and shuddered with disgust and loathing.

The moment passed and she stilled. If she could think on Krall and feel
loathing and not love, then surely he could not be the one she was bound
to love. Then who?

She ran through in her mind the most likely candidates, and felt nothing
new for any of them. She trembled in fear, clutching her sheets to her,
eyes staring blankly, unseeing. Fey had been preparing for a summoning,
that she knew. Could it be that he had finally failed in his caution,
relaxed his vigilance and been destroyed by that which he summoned? It
seemed far too plausible, and the Lady's shaking grew uncontrollable, as
she pictured the demons she knew, and wondered to which she was now
bound.

Long she sat there, unmoving, unseeing, trapped in her mind's visions,
helpless in the thrall of her fear. In the end the strength of her mind
reasserted control and she threw aside her fear and concern. She was
neither weak nor helpless and she was no simple maiden to quail before
a frightful destiny. She would face her destiny with pride and honor
and show no fear.

She rose smoothly from her bed, luxurious black tresses flowing down to
end just above the smooth curve of the small of her back. She strode to
her closet, unselfconscious in her naked glory, with pale alabaster skin
that set off her ruby lips and rippled as her strong muscles slid
beneath it. Her golden slitted eyes gleamed, flashing in the darkness as
she stepped into the unlit closet to garb herself.

Emerging from the walk-in closet attired in an elegant robe of pale
purple, gathered at the waist with a light blue sash, she pulled lightly
on one of the three ropes that hung from the ceiling by her bed, then
seated herself before the mirror.

Her door opened, and Sanja, her personal maid, slipped in, sliding the
door closed silently behind her. The Lady leaned back in her chair, and
sighed with pleasure as Sanja began gently brushing her Lady's silken
hair.

"What news this morn, Sanja?" the Lady asked, leaning her head back into
Sanja's ministrations and closing her eyes.

"My Lord took no sleep, but this morning entered the concubines'
chambers with the new girl, Mairi, by his side. He was again in child's
guise. He sleeps there still, after letting them bathe him."

The Lady frowned softly, thinking on this. That her Lord was dead she
was fairly certain, and how would a foe strong enough to defeat him know
of his habit of being a child in his harem? He never walked the halls as
a child, and the concubines' chambers were in a part of the castle well
shielded from scrying, if not so completely as his summoning chamber.

Disturbed by this revelation, but unwilling to speak of her fears or
hopes, the Lady turned the conversation to a different course, 
encouraging her loyal maid to relay the gossip about the barracks, and
the generals, and about the new concubine. Anything to keep her thoughts
from where they dreaded to stray.

When Sanja's preparations were completed, the Lady rose and left her
apartments. She pressed her fear deep inside, binding it there with her
will. She would face the new Lord with head unbowed. 

Sanja followed a half-step behind her mistress, as they walked briskly
through her Lady's wing, and into the concubines' halls. The Lady nodded
as she passed a pair of guards briskly saluting, and swept up to stand
in stillness before the doors of the concubines' communal chambers.
Sanja moved past her, swinging wide the door before her mistress.

The Lady moved regally into the room, nodding politely, a gentle smile
on her face as she looked on her companions in bondage. Following the
line of their gaze, her eyes fell upon the sleeping youth, black hair
unbound flowing round an innocent face, a soft smile indicating pleasant
dreams. The velvet armband and the rings gave no room for mistake. This
youth, swathed in a soft white towel, the very picture of cherubic
innocence, was the Lord Fey, yet her own certain knowledge insisted that
this was not the Lord Fey they had known, that the Lord who had betrayed
her now lay dead at the hands of this child.

The Lady turned her piercing gaze on the eldest of her Lord's 
mistresses, Linnai. "You bathed him. Was he stained with blood?"

Linnai nodded. "His hands, Milady, were stained black with dried blood."

"Our Lord's blood," replied the Lady softly, eyes shining.

"Nay, Mistress," objected Sylvan, "We found no marks upon him, no
wounds. He is uninjured." She looked pleadingly at her Lady, begging to
be believed, afraid that they would be punished for having failed to
seek aid for their Lord in his need.

"Indeed," acknowledged the Lady, "but this is not the one who was our
Lord. Lord Fey is dead, and this child, his slayer."

Her words threw the girls into a panic, several bursting into tears,
while the others drew back from the child as if he were a devil; others
pled with the Lady, begging her to say that she was not speaking sooth. 

"It is so," the Lady said simply, "the Lord Fey has passed on, and this
child is his heir, the new Lord Fey."

That statement threw a few into a frenzy of denial, while others took
comfort. If he were the new Lord Fey, then they would surely not be
punished for having aided the slayer of their Lord.

Mairi listened, her mind whirling with denials. It could not be! Her
mind played out for her the probable results of her actions; she and her
family taken to the headsman's block. She wanted to run, to flee, but
she knew that to do so would merely make the punishment more certain and
were she to actually escape, her family would still pay the price.

Summoning all her courage, Mairi stepped up, tears rolling slowly down
her cheeks. She dropped to her knees by her Lady's side. "I am sorry, my
Lady. I... I found him descending the staircase that leads to one of the
Forbidden Rooms, but he bore the rings, and I took him for the Lord Fey;
the others, they told him of how he sometimes comes to them as a child
for solace, I thought it was him, I swear I did." She was sobbing by the
end of her confession. "Please, Lady, I didn't mean any harm."

The Lady rested one delicate pale hand on Mairi's head. "Be calm, child.
He is the new Lord Fey, and due all that was the old Lord's. All that
was Fey's, is now his. You have done no wrong."

Looking on the sleeping child, murderer though he must be, the Lady
could feel love for him swelling within her. It was with difficulty that
she pulled her gaze from him. She quickly left the chambers, drawing 
Mairi and Sanja after her.

They were followed into the hall by the full coterie of her dead
husband's lovers, frightened, dismayed, many in tears for the one who
had been their love. Others, like Mairi, had not truly loved him,
whether for lack of time or from having seen his harsher side, and were
therefore more concerned about the new Lord than the old. Was he truly a
child or was he something more sinister merely wearing the guise of a
child as a convenience?

"The child sleeping in these chambers is the Lord of the lands of Fey,"
stated the Lady calmly. "His will is our law." She focused her attention
on Mairi. "We must hope for the moment that his mien is true. If it is
then you, Mairi, have his trust, inasmuch as any here can be said to
have it. Take him then to the Lord's chambers, let him sleep himself out
upon the bed that is now his. Be there for him when he awakes to guide
him lest he resist being served. If he is but a child then he may be
unusued to being served and I want no-one being let go because the Lord
declined his services. While he is our Lord, if his form is truth then
he will need guidance and a firm hand. If he is aught else in but a
child's form then will we need to know what in sooth he is and that you
must learn for us, Mairi."

The Lady frowned pensively. "Perhaps it would be best if I did not look
upon him again. So far as it is possible, ensure that he does not know
of me, to ask for me. You shall be my hand in this."

With that, the Lady withdrew, returning to her wing of the castle to
ponder in her chambers. Mairi watched the Lady leave, walking with a
stately grace that she and her companions could but aspire to. The women
around her looked on her with a sympathetic air, for on her had been
laid an unpleasant task. 

If indeed the child were no child, which she had a difficult time
believing, then it seemed likely that he was a mischievous rather than
cruel sort, given the form he wore. Even that was decidely uncertain.
The best case scenario, it seemed, was to hope that the child was but
what he seemed, yet that put her, only two years a woman, in the
position of raising a Lord with the power of life and death over his
subjects.

Her brother's tantrums were fierce indeed and he could be but little
younger than this boy's seeming. If the new Lord should throw such a
tantrum, how many would die to appease a childish anger? Worse yet,
would not the responsiblity for such an act lie most truly upon her, as
she had been given the burden of guiding him?

She re-entered the common room. In sooth not all of the concubines had
been there, for some were yet abed and others in the gardens. They had
each their own personal chambers and she had not yet seen her own, nor
yet would she, for she had a burden to take up.

Kneeling by the sleeping Lord, she gathered him into her arms, keeping
the towel wrapped securely around his slumbering form. Rising to her
feet she blessed his small size. Even so he was a burden. Carrying him
forth from the chamber, she paused outside while Linnai delegated two of
the other concubines to aid her in carrying him. 

They progressed down the halls, trading him off as the burden became too
great to bear, and thus they made their way to the black wing and
finally to the familiar doors of his chamber. Wooden they were but not
the stout oak of the hall doors nor the slender light wood of their own
chamber doors but a heavy black mahogany bound with black steel,
befitting the motif of the black wing.

The doors to her Lord's chambers opened wide before her, responding to
the power of the ring the child wore. Her two companions wished her luck
and left. She felt no comfort in the newly familiar site of his rich
suite. Even as she passed the small sitting room to enter the bedroom,
she felt chills course over her. Such a short time before it was, she
wondered, looking at the bed, that she had lain there in the heated
embrace of her Lord's arms, and now he lay in the cold embrace of death,
and her arms now embraced his killer, as she lay him upon the silken
sheets. 

Unable to balance him, she was forced to lay him entirely upon the
pillows at the head of the bed to draw back the sheets, before placing
him on the bed proper. As she tucked him in, she couldn't help but note
that he seemed small for his age, thin, though his form was fit and hard
for such a youth, as she had recalled from his bathing. She had believed
it then to be but an artifact of his form, for was he not in fact the
dread Lord Fey and why should he take on a flabby or unkempt form? Now
she recalled the thin scars on his form. If he was a child in truth,
then why was he so small and thin, and yet so well muscled, and why was
he covered in tiny angry scars?

Mairi considered what she would do when he awoke and decided that if she
was about to become a concubine to a different Lord, should he not be
the child he seemed, she preferred it on her own terms. A plan formed
and solidified over the hours as he slept.

---

As the sky began to slowly lighten with the imminence of dawn, Krall
crouched in the woods near one of the houses beyond the outskirts of the
town proper. Though he had several caches of clothes in hidden places
within the encircling forest he did not want to make use of them.

He could not be certain yet who had taken control of Fey castle but it
scarcely mattered. If it was some powerful demon or that damned Arkus
they would likely slay the high ranking officers to put in their own
servants, to ensure loyalty. If the one who slew Fey had not taken power
then it would likely be the Lady or Torhm in control now, taking
advantage of his absence and unfortunately Krall had never been the sort
to encourage loyalty amongst his troops.

Whichever way things ran it was unlikely that he would retain his
position and it was rather probable that they would seek his head rather
than simply releasing him from service. 

Still it was not in Krall's nature to run blindly from a threat. He
would not attack blindly either and would certainly consider carefully
before pitting himself against one who could slay the Lord Fey, but he
would not give up on the power he had come so close to gaining out of
mere fear or uncertainty.

He growled in irritation as he counted the days on his hand. Today was
not one of the three soldier's market days, wherein the townsfolk would
come to sell their wares in the open plaza, or from within the covered
buildings, if they were rich enough, that faced the open wall of the
common soldier's barracks.

Even as he muttered against that injustice he reconsidered. Perhaps it
was for the better. Granted he would have been able to more easily
obtain the gossip he was interested in, the banter between the soldiers
that would tell him how things stood within the castle, but he would
also have run a far greater risk of being recognized. 

Amongst the numerous peasants at the fair on the far side of the
soldier's market as they bartered and traded for the goods made by the
castle artisans and craftsmen he would be inconspicuous, once properly
garbed. The common soldiers rarely showed up there but the officers
often sought baubles at the fair with which to curry favor with their
ladies or entice a fresh young maiden.

When Krall moved on into the brightening day the house he left was
bathed in blood and he was cloaked in peasant's garb.

---

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 beautiful
woman sitting on the edge of the bed.

Mairi leaned alluringly toward him, her silk night-robe hanging loose,
giving him a perfect view of her assets. Her soft brown hair framed a
heart shaped face with lips a ruby red that glistened wetly. She shifted
slightly, so that her night-robe swung open wider, revealing an expanse
of smooth skin, 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, uhm, please don't hit me, I'm sorry, I wasn't
looking." Finally he paused for a moment, waiting in uncertain
anticipation. Though he ought to be able to defend himself against one
person alone, he could not hit someone who reminded him of his mother,
so had resigned himself to taking a beating.

Whenever his father had been caught looking at a woman, the lady would
instantly start to attack him, but he had not been attacked yet. He
heard a soft, low chuckle. "Why does the Master fear his servant?" Mairi
asked. His response had confirmed in her eyes the truth of his
appearance, sending a wave of relief over her and she didn't even try to
resist the urge to tease him, after his cutely fearful reaction.

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, blindly oblivious to the teasing glint in 
her amused eyes, still covering himself, looking anywhere but at her.
"Where are they? Where are my clothes?"

"Master?" she asked, schooling her features into a suitably confused
expression. "What do you mean? You know you have only to think of it,
and your clothing will appear." The concentration needed to keep from
bursting into furious giggles gave her look an earnestness that he
seemed to sense when he finally looked at her, desperately.

Could she be right? It did not make any sense, any more than her
constantly calling him Master. He kept expecting her to suddenly realize
that he was not whoever she thought he was, and attack him for deceiving
her, or more likely, call for the guards he vaguely remembered seeing.
But she did not. 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 did not see any of the signs his father had taught
him to look for to recognize another martial artist, the fact that they
were on this bed told 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.

He was beginning to have memories of the night before, images of the
strange construction of the building, even of a woman who looked like
this one. It had been so different though that it seemed a dream and her
calling him Master had unnerved him. He was used to Genma selling him
but always before it had been as a servant or a son. Sometimes he had
been well-treated, other times he had been put to work; never had he
been called Master.

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.
Mairi grinned inwardly. She had prepared a whole 'realization' scene to
control his reaction and convince him to reveal both his true form and 
how he had defeated the Lord Fey should he not prove to be a mere child
and though he had convinced her with his initial reaction, she 
recognized that he still needed to be introduced to the truth of his new
situation, and continued therefore with the game she had begun.

"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 the blood, there had been blood... or was that just a dream?

"But you must have. You are wearing his clothing and his rings, the
doors answered to your presence. You must have defeated him," she said,
almost despairingly, 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, though not the smirk she hid inside.

"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 girls cry. "Jus don' cry. Please don't cry." 

She suddenly reached out, gathered him to her and held him tightly, as
tears fell from her eyes. The tears did not fall for the reason he
thought, though she latched onto them as if they did. His painfully
sweet protective response had brought true tears to her eyes as she
considered whether to reveal to him that he had been the one to kill
Fey. 

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 too young for that. He felt only an urgent
desire to stop her tears, to comfort her, and to erase her fear. He
thought desperately, trying to think of a way that he might have
defeated someone and yet not remembered it.

He tried to remember how he had come here, and finally he recalled
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 about rabies and had run from it nearly as
fast as Ranma himself had.

"Cat-fist!" he said suddenly. "I could'a defeated him with the cat-fist
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 he wondered how she had recognized his boxers, then that meant
Ranma had killed. A cold shiver went through him, and sudden tears
sprang to his eyes as the blood in the water coming from his hands
pushed itself to the forefront. No it was a dream, it was just a dream.

"No. No, I didn't. Please no. Tell me I didn't! Oh, God, I killed 
him. I'm a murderer. Damn you, old man! I'll prolly kill again and 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; he had
deserved to die. She was not really that sure of it herself but she knew
he had taken the Lady's love for him and used it to trap her. Whatever
else he had done, for that act alone he deserved whatever had happened
though neither she nor the Lady would ever have sought to bring about
retribution for it themselves.

"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'." Just forget about it. You can't remember, it didn't happen, a
voice seemed to say to him. He shook his head fiercely, feeling the
wrongness of the plan. Momma said to always tell the truth. 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." How could he tell his
mother the truth if he did not even know what the truth was?

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." 

Mairi shivered but nodded, slid off the bed, and walked into the closet.
Ranma sat cross-legged on the floor to wait for her. As Mairi dressed in
one of the many outfits kept ready in the Lord's chambers, that his
ladies might never have to tread the halls in the clothes in which they
came to him, which often failed to survive his attentions, she
considered the conversation she had just had. 

His reactions seemed to confirm his apparent age and maturity and his
speech had agreed with the Lady's concern about his possibly being
unused to servants. Now he had ordered her to accompany him to find the
body of her dead lord. The thought frightened her, particularly when she
considered where it must be and what the punishment was for being found
in those areas, but it had been a direct request and the Lady had been
clear about his being the new Lord, regardless of the truth of his
appearance, so she dared not disobey. Surely that request would protect
her from the consequences of trespass in the forbidden areas?

Several minutes later, she stepped out again, dressed in an elegant 
dress 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, to her eyes, 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, or at
least, his true age.

She would not normally have thought of such a youth in that way but she
had already been party to bathing that solid body at a time when she
believed him to be the Lord Fey. She had been unable, while bathing him,
to keep from thinking of her Lord's hard muscles as he had pleasured
her and now she was finding that link in her mind was still affecting
her.

She stopped him at the bottom of a flight of stone steps rising between
walls of stone beside a red wall hanging and pointed silently upward. 
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 marvelled 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. She
was far more used to young children finding any and every way possible
to shirk chores or avoid owning up to damages they had caused. The
image of the innumerable tiny scars that lined his body formed in her
mind and she shivered. What had this child been through, to be so
serious, so young?

Ranma was struck by her compassionate look and began to reconsider his
memories of the night before. Perhaps it had not been a dream. At that
thought, it was all he could do not to burst into tears and beg her to
hold him again as she had in his dream. He firmed his will. It was just
a dream. Real people were not like that. Real people hurt you, hit you,
forced you to do all sorts of unpleasant things, not unlike what he was
doing now. She was not forcing him, he acknowledged, but that was
probably only because he was doing what she wanted. Let him try to do
something else, or show a sign of being unmanly, and the facade of
compassion would fall. He would be in trouble and then Genma would beat
him again when he came to steal him back.

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
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.

Mairi was startled at the sight. She knew little about magic but she
guessed that the strange carvings and varied designs in the door must be
magical, probably some kind of defenses to keep out the unwanted. 
Regardless of whether the door was in fact magical or not, it was still
three inches of solid iron. 

Now it looked like the practice posts in the yards after twenty or 
thirty guards had spent several hours whittling them with their swords,
yet her new Lord seemed to recognize it as a result of his own attack. 

A shiver ran down her. A powerful attack that looked like it had been
made by an animal combined with the boy's stated lack of memory over
these instances added up to a clear conclusion in her mind. The boy was
a werecreature. He could not be a full halfling as General Krall was or
he would remember his actions fully. 

No, he must be one of the werekin, one of those cursed to turn into an
animal under certain conditions, usually one mad with rage, vicious and
powerful, with no memory of their actions while in the grip of the
beast. She murmured under her breath, praying that the Lady would know
how to free the boy of his curse, as Ranma pressed against the door.

With a sudden crack and flare of light, the door burst inwards, and they
both covered their eyes and they gagged at the stench of blood. 

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, watching as the
horror in his eyes faded to anguish, and then hardened to a look of 
steel. 

"Never again," she heard him say under his breath as he turned to leave.
"Come on, please, I gotta get out of here," he said, his voice trembling
slightly. Under his breath she heard him mutter to himself, "I gotta be
strong,"

He choked back a sob, fighting against the threatening tears, then 
taking a deep breath, he said firmly, "I killed him, so I gotta..." He
paused suddenly. What did he know about caring for the dead? He had to
say prayers for the spirit of the man he killed, but what did he know of
the spirits and the gods? He looked away, uncertain, and said no more.

He did not look at her 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. 

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

Bury him? Is that what they do? Well, I don't know the prayers to say,
so I guess I'll just have to bury him. Maybe the spirits'll understand
that? "Yeah, all right. I gotta think for a bit. Is there someplace I
can just be alone to sit and think? They can get him ready, and maybe
get him some clothes or somethin'. But I gotta bury him." 

Pain flickered in his gaze, and she marvelled again at his strength of
will. So young. He must want to collapse in tears. How would he be able
to live with what he has done? Yet he was strong. It would be much
easier on him if he were not so good. If he had been as evil as she had
feared this would not be bothering him at all and so while she felt
empathy for his pain, at the same time it reassured her.  

"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. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him.
She did not want his anger and pain directed at her. "But right now I
just wanna be alone for a while."
  
Mairi nodded, considering her options. She did not feel safe leaving him
totally alone. He was just a young boy, even with his affliction, and he
was her responsibility. She thought of the small rock garden in the
concubines' wing where the others had told her they sometimes went to
meditate, or write letters to their families, or just to enjoy a time of
quiet. It would do and he would not be out of sight. She could also take
him outside to the innermost courtyard but it had a fountain and young
children needed careful supervision there. At the enclosed rock garden
he could be given more space without concern that he might take injury
before being noticed.

She led him back to the concubines' wing. This time she talked to him as
they walked, telling him about the areas they passed through. This was
his castle now and he would need to learn its ways. She pointed out the
deep green wall hangings to either side of the doors leading from the
stair landing. "This is where I took you last night, if you remember,"
she said, incidentally confirming the reality of his dreams, which dazed
him, "and is sometimes called the Green Wing. Because of the hangings,
you see."

Ranma's eyes grew slowly wider as she led him down a hall that matched
the one in his memories perfectly. He had felt certain that those
memories were but a dream and yet here he was walking down that dream
hall. A slow warmth seemed to well up in his chest at the thought of the
compassion he had seen in the eyes of his guide and the memory of his
gentle treatment at the hands of the women she had brought him to.

She entered a different door and Ranma was surprised to see a familiar
seeming rock garden, very like the one he had first learned to meditate
in. Genma had shown little respect for that master and had verbally
denigrated him after they left. Genma had little use for meditation and
had taken Ranma there only to learn to find his center and correct his
breathing. 

That dojo had had a rock garden much like this one. Mairi was mildly
suprised at the wide smile the boy wore at the sight of the room.
"Thanks," he said, "this is perfect." He ran off into the room and as
she watched, he settled into a sitting position that looked painful,
with his ankles resting atop his thighs and began to stare off into
space. 

Mairi caught the eyes of the two women currently using the room,
signaling them to watch the boy without disturbing him, then slipped out
of the room.

She had much to do.

---

Mairi walked briskly through the halls, taking the fastest course she
knew of to reach the Lady's chambers. She breathed a sigh of heartfelt
relief when she saw the Lady's personal guards standing by her chamber
doors. Had they not been present it would have meant that the Lady was
not present in her chambers. Mairi would then have been forced to waste
even more time in searching for the Lady.

To her surprise, the guards did not accost her nor demand her business
when she approached. As soon as they saw her, they opened the doors
before her. "I guess the Lady must have told them to be expecting me,"
Mairi mused internally.

Striding into the Lady's chambers she was instantly met by a young boy
of around ten years. "This way, milady," he said, bowing low to her then
guiding her through the chambers.

Mairi followed him in mild bemusement, wondering how the Lady had known
to expect her. She was startled and a bit frightened when the child
swung wide a door before her and she saw sitting on a couch with his
feet resting on an ottoman, in deep discussion with the Lady, General
Torhm. He looked up when she entered, his hard brown eyes fixing her
like a mouse speared by the hungry eyes of an eagle.

The Lady gestured to a third couch set nearby. "Please, Mairi, have a
seat. I've just been explaining to General Torhm what has been
happening."

Torhm nodded, following her with his cold eyes as she nervously sat
perched on the edge of the couch. "I've lived in expectation of this
day. Summoning is a dangerous business. I've oft wondered what would
happen if one of his demons or such got away from him. The Lady tells me
that now that it has happened, the demon is naught but a small child?"
His skepticism was clear in his voice.

"He does seem to be, milord." 

The Lady smiled gently at Mairi. "Mairi had the fortune, be it good or
ill, to be the first to come upon the new Lord. She was tasked with
laying him to rest, and on his awakening, finding out the truth of him.
So, Mairi, you believe now that he is what he seems, a child?"

"Yes, Lady, though... I think he is like Krall." Seeing the flash of
hatred in Torhm's eyes, she was quick to disambiguate her words. "No,
not exactly, not like a halfling. But a victim of one, I think. He...,"
Mairi shivered under Torhm's cold gaze, wondering what his reaction
would be to her disclosure. "He made me take him to where I found him,
and together we entered the summoning chamber. Lord Fey is there still,
lying in a pool of blood, and Licius is with him, dead but seemingly
uninjured, though we didn't look closely. The metal door had a hole torn
through it. The child recognized it, he said it was a result of training
his father put him through, that he called the cat-fist."

Torhm's dour face darkened. The comment about the child being a victim
of a werebeast struck home for him. Surely it explained things? If Krall
had been promised something on Fey's death, he could well be the sort
who would be impatient for what he had been promised. If he came into
the knowledge that Fey would be summoning a child from some village,
perhaps for interrogation, perhaps for a sacrifice, he could well have
arranged to infect the child as a means of striking undetectably and
unexpectedly at Fey. He readily discounted the boy's words of training.
Krall was more than enough to frighten some poor child's father into
going along with a story, and once he'd infected the boy, altering his
memories would likely be easy.

"Where is he now?" queried the Lady, forestalling Torhm's outburst.

"He is in the stone garden. There are a few ladies there, and I asked
them to watch him. He has not yet eaten and I was planning on taking him
something soon. He asked that Fey be prepared for burial. He says that
as he killed him, he must be the one to bury him."

The Lady motioned to a servant standing in the shadows. The servant
stepped forward and the Lady dispensed whispered instructions for
several moments, then released the servant, who quickly left the room.

"You have done well, Mairi. Tell me, do you wish to be reassigned? Or do
you wish to remain with him? You realize that he will have no need of
concubines, if he is what he appears to be, for many long years."

"I...," Mairi paused, blushing lightly in memory of her short time with
Fey. She thought of the child, and his sweet reaction to her tears, fake
though they had been, and the innumerable tiny scars on his surprisingly
strong body. "I would stay with him, if I could."

Torhm nodded sharply, surprising Mairi, who had been under the
impression that the hard-eyed man had been looking at her in
disapproval, unaware as she was that it was his habitual expression. "If
you are to be Regent, Lady Alana, it would be well if you spent as
little time as possible in his company. You said the spell holds you
still." He turned his gaze to Mairi. "It is vitally important, Mairi,
that the child not learn that his commands must be obeyed by all about
him until he has been taught proper restraint and his duty to his
people, lest a petulant fit bring chaos. The Lady will rule as regent
until he comes of age. Until then he must be protected and trained." He
scowled suddenly and deeply. "And if he is infected, as you suspect," he
continued, and he turned now to the Lady, "you must find a way of curing
him lest the one that infected him get close enough to control him."

"Some long awaited changes draw nigh," commented the Lady with a soft
smile.

Torhm stood and bowed low to the Lady then, to Mairi's intense surprise,
cast a bow in her direction as well. "There is much to be done, if you
ladies will excuse me?"

"Of course, General. We shall speak again, anon." The Lady spoke with a
smile, and dismissed him with a gentle gesture, then returned her
attention to Mairi.

"So, tell me of our new master."

---

The door of the third common room in the officer's halls slammed open,
crashing loudly into the wall on which it was affixed. Instant silence
ensued, as the various officers, taking their ease amidst the pleasures
the room offered, looked up in startlement to see the cold face of
General Torhm.

"Simnir!" Torhm bellowed, unnecessarily, for Simnir was rising already
from his position at a game of billiards played on a large eight sided
table. He excused himself from the game, passing his cue to one of the
watching men. Conversations slowly resumed as Simnir caught up his oiled
cloak from where it lay across a padded armchair by an empty hearth.

He crossed the room quickly and pulled the door closed as he followed
Torhm into the hall. "Interrupted a ruddy good match, you know. So,
what'd her Ladyship want, anyway?"

Torhm shook his head, frowning, and flicked one finger upwards. Taking
the hint, Simnir fell silent. Torhm led the way to an upward wending
staircase. Soon they stood on the roof near the forward edge of the
castle. Though the roof was far from flat and empty, it was easy enough
to see whether anyone was around, and readily possible to avoid being
seen from the ground.

Simnir followed Torhm into the shadow of one of the massive
siege-breaker engines that dotted the outer rim of the castle roof and
waited patiently. Torhm strode into the darkness of the engine's shadow
then spun to face Simnir, a broad and malicious grin spreading across
his face.

Simnir gaped at him, and Torhm laughed heartily.

"I take it the news is good then, Torhm?" queried Simnir tentatively.

"Better than that, Simnir, far better. Fey is dead!"

Simnir shuddered. "But Krall?" Krall had all but promised him once, when
they were alone, that Simnir's death would follow swiftly after the Lord
Fey's. He was aware of Simnir's loyalties and apparently had no
intention of showing mercy or leniency to those he considered enemies.

"Has lost his place due to his own actions, as far as I can see.
Apparently the new lord is but a boy. The concubine who found the child
gave evidence this morn that she thinks he is a victim of a werebeast.
What says that to you, eh?"

"Krall...," Simnir breathed out in awe. "I would never have believed him
to be so subtle or devious, but he must have learned of our Lord's
intent and infected the child he summoned, expecting to come into power
when the Lord Fey died!"

"My thoughts exactly, Simnir! Somehow that power fell to the boy
though..." Torhm fell suddenly silent, a disturbing and most unpleasant
thought crossing his mind. "Could... could it be that the child is a
thrall?"

Simnir considered this for a moment, his skin crawling. If their new
lord was but a pawn of Krall's, if there had been no mistake in the
beast's plans, then their end could not be far off. "Has the Lady seen
the child yet?"

"Aye, but she saw him before they knew the truth of his form."

"Even so, she is familiar with Krall. A mere infected whelp might not be
sensed, particularly when not enraged, but surely his stench would lie
heavily upon a thrall?"

Torhm nodded slowly. "Be it so, let us hope, but leave us plan for the
worst. Quickly now, before Krall has time to capitalize on his plan, if
it be his. Go spread the word, Krall's rank is rescinded by decree of
the Lady, he has no more authority to give orders, and any found aiding
him after being told this are considered traitors. A sentence of
banishment is to be announced for him, and death to follow if he remains
in the land beyond the week."

Simnir nodded and raced across the roof to the stairs to spread the
news. Torhm watched him go, then turned to gaze across the roof's
expanse, to the great tower that rose from the left eye of the inner
courtyard. Leaning his back against the catapault behind him, he sighed
deeply.

Whether or no the new Lord turned out to be in thrall to the beast,
Torhm recognized that the real power lay now in the hands of the Lady.
While he respected her greatly, knowing what she was, he knew also that
she would not understand his desire to renew the war against Farallon.
Indeed, it would not likely be long before she sued for a formal peace.

He could try to wrest the reigns of power himself. The tower that stood
before him belied that thought, however. Without the knowledge of his
enemies' tactics and the defense against their scrying that had been
centered in that tower, fed by his Lord's knowledge and power, his plans
would be laid bare before the eyes of the Mage Tower in Farallon. 

For now, his dreams would lie dormant once more.

---

After speaking for a time with the Lady, telling her all that had
occurred, Mairi returned to the concubines' wing, where she made her
way to the kitchens. She had not been there before, but as a former
servant herself, she knew how to read the subtle signals that guided the
servants through the unending halls of Fey Castle. 

Though she had not previously set foot in the kitchens nor yet was she
herself familiar with the servants who lived in this wing, still she
found herself recognized by the head cook, a stern woman, strong and
tall, but old, and hardened of features, with iron-gray hair swept back
into a loose bun. Mairi was almost surprised that the cook's hair was
not tightly gathered, for the woman looked to be one who tolerated
nothing out of place. A closer look around the kitchen showed that the
benches on which the undercooks sat to work at tasks by the heavy table
were padded, and Mairi realized that like her own former Head of Maids,
this cook, though she likely tolerated no dissension, still understood
that comfortable working conditions made for pleasant workers.

The woman strode quickly through the busy kitchen to the door where
Mairi had entered, then bowed, surprising Mairi, who barely kept herself
from bowing lower in return. "How may I help you, Lady Mairi?" the cook
asked, surprising her once more, as she was still more used to being
addressed familiarly. The woman's voice was like her, hard-edged and
old, but her tone was respectful.

Mairi smiled as best she could in such unfamiliar circumstances. "I need
a bracing meal for a young lad of about seven years, who is shortly to
attend a funeral."

The head cook smiled softly, winking at her, a startling act for one so
seeming stern, as if to say she knew of whom Mairi spoke, before turning
back and glaring about the kitchen. Mairi realized then that all the
activity had ceased at her words, as they sought to gain fuel for their
gossip. Under the head cook's sharp gaze, the noise level rose quickly,
as all pretended industry, putting extra emphasis into their work to
avoid being singled out as an example.

Nodding sharply, the woman began barking out orders, and as Mairi
watched, a massive wheeled cart was brought out and steadily loaded down
with food. It seemed overmuch to her, being used to servant's rations,
but lacking experience with what lords ate and knowing better than to
contradict the cook in front of her workers, she held her tongue. Her
new Lord was rather thin, after all.

Soon she was walking behind two of the women from the kitchen. The
larger of the two, strongly built, with a scar on her face that puckered
the skin, from being splashed with boiling liquid as a child, pushed the
cart easily, loaded down though it was, while her smaller companion
counted halls and doors as they passed.

They had reached the hall the stone gardens were in when the women
stopped. "Seven on the third hall and to the right," the smaller women
mumbled, "This'll be it, closest dining hall to the stones room."

She turned to Mairi even as she grasped the handle and pulled the door
wide. "Lady Mairi, if you will go to bring the boy, we will be ready by
your return," she said, as the other woman pushed the cart into the
room.

Startled for a moment at their familiar address for their Lord, she
recalled that she had not said that the meal was for the Lord Fey, and
though the head cook had behaved as though she knew of whom Mairi had
spoken, she had said nothing of his identity to the women she sent with
her. Mairi nodded and walked down the hall, doing her best not to let her
nervousness and uncertainty show. She was no servant any longer and she
did not want her insecurities becoming fodder for their gossip.

She was shaking inside in spite of her best intentions, as she walked
towards her new Lord. Talking with the Lady Alana about him had made her
realize how little she truly knew. That both Alana and Torhm had given
immediate credence to her theory about his nature left her feeling wary
and afraid. She had never felt comfortable when near Krall, subject to
his dark leers, seeing the pleasure in his eyes whenever he took the
opportunity to strike a servant for not responding to his needs quickly
enough.

Her mind told her that the child had shown no signs of such behavior;
her heart told her that compassionate child who had tried so hard to
comfort her that morn could not behave so bestially; but her stomach
knotted at the remembered scene of death in the summoning room, the pool
of blood, the scattered shreds of iron.

It was with a trembling hand that she reached out to grasp the handle to
the door of the stone gardens, casting a surreptitious glance back down
the hall only to see emptiness, the kitchen servants having vanished
within the dining room to prepare their Lord's table.

The sight within, so greatly feared, cast a balm upon her soul, easing
her nervousness and mocking her fear. The child, whose behavior had been
so unusual that she had half-expected to find him still sitting in that
uncomfortable and untenable position, or doing something equally
inscrutable; whose means of becoming her Lord left her fearing to find
the room strewn with the blood of the women in whose care she had left
him; that child lay curled upon the stones, fast asleep.

Walking quickly into the room, she knelt beside him. To her surprise, he
had bounced to his feet before her hand reached his shoulder. Stones do
not make for the most restful of beds, nor was he truly tired, though
boredom had left little else to do. In such conditions, the rattle of
the stones as she walked across them and the sense of an approaching
presence, when such while he slept had for the last two years been the
prelude to an attack from his father, without fail, brought him
instantly to a startled and wary state of wakefulness.

Finding all threat absent and facing instead the compassionate regard of
the woman who reminded him of his mother had a greater impact on the
young Ranma than might ordinarily be expected. Ranma had shielded
himself against her compassion by his certainty that it was a facade,
present only so long as he behaved in a manly fashion. After all, had
not his father said that to regain his mother's love he must be manly?

Yet he had been found sleeping, inviting attack, and she showed no sign
of censure. In that moment, when he first opened his defenses, first
thought to hope that he might have found true affection, she spoke
again, and cemented her place in his heart.

"It is time that you ate something. Come with me, they've laid out a
feast for you."

Ranma leapt to his feet then flushed as his stomach growled. She held
out her hand to him and after hesitating for a moment he placed his
small hand in hers and let her lead him back into the hall.

When she opened the door to the dining hall, however, he pulled his hand
out hers immediately, dashing into the room to stand by the table,
staring at the wide spread of food. She helped him to sit and his eyes
grew wide when she made no move to sit herself. "This... all this is
mine?"

She nodded, smiling softly. She got the impression that he had never
seen so much food in one place before. That would not suprise her for
neither had she, before coming to serve in the castle. Ranma dug into
the food with enthusiasm, eating with such speed that she was certain he
had not the time to even taste it. "You don't need to eat so fast, you
know," she commented. "It's not going to disappear."

Ranma stopped, looking embarrassed, his cheeks burning. "I... uh... Pops
always steals my food." Cheeks still hot, he began eating again, more
slowly. He misinterpreted the anger that appeared on her face at his
words, and inwardly he cursed his father for giving him bad habits that
made the nice lady mad at him.

Mairi could not believe what the boy said, but it would explain why he
was so small and thin. "I could really get to dislike that boy's father,"
she thought, picturing all the little scars on his body. It was not
enough that he tortured his son, he had to starve him too? 

Ranma, eating slowly, was shocked after a quarter of an hour to
discover that he was becoming full. He looked at the tender slice of
meat he had just pulled onto his plate, wanting to eat it, yet somehow
feeling sick at the thought. It took him a while to realize what he was
feeling, which served to underscore the idea that he had never been
full before, never had had enough to eat that he could actually walk
away satisfied with food left behind.

He was disturbed by the amount of food remaining on the table, afraid
that he would get in trouble for not being able to finish it. He glanced
around, trying to think of something to distract the lady from noticing
the food he had left on the table.

Looking at her, he realized something and promptly forgot about being
worried about the food. "You know," he said in a nervous 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
distress, 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; if she lost her position in the castle, her
brother would be forced to join the army; the very thing she had sought
employment at the castle to prevent. "Master, what am I doing that
causes you such distress? Please tell me," she entreated him.

"It's nothing," he said, suddenly firm in tone again. It worried him
whenever she called him that. To his mind, a master was a master of the
art, and he knew his father would be quite angry if he thought Ranma had
claimed to be a master. But if Genma had claimed that he was a master,
would telling them that he was not lose him his place here? He thought of
the excellent meal he had just had and decided not to risk it. "Is the,"
and he paused, a pained frown on his face, "burial site r-ready?" 

"Yes, Master, but first," Mairi paused for a moment. She had been about to
ask whether he wouldn't prefer to get clean first, but she remembered
Torhm's words. It felt wrong, but she did need to try to maintain some
authority over him. She groaned silently, realizing that she was giving
him a clue every time she called him Master, but having started with
that in the early morning, it would raise his suspicions further if she
changed her form of address. "First, we need to get you cleaned and
dressed," she said firmly.

She led him back to the concubine's chambers and three of the ladies
came with her into the bathing chamber. Once more Ranma submitted to
their attentions, enjoying the warm water. Mairi found it hard to keep
her eyes from his innumerable tiny scars, imagining what his father had
done to him to cause them. It was as she was cleaning his hair, which he
had gotten grease in during his first furious attack on the food, that
she noticed the longer scar directly across the large vein on the side
of his neck. Had whatever cut made that scar been deeper, he would
likely have bled to death.

Mairi led Ranma through the appropriate visualizations to use his new
clothing, causing it to vanish so they could wash him, then causing it
to form more formal clothing after they dried him off, following the
instructions that Lady Alana had given her.

Finally it was time and she led him toward the garden where they would
bury the old Lord. He followed silently behind her, and she wondered why
it was so important to him that he bury the old Master. She remembered
what the Lady had said when she had told her about the child's
determination. The Lady 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 the Lady 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. 

The old Lord had never seemed to believe in his own mortality, though
the Lady had mentioned an acknowledged heir. He had never prepared a
mausoleum for himself, as some kings and lords did, though there was a
mausoleum on the grounds from a previous Lord's reign, when Fey's lands
had still been the several small baronies from which they had eventually
been forged. The Lady had decreed that the old Lord would be laid to
rest in the embrace of the earth, as he had never shown a preference for
a stately death, and the new Lord had expressed a desire to bury him.

When they reached the small cemetary within the gardens, Ranma 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, reflecting the strong light of the unclouded sun.

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 Mairi had followed him, and was close enough to hear his
words. 

He had planned to spend the time in the rock garden coming up with some
proper words to say, since he knew that it was important to spirits that
they be given proper respect, but he had fallen asleep without coming up
with anything. He wanted to cry, to say that it wasn't his fault. It was
not the thought of his father's words, that a martial artist always
accepted responsibility for what he did, that prevented him from doing
so, but rather the fear that the old Lord's spirit would take his words
as an insult, and seak vengeance.

"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." 

He turned, 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 deep into the soft earth.