Star Wars Character Cafe - The Legend of Black Saber Chapter 5

THE LEGEND OF BLACK SABER

CHAPTER V

Ultimately the answer was yes, though Drudwyn had hated Marten on sight. The Jedi Knight would not, or at least could not hide his loathing; it was clearly the grit in his expression, but he kept himself from saying anything derogatory for the moment.

At the High Magistrate’s order, H’r-anna then took the four to the eastern exit, and when the door hissed opened, a hint of dawn trickled through the pollution. The Rosk looked at each person with sympathy, Gryg the only exception. "I pray that no harm comes to you, but you are Jedi, and with the thief to guide you-."

"Thief?" Drudwyn growled. He glared at Marten before turning his malevolent eyes on the High Councilor. "What do you mean?"

H’r-anna would have responded but Cloudia cut in. "I’ll explain later," she said in an attempt to calm the situation.

"Oh?" the Jedi Knight responded snidely.

It felt like there were thousands of accusations cutting into the half-Churyen and that salt was being poured into the fresh wounds. It was definitely clear that her father’s former Padawan was becoming more contaminated. The darkness surrounding Drudwyn was gaining even more of a foothold. Something terrible was going to happen, Cloudia knew, but what it was and when it would occur, she wasn’t sure of.

"Yes, Jedi Wandry will tell you later, for I must go now," H’r-anna said as she gave a reverent bow. "May the Force be with you."

The Rosk’s honestly meant statement went unaccepted by Drudwyn. He snorted his contempt and grumbled, "Indeed," before exiting the fortress. The others were behind him in a flash, and now, as they passed through an outlet ripple in the stronghold’s force field, they entered the Grunge Quadrant’s vile streets.

Other places nearer to the Heart were doubtlessly worse, but this journey was not going to be pleasant. The landscape before them was sort of a mixture of the Coruscant underlevels and the Rosk’s nauseating dungeon. The dirt alleys were congested with people, the scent of grotesque secretions, human waste, sweat, and other foul things leaked up from them, coupling with the reigning pollution.

A man wrinkled beyond his years reached a bony arm from his cloak and he grabbed onto Drudwyn’s robe, yanking on it for attention. The gaunt man nearly withered to nothing when the Jedi Knight glared at him with feral eyes.

"What do you want?" Drudwyn’s voice was deep with disgust.

The man forced his arm upward again as he outstretched his palm. "Credits, so I may eat, Master Jedi. I’m starving," he rasped, his rank breath ascending.

"We don’t have anything," Drudwyn growled, becoming even angrier when he realized that he had just stated the truth. They indeed had nothing, no credits or food and water, and they were at least two days from their ship.

Damn the Rosk. They were devious, filthy liars and he hated them all. One day there would be vengeance, he promised himself.

"Please, Master Jedi. Show me some courtesy," the man pleaded, making the Jedi Knight even more furious.

"I said we have nothing!" he blasted, then sent his foot crashing square into the man’s chest; the beggar groaned as a few of his ribs cracked.

Drudwyn reveled in the hideous sound as he prepared to strike once more, but suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he twisted around, his coarse _expression searing into Torin.

"Master, stop this," the Padawan said, concern shimmered in his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because this is wrong. You’ve been a Jedi long enough to know-." Torin abruptly fell silent when the elder Jedi backhanded him.

"I’ve been a Jedi long enough to know that things happen to Padawans that don’t know when to keep their mouths shut." Drudwyn inhaled some of the thick pollution through his nose and he snorted it out. Then he said, "We’d better move along." His lips were twisted with wrath.

"I should put this man into a healing trance. He doesn’t deserve to suffer like this, Master." The Padawan was about to kneel by the beggar, but he didn’t get the chance to.

"Yes, he does, my young apprentice. He has a lesson to learn about courtesy, and you, I would say, have much to learn about respecting your Master’s wishes. Now let’s get out of here."

The quartet pressed on, Cloudia and Torin both sick concerning Drudwyn. Marten was amused though, smiling for awhile before releasing a wicked laugh. "I didn’t know Jedi acted like that."

Drudwyn knew that Gryg was speaking of him, and it did nothing to quell the blistering vileness of his mood. "What do you mean?"

"I know you can’t read me, but it should be obvious. You were going to kick that guy in back there, and as far as I knew Jedi were supposed to be kind, at peace, and not give into anger. And you were awesomely vicious."

The thief laughed again, the violent image tantalizing him.

"That wasn’t vicious, and if you think I gave into anger you’re wrong. If that were the case this street would be soaked with blood by now."

"I see," Marten said, still chuckling a bit.

"And what’s this nonsense about me not being able to read you?" The Jedi Knight reached out with the Force, attempting to sift some nuance from Gryg’s mind. Nothing. And the bearded man grunted. "How can this be?"

"I really don’t know. I just picked up some sort of Force-deflecting ability somewhere along the line, I guess, and I have to say it comes in pretty handy. Cloudia knows all about that."

Drudwyn glared at the half-Churyen. "Apparently you have more to explain than I thought."

"I do," the young woman said with a nod. Then she explained everything, from the fact that Marten had once been apart of Valenteen’s organization—and she watched Gryg sneer as she mentioned the dead commander’s name—to how he had become a prisoner of the Rosk.

"Well, at least we have a common enemy," Drudwyn grumbled.

After that the group continued on silently. Still there was a lot of noise about them, which emanated from the living gutter trash that littered the street. More and more beggars arose, pleading for alms, drug-sucking scum also pleading for monetary sympathy. There were small, malformed animals scurrying throughout the streets scavenging for food, and maniacal explosions were sounding in the distance.

More than a few hours passed like this, as they continued in a straight line. Marten led them confidently; he knew precisely where he was going, and as much as Drudwyn wanted to show his detest for that, he said nothing.

Suddenly the group was forced to a halt when someone up ahead called out to Gryg. The person was a woman; she looked rather sly, though her wan complexion was covered with grime.

"Marten," she said in a seductive voice and gave a teasing laugh. "It’s been along time, too long for me."

"Yeah, same here. How are you, Sereni?"

"Lonely, but you could do something about that. Maybe your Jedi friends could keep me company too." The woman smiled as she wantonly stroked her fingers down her grungy shirt. She looked as if she were ready to embrace Gryg, but he shook his head to keep her away.

"Sorry, I can’t help you," Marten said, though the look on his face revealed that he had sort of wanted to say something else. Sereni noted that, but only his words mattered to her.

"Why not? You more interested in, say, her?" She pointed at Cloudia, looking so jealous that her skin had actually taken on a green tint.

"No. What I’m interest in is finally getting off this rot hole as quickly as I can. These kind people are my ticket out of here, and I’m not passing up this opportunity."

"Are taking me with you?" Gryg shook his head. "That’s cruel, you good-for-nothing parasite."

"Well, good-for-nothing parasites aren’t supposed to be nice are they? Look, I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll look you up when I get to hell." Marten flashed a callous smile at his one time lover, and Sereni, who had been sneering, found a similar expression as the quartet began to pass by.

"I’d bet anything you’ll be there first. Xirylin’s sent Fagan Rynt to keep an eye out for you, and it’s a pity Rynt hasn’t found you yet. But don’t worry. He will. You know he will." She forced out a throaty heartless laugh.

Cloudia suspected that things were going to get pretty rough soon, and when Sereni was out of earshot, she asked Gryg, "Who’s Fagan Rynt?"

"He works for Xirylin. He’s like an assassin, and he’s as mean and ruthless as they come. It’s a good thing I’ve got Jedi with me, just in case." Things were quiet between the four until Marten spoke again. "I think we’ve got to find a place to rest soon. It’s safer to travel by night than it is by day. You sleep at night and you’re bound to be dead before you even think about waking up. Or if you’re lucky, you might just wind up vandalized, brutalized, and probably missing a kidney. But don’t worry. We’re not too far from suitable accommodations."

"We don’t need much rest," Torin commented after a thoughtful moment. "There are certain Jedi techniques that can be applied when-."

Gryg cut the Padawan off. "Do I look like a Jedi to you? I need a few hours sleep, at least, to keep me going through the night. Nights here can feel twice as long as they are, and I don’t want to be unprepared. Okay with you?" The Jedi apprentice nodded. "Good, then. We’ll probably be at the spot in forty-five minutes."

That was a decent estimate, but only a half an hour had elapsed when trouble showed up.

"Nice company you’ve got there, Gryg," a rugged, deep voice slashed from around the corner, and suddenly the man speaking appeared on the street ahead of them. Cloudia knew right away that this had to be Fagan Rynt.

Rynt was exceedingly tall, a burly man that looked like he could crush a dozen womp rats in one fist. He was clad in sweaty black garments, which matched the color of his tangled hair and beard; his long jacket was scrapping against the ground.

The thing that made the assassin look the most sinister was the smoke that billowed from his mouth and nose. Obviously he was fond of smoking but was too strong for cigaras; he would rather more fully contaminate himself with a mouth insert.

"I’d say so, Rynt," Marten said, sounding far too calm. "How have you been?"

"I’m all right, hasn’t be a month plentiful of good skull-crushing, but hey you know the business, right?" Gryg nodded. "But I’ve got to say I’m sorry, friend. I might be okay, but you’re going to be doing pretty badly soon."

"Why is that?" Marten asked, his voice eerily cool and nonchalant.

Rynt laughed, the smoke rolling out of him. "Oh, come on, Gryg. Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean. Nobody swipes from Xirylin and lives to tell the tale."

"I know that, but I didn’t swipe from him. I went out to do a job."

"Of course, you went out to do a job. I’m no idiot, but the fact is you didn’t do it. Oh, don’t open that mouth of yours. Xirylin doesn’t like excuses. The only thing that might spare you is quite costly." The assassin gave a hideous smile.

The smoke seeping out of Rynt began to lessen, and in the silence that ensued, he spat the mouth insert into the dirt and smashed it with the heel of his boot. He took in a slight breath of polluted air before retrieving a new mouth insert from his jacket pocket. He flicked the gray, silicon slab with his thick thumbnail to ignite it, and as the smoke came steaming from it, he attached the insert to the roof of his mouth.

Then Marten revealed his annoyance. "Tell me what the price is."

"You’re not one to be ordering me, Gryg. After all, you’re the condemned and you’re not ripe for ordering anyone." After a snide pause, Rynt went on. "But I was going to tell you anyway. I’m not an utter barbarian… So here it is, you give me the wage, you give me the Rosk jewels, and maybe her."

The filthy assassin reached for Cloudia, and though she had sensed that he was going to touch her face, she hadn’t jerked away nearly fast enough. The young woman was forced to endure his momentary caress; it was sickening, as was his haze-emitting smile. "She seems the type that Xirylin would fancy."

"Sorry, Rynt. That’s impossible. I was captured by the Rosk and they took the jewels back."

"Well, you’ll be sorrier," the assassin said, his eyes fluctuating eagerly in their sockets. "This foul-up is going to be the death of you, unless you give me the wage and this vixen here."

Cloudia winced at being called a vixen and she was tempted to use the Force to take care of Rynt, but the time didn’t seem right, so she waited, letting the assassin continue.

"Then maybe I’ll talk Xirylin into sacking you instead of just preparing you for your funeral. That a better deal, friend?"

"Not really. I carried my wages into the fortress with me, and when the Rosk took back their jewels, they also said that the gold was theirs and took that from me too. And as far as Cloudia goes, she’s got her own mind, and she’d be the one to choose her fate, not me."

"Well, if you can’t deal, then you die. How about that?" Rynt shot Gryg a cold smile that looked like death itself, and then he pulled his blaster out from under his jacket and pointed it directly at his target. "Xirylin will be happy when he gets to desecrate your corpse."

But the assassin wasn’t the only one preparing to fire a weapon, so the half-Churyen and her Jedi comrades did nothing.

A group consisting of four men and a woman stalked toward them. They were clad in tattered uniforms, and they had their blasters pointed at Rynt’s back. The woman, who had a bandana covering her blonde hair, also had a knife, but only until she threw it. With excellent precision the blade penetrated deeply into the assassin’s shoulder, and Rynt twisted around with rage, his focus lost.

Marten wasted no time in calling to his companions, "Drop!"

With lightning speed the order was obeyed, which was good because a hail of blaster fire suddenly engulfed the street. The murderous crimson bolts flashed through the smog, surreal and angry, but the torrent of fierce lasers stopped almost as quickly as it had begun.

Xirylin’s vigilant thug was now a heap of dead, blood-soaked flesh; smoke from the mouth insert was still surging from the greasy cadaver. Gryg got to his feet, followed by the others, and he could not restrain a wicked, satisfied smile.

"Whose corpse is going to get desecrated?" Marten snorted a laugh. "Too bad I don’t have time to stick around and watch that."

Gryg’s pleasurable thoughts slipped away as Rynt’s killers approached him. "Okay," the woman said, her stern _expression lacking remorse concerning the murder. "Where’s what you promised us? If you don’t pay up, I’m going to take you and your friends out personally."

"Don’t worry, I’ve got it."

"You’d better," the woman stated icily, and for the second time in a minute Gryg had a blaster pointed squarely at his chest.

Cloudia was somewhat nervous, so were Torin and Drudwyn. If only they could read what Marten had done and what he intended to do. It was apparent that the Rosk’s former prisoner had set up a deal with these people, but the entire thing was rather hazy, and all they were picking up from the murderers was callous defensiveness and greed.

Gryg reached underneath his shirt, almost looking like he was searching for a weapon, but after a moment, he instead revealed a handful of thick golden bars. Their luster was unmatched by anything else in the grungy surroundings, and he offered them to the woman.

It seemed that she was going to prove too suspicious to take them, but after a lengthy inspection she desirously snatched up the bars. Then she distributed them amongst herself and her accomplices before signaling that it was time to depart from the crime scene.

Marten smiled at the corpse once more, unable to help thinking about what would happen to it. The visions of desecration and feasting were almost too much pleasure to bear, but unfortunately he forced the wondrous thoughts from his mind.

"Well, we’d better get going ourselves," the thief forced a yawn. "All this has made me rather tired." And so the trek commenced again, but silence was far from being prominent.

"Where did all those people come from?" Torin was the first to state what was on his mind.

Marten reached underneath his shirt again and pulled out a summoner, which looked rather like a comm-link. He seemed rather like a magician.

"Well, I used this to contact them. I sort of hired them before I went in. I had planned to skip planet once I’d stolen the jewels, and I knew if Xirylin suspected anything that he was going to send Rynt after me. So because of that possibility I knew I was going to need backup. Of course I should have just let you guys fight it out for me so I could keep all the money, but I sort of promised them, and I’m not that bad of a creep." Marten fanned them all a decent smile, which was almost believable.

"And what about the jewels?" Drudwyn pressed. "You still have those, don’t you." The Jedi Knight spoke the words as if he were capable of penetrating Gryg’s mind with the Force.

"Yeah, I do. The warden never was able to find them." All decency had vanished from the _expression and he looked rather sly. "And I don’t think anyone would be able to find them unless they knew my little secret."

"What’s that?" Torin asked.

Gryg’s smile widened at the question. "Curious aren’t we…? But I suppose you have the right to know." Marten paused momentarily before explaining. "You see I have this vest hidden underneath my clothes. It looks and feels so much like real flesh that hardly anybody can spot that it’s completely synthetic. The thing that’s the most trick about it, though, is that it’s got lots of storage compartments. That’s where I’ve got the jewels, and that’s where the money and the summoner were stashed. Oh and another thing, I have some ration bars and some water stashed away. Anybody want some?"

Cloudia and the Padawan nodded, but Drudwyn forced his expression to become even more stern and distrustful, which was all the reply that was needed.

"Okay, well there’s not a lot, but it’ll get us through," Marten said, and he reached underneath his shirt once more. It didn’t take long for him to extract what he had promised. The Jedi Knight, though, was still not impressed, as the thief opened up the silvery water pouch and passed it around.

"When do we get to see this mysterious asset of yours?" Drudwyn slammed the question at the guide; it seemed to be a coercion tactic, one that upsettingly was not going to work, for Gryg twisted around and glared at the older man.

"Nobody gets to see anything. I did my duty for the day. You all know my secret, and that’s all you really deserve to know in my opinion."

Marten looked away from the Jedi Knight, boldly ignoring him, as he went about the simple task of opening the ration bar and splitting it into nine minute segments. "Here you go," he said, handing three pieces each to those willing to partake, then he shoved his own three directly into his mouth. "We can have more after we rest and get going again," Gryg added, still chewing, and when he had finished, he grabbed the water pouch from Torin rather rudely. He almost drained it like a drunkard would a flask of Corellian whiskey.

Once he had finished, he gasped in relief and handed it back to the young Jedi, but then he was struck unaware as Drudwyn latched onto his shoulder. The two were glaring at each other hatefully once again.

"What do you mean that’s all we really deserve to know? We deserve to know a lot more."

The tension was thick; it felt as if something were going to snap at any minute. If the Rosk had wanted Gryg to die during this excursion, it almost seemed that they were going to get their wish, for Cloudia didn’t think she and Torin could keep the Jedi Knight from completely giving in to his anger.

"What do you think you deserve to know, Jedi?" Gryg was far too cocky, the final word sounding very insulting.

"I want to know why the Rosk chose you as our guide. There’s more to it than the fact that you know these streets well. I’m almost positive of it." Drudwyn’s malicious stare never wavered.

"I don’t care what you’re almost positive of. You have no power over me." Marten let a smile slip onto his face, but while his words might have had truth, he seemed to be unaware of his imminent danger. He could not hear the vile, crackling energy swarming around him and the Jedi Knight. He could not sense that the nerves binding the entire situation could easily sever.

"You will tell me what I want to know." This wasn’t any attempt at a mind trick, just an unveiled threat, and Gryg laughed in response as if to madly invite Drudwyn’s wrath.

"Okay, okay," the guide said, his voice smug, though he seemingly extended his arms outward in a gesture of compliance. "I’ll admit there’s some secret that you don’t know, but I’ll be more than damned and bantha-trampled if I’ll tell you."

"You try my patience, Gryg," Drudwyn growled. "And if you continue with this game any longer you’ll be dead, receiving the damnation you deserve." The Jedi Knight was going to kill Marten; it seemed that nothing would be able to stop him. One more wrong word out of the guide’s mouth and he’d be sorry he’d escaped death at the hands of Fagan Rynt.

Gryg’s smile broadened with pleasure, as if he was going to foolishly place himself in checkmate. Then he said, "Basically I was picked to guide you to your ship because I know best how to get you there, but I wasn’t picked by the Rosk."

"What do you mean?" Drudwyn’s features were scrunched with confusion, but the astonishment somehow helped to quell a touch of his anger. Cloudia and Torin tried as best they could to mask their mutual relief.

"Their Master, some being called the Starkiller, ordered that I be your guide. That’s what the warden told me, for what its worth."

Though they could not sense whether the words were true or false it made sense that Xcelcior was involved, and Cloudia was the first to speak at this revelation. "Did H’r-anna tell you why the Starkiller ordered this?"

"Because I’m the best, Cloudia. What else can I say?" Marten smirked with pride but after a moment he allowed the expression to slip away. "But honestly if there’s a deeper reason to it all, I wasn’t told. I’m a no-good thief after all."

The daughter of the former Jedi Master knew that whether Marten was speaking the truth or not, there was indeed a deeper reason. Xcelcior wanted her back in his clutches, safely and unharmed. That’s why she and the others had been saved from T’zarn’s bounty hunter, and that’s why the streetwise thief was guiding her and the Jedi.

Even being aware of this she knew she had to find her way back to the Dark Jedi, no matter what his intent. She would not be turned, even if that meant her imminent death.

Of course she had fears for the others, Marten would probably depart from them before they journeyed to Drakhsah, but there was always the Jedi Knight and his Padawan. Torin was too stubborn to turn, she felt, and he would therefore join her in death. Drudwyn on the other hand was already traveling the first steps down the dark path. If Xcelcior desired to turn him, that task would be all too easy.

"Well, we’d better get moving," Gryg said, rousing the half-Churyen from her thoughts. "The resting place is just up ahead." And the Force-users silently followed his lead.

***

The sleeping place was not visible from the street, but when they reached a crude hole in the southern dirt barrier, Marten gestured to it. The others weren’t too surprised, especially Drudwyn, who growled his displeasure as they crawled in single file. The barrier was much thicker than it appeared from the outside, the hole in fact a tunnel, burrowing deep inside the semi-saturated earth.

The dark, claustrophobic surroundings were quick to embrace them. It seemed that this place of resting would hardly be conducive to any such activity, but finally the tunnel came to an end and expanded into a small room, a handful of bedrolls were strewn upon the floor. The dirt-walled chamber was somewhat illumined by a sickly grayish light, and while it could have been better, it also could have been at least as terrible as they had expected, so none complained.

The two Jedi decided to keep watch at the tunnel’s mouth, using mediation as their form of rest, and Cloudia and Marten took to bedrolls on opposite sides of the room. The half-Churyen wished that she had learned something of Jedi rejuvenation before this, but she supposed it didn’t matter that much.

Gryg set the alarm on his chrono for three and half Tenlite hours and it didn’t take long for either of the two to settle into sleep. Yet it seemed to take even less time before the alarm started beeping annoyingly.

Within a few minutes the quartet was back on the street, the hazy twilight lending itself to the encroaching darkness. Some of the glow-poles were throbbing to life, that was to say those that had not been damaged or weren’t burnt out.

The group pressed on in silence until Marten abruptly spoke. "I know you guys really aren’t going to like this, but we’re going to have to cut through the sewers to get to your ship. I’m sorry about that, but there’s nothing I can do."

"The sewers?" Torin asked, and Gryg nodded. The guide was obviously not fond of creeping through the sewers himself but somehow he had become resigned to the fact.

"There must be another way," Drudwyn countered, very sure of his words.

Again Marten nodded, and the Jedi Knight’s expression rose with arrogance. "But going that way is really going to waste us a lot of time, and I’m not meaning an hour or two. A whole day, at the very least. These streets are a brutal labyrinth, and if we make a turn at the next intersection we’re going to have to go well out of the way before we can get back going in this direction, the direction we need to go. Trust me."

Gryg gave an innocent smile that for some reason made him look rather contaminated. Then they proceeded again in silence, the only sounds were quite distant. A violent brawl had broken out only a few streets away, but that was the closest origin of any raucous noise. This particular alley was void of life. Or so it would have seemed without the Force.

Cloudia kept checking over her shoulder, so did the Jedi Knight and his Padawan. There was something around them, albeit hidden from view, something almost human that was consumed by a fierce hunger. There were no emotions such as hate or anger or bitterness, just a pulsating bloodthirstiness that needed to be quenched. Even Marten who was without the Force felt the need to pick up his pace somewhat.

"The sewers are just ahead," Gryg whispered, unsure of why he had spoken so quietly, and he pointed to the downward slope in the road. It plunged to a steel tunnel that was conspicuously burrowed into the ground.

The nauseous odors and watery ooze were trickling out through the broken, steel grate, which had once fully covered the entrance. There would be no pleasantness to this segment of the journey, even less than before, but if it got them to their ship and away from Tenlaw faster it might prove worth it.

Cloudia received a sharp tingle through the Force. The slinking, shadowy creature was now preparing to strike, to devilishly relieve its hunger, and it lunged straight at her. She was only able to partially turn herself in its direction before she saw the hideous banshee thrusting toward her, and in less than a second it had her pinned to the dirt alley.

The creature was somewhat feminine in appearance, with its long tangled web of black hair, but its blank eyes, gray and dead looking in the dim light, spoke nothing of gender. Neither did its chalky, grayish face, and its skin was so viciously taut that its very head seemed to be a skull.

The half-Churyen reached for the Force to push the thing away, but the creature had sunk its sharp, curved fangs into the side of her throat, ingesting the blood with such a raging desire, it seemed that victim and predator were one being. Perhaps that was why the Force was failing to work in this instance, and Cloudia used all of her energy and focus to get her hands on one of her lightsabers.

It seemed the only way to break this fatal connection was to send the lightsaber though the creature’s neck and lob off its head. Yet the young woman was getting light-headed as if she were going to loose consciousness. If she didn’t react in a few seconds she was going to be dead, and she knew then that she hadn’t enough strength. Her hand went limp and her eyes began to shut as she resigned herself to becoming one with the Force.

But the Force was not ready for her. The two Jedi activated their lightsabers within those first few crucial seconds of blood loss, and Drudwyn flashed into Cloudia’s vision as it began to fade. The blood-feaster didn’t stand a chance.

The silvery blade plunged into the creature’s spine, its fangs rose out of the young woman’s throat, fresh gore dripping from them, as its eyes filled with watery pain. It let out a howl of agony as the blade went deeper. It seemed as if the lightsaber would sear through the blood-feaster’s gut and tear into Cloudia as well, but then Drudwyn jerked the weapon upward and the thing went with it before it came unhinged and thudded to the dirt.

Oddly there was still life in the blood-sucking banshee. It groaned and writhed until the Jedi Knight decapitated it.

A smile of satisfaction was beginning to play upon the older man’s lips until he suddenly felt that there were a few more of these things nearby. Yet the creatures were still one with the shadows, slithering about, and now they felt rage for what had been done to their kindred.

"Master," Torin whispered, warningly.

"I feel them too, my young Padawan," Drudwyn responded, caution marked his words and features.

The Jedi apprentice almost felt good for a moment as he and his Master awaited the creatures. It was almost like the old days before Drudwyn had suffered his contamination. It wouldn’t last long, and Torin knew as much, but he was glad to at least have been afforded this opportunity.

As Marten helped the weakened Cloudia to her feet, five creatures, obviously of the same breed as the beheaded one, stalked into view, vengeful and even more bloodthirsty. The daughter of the former Jedi Master sought to stabilize herself against Gryg, as she pulled out both of her lightsabers.

She called them to attention only when she was sure of her balance, and when the blades began to pulsate, she felt revitalized. Now the Force pounded through her, its speed frantic and delirious, and the half-Churyen wondered if this sudden rejuvenation had anything to do with the black lightsaber. Yet she had no time to think about that.

The five creatures appeared masculine, their physiques more muscular and their hair somewhat shorter than the other’s had been, and as they prowled ever closer, they seemed like wrathful creatures dispatched from hell. Suddenly they flung themselves into an angry battle, but they had never come up against Jedi opponents or anyone in possession of a lightsaber before.

Three of them leapt directly at Drudwyn and Torin, the first two landing upon the blades, signaling their own deaths. The third was more wary, almost frightened, but before it had a chance to move in either direction both the yellow and silver blades seared into its corpselike flesh.

The other two were at Cloudia and Marten, not aware of what was befalling their comrades, seemingly not caring if they were. The half-Churyen thrust herself clear of Gryg, the creatures foolishly deciding to follow the quick movement, as she forced herself into a spin. The things could not stop themselves from running into the whirling blades, and they were quickly sliced into pieces.

And with that the battle was over, almost with too much quickness and ease. There seemed to be an emotional flicker from another one of these mutations, but as soon as it was felt, the sensation slipped into oblivion.

When the three realized the threat had passed, they deactivated their weapons and returned them to their belts, all except for Cloudia.

While she had turned both of her weapons off and returned the green one, she could not find it within herself to put away the other. The young woman could feel the lightsaber’s energy surging into her, and for the first time she was truly aware of its pulsing, negative darkness. The knowledge itself should have been enough inspiration to cast away the object, but somehow it had frighteningly increased her compulsion to keep it in hand.

Torin looked at her, his expression full of worry. He knew what was happening, and without words he urged her to let go of it. She knew that she should, and for the most part she wanted to, but she couldn’t. Not now and probably not until she died, just like her father before her.

It was Gryg’s voice that broke through the quiet solemnity. "Wizards of Tatooine! That was awesome!" he said like an excited little boy. "I guess the odds of survival really get upped when Jedi are involved. For all intents and purposes we should be dead."

"Do you know what those things were?" the Padawan asked.

"Wish I didn’t, but yeah. They’re Vymzor, one of the most deadly creatures on the planet, and apparently unless you’re a Jedi you don’t want to encounter them. I think they used to be human at some point—or something close because they walk upright—but they’re not anymore. The only other things I know about them is that they’re not really fond of sunlight, even Grunge Quadrant sunlight, and they seem to remain alive by drinking blood and devouring people’s brains."

"I never even knew such creatures existed," Cloudia stated.

"Well, now, unfortunately you do." Gryg took a brief pause, then changed the subject. "Any of you want something to eat or drink before we head on in?" Even Drudwyn nodded. "Good, it’s going to be a long night down there, and we’ve got to remain prepared. There’s probably more Vymzor and other nastier things down there."

Then after the slight meal break, the four of them splitting a water pouch and two ration bars from Marten’s vest, they walked down the alley’s slope and into the stench-filled sewer pipe.

***

Dawn was arriving in the Grunge Quadrant, yet the gaunt streamers of light were so sickly and mutated that it didn’t deserve such a bright term of description. Even though the pollution was less dense here, at only a day’s journey to the hemisphere border by foot, most people would not be inspired by this pathetic view of Tenlaw’s sunrise. Tasha Sumrac was no exception.

The bounty hunter was crouched in a desolate corner of the street, her features obscured by the ragged hood of a beggar’s cloak. It would do no good for this Cloudia Wandry to spot her too early; if that happened her Master would be very angry, and she shuddered, foremost at the prospect of receiving something worse than the pummeling she had yet to heal from. But there was something else, the fact that she was mentally referring to Xcelcior Melgrot as Master. She had never verbally called him that and prayed she never would, but that horror loomed before her, almost imminent.

She stroked her concealed blaster, worry trying to override her senses. It was not good to dwell on these stressful matters, they could cause her to make a mistake, and she attempted to push all such thoughts from her mind. She would be calm, professional, and she would do her duty well, whether she liked it or not.

Tasha found herself looking to the left, her fellow servant was couched by her side. Rensor, still wearing his own masking cowl, was looking to the west as well, apparently eyeing the grated sewer pipe that ended the street.

Without warning the Mersighdonian twisted toward the bounty hunter. She could see his brewing excitement and knew that there was nothing good dwelling in his feelings.

"She’ll be coming soon," Rensor breathed in ecstasy, obviously stimulated as Tasha witnessed a wide smile spreading across his lips. "Finally after all these years…" he whispered, hardly able to contain himself.

"I’m warning you for the last time, Rensor, you’d better put a stop to this obsession. We’re going to do what your Master bid us to do and that’s all."

The Mersighdonian’s smile crooked into a sneer. "Shut up, Sumrac. Just shut up. You’re not going to wreck this for me." Then he found himself grinning again. "I know you’re trying to court favor from our mutual Master or something, but he’ll be more pleased with what I’m planning, I promise you."

Tasha shook her head. "In not trying to court favor."

"Well, whatever. It really doesn’t matter. Things will be done my way… And our Master will be very pleased." Apparently Rensor was allowing his imagination to run away with him, and he was becoming all the more excited as he tuned the bounty hunter out completely.

Tasha sighed and tried not to think of what terrible things might happen if Rensor stayed upon his stubborn course. And he would, there was no changing his mind. She just hoped that her Master would not blame her for the coming catastrophe, she had pleaded long and hard for the Mersighdonian to change his mind.

Her master… She shook her head solemnly as she pointed her gaze toward the filthy, dirt street. Never had she thought that it would come to this, but maybe she should have expected it. While as an adult she had never knelt at the Dark Jedi’s feet, there was one time as child when she had been forced into that position.

She had pushed the memory deep into the recesses of her mind, and she hadn’t recalled it until she and Rensor had landed on Tenlaw and entered the Grunge Quadrant. Now as the silence oppressed her, the memory came unbidden to taunt and perhaps to tantalize her.

Shortly after Tasha’s thirteenth birthday, Xcelcior had ordered her father Terence to have a meeting with the Rosk at one of their fortresses. Yet the elder Sumrac was not to go alone; he had also been commanded to bring his daughter with him.

At first Tasha hadn’t known whether to be dreading or full of excitement. There were so many unknowns that she was going to be seeing for the first time. The Grunge Quadrant. The Rosk. Having been raised by her widowed father and Aunt Luciene in the eastern hemisphere those things were only the stuff of legend.

Some of the tales had been absolutely frightening, but Tasha, unlike the neighboring children, had grown to love the well-spun horrors. There was no terrifying her into obedience no matter how grotesque the rendition.

This caused Terence and Luciene much worry. While the girl had had an apt mind such as the Dark Jedi would covet from her, she’d had little desire for subservience. If Tasha ever felt the urge to rebuke Xcelcior’s claim on her the result would be disastrous, and so Terence had taught his daughter to give ultimate respect unto his Master by giving suggestion instead of orders, for fear she would be dissident.

A few days after receiving Xcelcior’s mandate the father and daughter started out, and when Tasha entered the Grunge Quadrant for the first time she hated it instantly. Perhaps it was an expansive den of horrors, but it was filthy and detestable, a place of squalor that none should know.

Despite this thousands of Tenlites, maybe millions or billions, were existing in this fashion day in and day out. If the Rosk had caused this then she hated them too, and she could hardly imagine why her father’s mighty, revered Master desired his servant to meet with such creatures.

Still Tasha had not been robbed of her curiosity. From what she had heard the Rosk were demonic, black-clad vultures, bloodthirsty and fierce like evil gods, and although they might have forced this squalor on the western hemisphere Tenlites, she could not help but remain intrigued.

The journey through the polluted wasteland was a long one; they were to meet with the Rosk at their most grand fortress, the one in the Grunge Quadrant’s vile, smog-pumping Heart. Nothing of much interest happened during the excursion except for when she and her father had come up against a pack of Vymzor. Tasha had been excited at first, then allowed herself to become quite resigned. If the rumors of these blood-feasting, half-dead monsters were true, the pair would soon be torn apart.

Yet as the creatures closed in on them, ready to strike, Terence Sumrac thrust his hand toward them and hissed something in a mutated, incomprehensible dialect of half-words and grunts. Then the Vymzor cowered and slowly retreated into the shadows, seemingly expecting punishment.

Tasha was in awe, utterly excited again, and she asked her father what he had said.

Terence didn’t hold back. "I merely told them who my Master was and warned them that I was not one to be touched. As you can see they agreed. They might not be the most intelligent creatures, but they know enough to fear Xcelcior Melgrot’s recompense."

When they reached the gargantuan, spire-covered fortress Tasha could feel anticipation running throughout her limbs. The stronghold was a soul-crushing edifice, though the oppressively thick pollution obscured many of the structural intricacies. The two had been wearing air masks since they had reached the Heart’s center, but they were finally able to take them off once they’d entered the Rosk’s Exhibition Chamber.

The massive room’s triad thrones were occupied by T’y-ruuk the High Magistrate and his High Councilors S’h-lym and H’r-anna. A handful of others, who in all probability were guardsmen and politicians, gathered nearby the throne platform.

"We greet you, fellow servant, and are glad that you have arrived," the High Magistrate said.

"It is good to be amongst you and your brethren once more," Terence offered a fastidious response.

Tasha stood at her father’s side, hiding her mirth and expectancy as much as she could.

"You will be even happier when you see who will be honoring us with his presence," T’y-ruuk stated, his charred lips curving into a smile. Terence shivered with anticipation, knowing who it must be. "It is the Starkiller, Servant Sumrac."

Tasha had never heard that name before, but with her father’s reaction, she knew that the High Magistrate was referring to Xcelcior Melgrot. The girl wasn’t sure how she should feel, and with that the Dark Jedi appeared from a doorway behind the thrones.

All the Rosk were suddenly on their knees, and Terence crumbled to the floor submissively as well, taking his daughter down with him. Tasha had gotten a quick look at her father’s Master and was pummeled by his severe presence. She wasn’t terrified as most would have been, but she wanted away from him. His darkness was completely unveiled and though she was assailed by feelings of revulsion, she was on her knees as if to worship him. The situation was made even worse by her obvious helplessness.

Xcelcior beckoned the Rosk to rise, then he closed in on Terence and his daughter.

"My Master," the elder Sumrac whispered his adoration.

"I see you have obeyed my orders." The Dark Jedi gave a satisfied smile. Tasha hadn’t seen the malevolent expression; instead she had felt it twisting into her soul.

"I would never do anything else, Master."

Xcelcior caressed the girl’s blonde hair and stroked his hand down her face. There was such a mixture of emotions rolling through Tasha at that moment. Her insides were throbbing with some sort of servile ecstasy, as if at her core she knew that this was where she belonged.

"I foresee this one being of great help to me," the Dark Jedi prophesied, his smile still twisting into the girl. It seemed that this unseen look was trying to speak its will to her.

But there was something else, which rose up to counter this new craving fire. Perhaps someone else thought she belonged here, but she didn’t agree. She would be no servant, especially not to such a corrupt, evil man, and as if he had heard her thoughts, the Dark Jedi sniggered, but he said nothing to indicate that he knew what she was thinking.

Still at that moment she realized that she had to get away, and now despite her years of absence, she had taken her father’s place as she’d been meant to all along. She shook her head, feeling very angry with herself for allowing Xcelcior’s prophecy become truth.

Suddenly the noise of searing metal filled the bounty hunter’s ears. She looked to the west and saw blades of light sawing through the sewer grating. Apparently Wandry and her Jedi companions were on their way through. Tasha gave a listless sigh and tightened her grip on her blaster, waiting for her target far from eagerly.

***

Despite the rancid odors, the oft-sighted vermin-like animals, and the spine-chilling groans of machinery that kept grinding away in the distance, the night spent in the wretched Grunge Quadrant sewers hadn’t been too awful. Still it had been a very draining experience, for Marten had been right; the night’s journey had felt as if it had been twice as long as it had actually been, perhaps because of the constant vigilance that had to be maintained.

Gryg’s solitary glow-stick was all that kept the path illumined, and though it might have made him nervous to be so blind usually, he had two Jedi and someone else very adept in the Force, so he felt he had little cause to worry about any sewer mutation that might attack. His three companions had taken care of Vymzor after all, and that still astonished him.

They were approaching the main pipe’s end, a tall metal grate covered the exit. It was secured there, a maniacal sentinel before them, unwilling to allow passage. The mesh was so thick that not even an insignificant shaft of wan daylight could brake through. That was if it the night had finally passed.

Marten looked at his chrono then. "Dawn should be coming over this part of Tenlaw about now," he stated before changing the subject. "We’ll be out of here in a jiffy. A few turns down that pipe," he pointed northward to a junction, "And we’ll come out on the street that leads to the hangar where your ship’s at. We ought to be there by nightfall."

It was a good plan, but as the quartet approached their new route at least a dozen colorless humanoid figures were filtering out toward them. They were obviously Vymzor, and a battalion more was waiting inside the other pipe.

"Well, that idea’s scrapped," Marten whispered, in awe of the massive congregation, and Cloudia and the Jedi activated their lightsabers, prepared to fight though the battle seemed impossible to win. Then Gryg got another idea. "Cloudia give me one of those," he said, pointing at her lightsabers.

The half-Churyen gave him a quick, confused look, but when she saw Marten’s eyes gravitate toward the grate she understood and shut down her father’s Jedi saber before throwing it at the guide, who caught it in his free hand.

"We’ll cut through; you two back us up," Marten ordered Torin and Drudwyn, and when the Jedi had slipped into a defensive formation the green blade hummed into existence once more.

He hurled the glow stick at the now speedily approaching Vymzor. One of the blood-sucking creatures took the rod in its cheek and howled in anger. Perhaps a stupid move, Gryg thought to himself, but everything would be all right. He was sure of it, and if any of the others had had access to his thoughts, they would have believed him overconfident.

Cloudia and Marten began to saw their blades into the thick, ominous metal, which was giving with ease, and Gryg was exhilarated. In a few more seconds they would be out of this deathtrap, and all the while the Jedi were doing their best against the Vymzor.

Many of the things were in pieces at their feet, but so many more were coming. Drudwyn thought they still had a possibility of cutting through them all. His protégé was not so convinced, praying that the block would soon be passable.

Torin calmed himself, letting the Force rush throughout his soul to give him peace. There was still the prospect of death, but at least he would meet it on his feet, with his Master fighting valiantly at his side. Despite that he couldn’t help being glad when he heard Cloudia say, "Come on! We can get through now!"

As the young woman spoke a weak, pollutant-shrouded light flooded over them, and the closest of the Vymzor began moaning in pain, some trying to force themselves from the dawn; others crumbled into the dirt and sewage, writhing as if death was imminent. Those close to the other tunnel and those still inside began to retreat into the pipe’s recesses. There was no way they could follow the group no matter how much desire they had.

And so the group finally immerged from the sewer after a long night there. The vileness of the Grunge Quadrant could never feel as refreshing as it did to them at that moment.

Almost with reluctance Marten shut down the green lightsaber and handed it to its owner. "Well, we’re a little off, but it’s not really going to cost us much. Besides…" Gryg’s voice trailed of, and a sliver of a smile crept onto his lips. He nodded, then reverted to what he’d been talking about before. "I can’t see it even being fifteen more minutes tops. The street we need actually connects to the street we’re on."

During Marten’s short, enigmatic speech all the weapons had been turned off. The Vymzor threat was gone, and the Jedi wondered what the guide was up to. Yet Cloudia’s mind had trailed away, for a strange feeling had encompassed her, but apparently the Jedi didn’t feel it, so she figured she was overreacting.

Still she could not take her eyes from the two cloaked figures that were huddled in the street. Probably just beggars, but why was the street so empty aside from them? That was odd enough, but there was something else. The obscured duo felt familiar, very familiar. Yet why couldn’t she place them?

"What’s wrong?" Torin asked, his voice penetrated her musings.

The young woman shook her head. "I really don’t know, but I feel we must be vigilant," she said quietly, then sighed. "Perhaps I’m letting my imagination run away with me."

"I don’t think so," the Padawan responded. Although he didn’t feel exactly what Cloudia was, he trusted that something was going to happen. "We should proceed with caution."

And so they did, the young woman continued to watch the huddled pair. Then as they approached the figures it happened. The leftmost person leapt to their feet and flung themselves at Cloudia, she hardly had any warning and couldn’t stop herself and the growling attacker from toppling to the street.

As the assailant brought his blaster into view, the half-Churyen saw that the obscuring cowl had slipped away, revealing his face. It was Marzan Rensor! She couldn’t believe it but she was not about to allow her surprise to envelop her better judgement.

She used the Force to push him off her and he went flailing into the street’s barrier. Then his blaster flew out of his hand, barreling into the sewer pipe, but the Mersighdonian’s fury was boiling. He would not be stopped so easily.

The other cloaked figure rose and turned toward Rensor. "Don’t you dare," a woman’s voice sternly rose from the beggar’s robes.

The Mersighdonian glared at this woman, then focused his hateful eyes on Cloudia. He charged at her, unwilling to lose this contest by Force tricks, but the half-Churyen extended her hand, and without thinking she began to squeeze her thumb and closest finger together.

Rensor reached for his throat, clawing at it, unable to breathe as he toppled to his knees. With all of his waning strength he tried to force himself to stand, but he couldn’t. All that was left for him was to die, his eyes filled with even more hate as he glared her. There was no one in the universe he despised more.

Then the chokehold stopped, the Mersighdonian still alive, now smiling as his ability to breathe returned. He rose, shaking, the pain of his previous experience causing the tremor, but he was not done with Cloudia. She had made the mistake of not killing him while she had had the chance, and for that error and many more things, she was going to die.

The young woman knew that Rensor would plow at her again and she reached for her lightsaber. It was apparent that the only way he would stop was if he was dead. She didn’t want to kill him, but it seemed a necessity. Surely it was something that Xcelcior Melgrot would taunt her with when she came face-to-face with him again, but she couldn’t think of that now or her life would end here.

And so she focused on the Mersighdonian and nothing else, not her companions nor the other woman. Yet before Rensor could charge at Cloudia once more the other enshrouded figured latched onto him. "You’ve ruined everything. I told you to stick to the plan."

Without warning Rensor struck at his cohort, sending his fist toward her face. As it hit the mark her hood went flying off to reveal her face as well. T’zarn’s bounty hunter! What was this all this about? Cloudia wondered.

"Nothing’s ruined, Sumrac," the Mersighdonian growled, "And if it is it’s your fault. You’ll be the one that gets punished by our Master, not me." Then as he jerked away from her, turning to attack Cloudia again, the half-Churyen and the other three had run some distance down the street. Now Rensor’s anger was even more unparalleled, but he forced the negativity deep inside of him, except for a spit’s worth. He knew that Sumrac would get hers.

***

Rensor and the bounty hunter were nearly out of the quartet’s sights when, between deep breaths, Marten asked, "What’s that all about?" And when it was clear that they weren’t being followed the daughter of the former Jedi Master recounted what she knew.

***

After the incident with Rensor and the bounty hunter things were oddly subdued. The quartet was left to themselves and their business, even when they stopped to eat and rest a few hours into the morning. Cloudia didn’t trust the quietness of things, nor did any of her companions.

Something horrific had to be looming over the horizon, but what that something was no one knew. Still for most of the day the young woman, at least, was lost in though concerning the Dark Jedi and what he was planning.

She was sure it involved T’zarn’s bounty hunter, and she also felt that the count’s death was only a ploy to allow the woman to keep an eye on her. Cloudia was also sure that something had indeed gone wrong, the bounty hunter had honestly been upset with Rensor’s behavior; she had not wanted him to destroy the half-Churyen. Or at the very least Xcelcior didn’t want her destroyed. There were too many pieces to the puzzle, and it was difficult to figure out which ones were part of the picture and which ones needed to be discarded.

Darkness was filtering into the Grunge Quadrant, and it was apparent that their destination was close. One could actually see the stars glittering away in the Tenlite sky, the planet’s trio of moons visible as well.

The street was finally coming to an end, where an intersection pointed in the northward and southward directions. Within fifteen minutes, at a leisurely pace, they would be at the Death’s Sneer, escaping Tenlaw forever, but then Marten spoke. "I know we’re almost there, but I’d like to make a little detour first. There’s some business I’ve got to take care of."

No one had wanted to hear Gryg say that. It seemed the longer they stayed on the planet, the more apt danger was to strike out at them, and Drudwyn responded snidely to the announcement. "And what’s this business? Why is it so imperative?"

"I want to meet with Xirylin, okay? Say I’m sorry for things, and be an honest man and give him the Rosk jewels like I promised."

"Wouldn’t it be more honest to give the jewels back to the Rosk?" Torin asked.

Gryg laughed stiffly, revealing how unimpressed he was. "Keep your stuffy Jedi philosophies to yourself, will you? The Rosk don’t deserve anything. They’re a bunch of freak-vultures that only care about themselves. Come on, Waylein. They were the ones who made this the Grunge Quadrant."

"So how far away is this Xirylin?" Cloudia asked, trying to fulfill her curiosity, while at the same time attempting to keep things from getting out of hand.

"Not far. It’s only right up ahead."

Marten pointed to a bloated looking building that was only a few meters beyond the intersection. It was a rotund structure, domed in the center, with massive rectangular appendages jutting out from its sides. Bleached, but dirty columns held up the overhang that bedecked the front of the place.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Torin couldn’t help but say as he took in the sight.

Gryg laughed but didn’t respond to the statement at first. He merely said, "It’s the Black Head, a nightclub that Xirylin owns. It’s like his headquarters." After a moment he turned to the Padawan and smiled. "You’re not afraid, are you?"

"No."

"Good. We’re not even going to be in there that long."

"I hope you’re right," Drudwyn said, sounding even more tense than usual, then silence inserted itself between the members of the quartet again, at least for the minute it took to reach Xirylin’s establishment.

The group walked under the dark overhang, the dim yellowish lights of the club’s interior beckoning them inside, but a bulky, gray-skinned guard stopped them. The alien had bumps on his bald scalp, but it was undeterminable if they were makings of his race or if they had come during a brawl.

The guard growled, but smiled maliciously as he allowed himself a good look at Marten’s face. "Gryg," the alien sentinel hissed.

"Yeah, Sorrel. I’m here to see Xirylin. Is he available?"

Sorrel gave a wide smile, revealing his many broken teeth, the expression very ominous. "He’s definitely available for you. Just go to the regular spot and talk to the droid. Xirylin will be with you shortly." Then the guard extended a scarred, muscular arm toward the doorway, gesturing for Gryg and his comrades to step into the krayt dragon’s layer.

As they entered the establishment Torin had the urge to state that his bad feelings had now intensified, but he stifled it, merely deciding that he would quietly prepare for the worst.

The Black Head was certainly not a place of propriety, and on sight Cloudia felt that this den was even worse than Tell’s had been. The main room, with its thin shimmer of smoky light, was grungy and full of human filth. Drunkenness and intoxication seemed to be commonplace, as well as gambling, illegal trafficking, and occasional violence.

Some of the patrons looked up from their drinks and other business to catch a glimpse of the newcomers. Immediately they were unable to fathom why Jedi would be coming here. Many looked away just as quickly, an obvious admission of guilt, but also a gesture that decidedly meant they desired to be left alone. The remaining onlookers continued to glare in the direction of the new entrants, curious to learn why one of Xirylin’s employees was daring to bring Jedi here.

Others though paid no mind, especially those close to the stage, which took up the bulk of the massive room’s center. Upon the performance platform were many women and girls from several different species. All were clad in flimsy garments, which allowed most of their flesh to be displayed to the ogling patrons, and their bodies throbbed seductively to a pulsating rhythm.

Marten showed a slight interest in watching the women, but he quickly directed the main of his attention to leading his comrades to an empty table, which sat in the room’s rightmost section. A silver protocol droid was standing off to its side, and though droids were built to be expressionless, this one looked rather anxious and out of place.

"How might I be of service, Sir?" the droid asked Gryg in a wavering metallic voice.

"I need to see Xirylin right away."

The droid appeared to cock its head nervously toward the door beyond them. "I’m sorry, Sir, but Master Xirylin is attending to a rather important business matter at the moment, and he wishes not to be disturbed. He will…" Without notice the door flashed opened, and the droid rose its arms above its head and gasped. "Oh!" Its mechanical voice shivered loudly as two figures appeared.

One of the new entrants was a fierce looking, middle-aged human. The man was tall, although not as strikingly so as the Wookiee at his side, he had a penetrating dark eye—the other covered by a patch— and a thick mass of black hair spiked down his forehead. Yet the most noticeable of his features were his uncovered arms. One was a glittering metal replacement limb, the same color as the protocol droid, and the other was flesh, a sinister mesh of tattoos and scars adorned it.

"Cam dalsa, Jaynine," the man ordered the droid in a rather indistinguishable language. Then he smiled and sat down, placing his odd arms on the chair’s armrests. "Se patta manga con Gryg."

"I am so terribly sorry, Master Xirylin," Jaynine replied, and the man ignored him, as he stared at Gryg with intent amusement.

So this was Xirylin, Cloudia thought. They were going to have nothing but trouble from him, and via the Force she and the Jedi knew that they’d be lucky to get out of this situation unscathed. If only they could have gotten a read from Marten.

"Sovata ma heena, Gryg?" Xirylin queried in his own language. He bared his sharp, saliva-covered teeth, while managing to retain his smile.

"I hate when you do that, Xirylin. Could you speak Basic so I can understand you?" Marten doubted he’d be granted such a favor, but he decided it was worth a venture.

The odd-armed man shook his head gently and still the gesture lacked courtesy. "Noddina," he replied with a smirk, then turned to the droid. "Jaynine, elucat."

"Master Xirylin would have me translate, Sir. He has asked you what brings you here."

Even though Marten understood he kept silent, as if attempting to see how far he could get away with pressing his host’s patience. Cloudia and the Jedi, on the other hand, did not like the way things were progressing at all, and Gryg’s pressurizing was not helping matters.

After several moments of silence Xirylin spat something at Gryg, the only intelligible word was ‘Wookiee’. Then Jaynine translated, sounding even more skittish than before. "Master Xirylin says that if you taunt him any longer with your refusal to speak, you and your colleagues will be mutilated by his powerful Wookiee bodyguard."

The Wookiee gave a mirthful growl, as if to say he would take pleasure in such an act, and Marten nodded, declaring that he was done with his foolish playing.

"It has to do with the Rosk jewels, Xirylin… I have them."

Xirylin cocked an eyebrow, revealing his suspicion until Gryg extracted the items in question from his vest. Even in the hazy false light, they gleamed, visually relaying their insurmountable worth. The seated man was indeed impressed, greed shining in his remaining eye, and he spoke now through an enthusiastic smile.

Jaynine translated. "Master Xirylin bids that you set the items upon the table before him, then you and your colleagues may be seated. There is much he wishes to discuss with you, Sir."

Marten did as he was told with clear, thoughtless haste. Cloudia and the Jedi, though they sat down as well, did so with much more reluctance. The seven were silent until Gryg questioned his former employer. "What do you wish to discuss with me? I seek no more pay for my accomplishment."

The man spoke sternly, but his tone became much more casual as he gestured his tattooed arm toward Marten’s comrades.

"Master Xirylin thinks it is good that you desire no more pay. While you came through with your end of the bargain, it apparently took some time to fulfill, and in the end the entire enterprise was very costly to your employer, as you must know." Perhaps Gryg was expected to flinch but he maintained his cool. "But in other matters Master Xirylin wants to know who your colleagues are. He is very interested in them."

Marten believed that whole-heartedly. Cloudia was quite attractive and exotic in appearance, and Fagan Rynt had been right. The half-Churyen was the type that Xirylin fancied. The others were Jedi. That fact alone warranted curiosity, especially to such a man as this.

Gryg began the introductions. "This is Cloudia Wandry. She’s been a friend of mine since we worked for Valenteen together."

"Ah," Xirylin breathed his reply, and for a moment he said nothing. He merely watched the young woman as if she were the only other person in the entire room, his eye full of excitement and anticipation.

At the very least Cloudia could picture him mentally whittling away her clothes and placing her upon the dancing stage. It made her very uncomfortable, but she managed to keep looking at him, sternly, waiting for his anxious stare to end. Yet Xirylin spoke again without taking his eyes off her.

"Urius." The man’s voice was somber but the glint in his eye belied his tone. "Mak se rumasa muerti. Tut?"

The droid clarified. "There have been rumors of this man’s death. Master Xirylin asks if they are true."

"Yes," Marten said, his words barely audible as he bit his lip.

Xirylin made his response to Gryg, finally, thankfully, taking his horrid, one-eyed stare from Cloudia, and as soon as the tattooed employer finished his funereal words, Jaynine translated.

"Master Xirylin expresses deep sadness concerning this, and he doesn’t know if all of you are aware of it, but he and this Urius Valenteen were like brothers for the longest time. The two drifted apart, due to their different courses, but Master Xirylin is touched deeply upon hearing this news."

The words were true, Cloudia felt, but she found it odd. Why had Valenteen never spoken of Xirylin in the ten years she had been a part of his elite? Surely she would remember if he had, and as the droid finished translating, its Master spoke again.

"Vata con Jedi hire?"

"Now Master Xirylin wishes to know why you have brought Jedi Knights with you," Jaynine explained.

"Oh, them. This is Gorsedd Drudwyn and his Padawan learner Torin Waylein. They’re friends of Cloudia’s," Gryg said, then shrugged to reveal he had no more information.

Xirylin suddenly gave his former employee a very icy, malevolent smile, but the half-Churyen and the Jedi didn’t need the expression to know that the fierce looking man was plotting something. Then he spoke for the first time in Basic.

"All right, Gryg. Enough with these niceties. I want to know what you want from me." Xirylin’s voice was cultured, but somewhat street-accented, his words seemed to be teetering on the edge of a growl.

The new, methodical current of Basic chilled Marten, but he kept his calm as he responded, "I don’t want anything, Xirylin. I already told you I don’t desire to get paid any more."

The tattooed man sneered, but then shook his head and with a polite, yet chiding tone he stated, "That’s not what I’m talking about, and you’re well enough aware of that. I think you want me to forgive you because of what you had done to Fagan Rynt."

Marten was going to lie, but Xirylin didn’t permit him the chance. "There’s no need to cover up the fact. I know you hired a band of thugs to kill him; they were the ones that came to me with the truth, probably seeking money for turning you in, but I had them done away with instead. Do you really think that I will bestow mercy on you and those in your company?" Xirylin gave a wicked, callous laugh.

"I was hoping that giving you the Rosk jewels would help me strike a deal with you, but I guess I was wrong," Marten replied, worry beginning to tell on his features.

"Why should you have thought that, Gryg? You were the one that lit your own funeral pyre by going around, bragging about how you were going to take the Rosk jewels and skip planet. But I am willing to strike a deal with you, although the terms will be completely mine. I won’t have you and your associates terminated as I originally planned, not all of you anyway."

Xirylin’s smile became colder and more deadly; it seemed that everything would be caving in on them at any minute. Then he gestured toward Cloudia. "I will let her live, but she is to become mine. She will be like the women dancing for the patrons, but for my solitary entertainment, and she will have other rather enjoyable tasks to fulfill for me."

The young woman already hated this plan, and she was glad that she was not within the man’s lecherous reach. Even the slightest caress would have sickened her. Yet Xirylin lowered his tattooed arm, resting its elbow on the chair’s armrest, before moving his mechanical arm in Marten’s direction.

"I’ll allow you to live too, Gryg. At least for the time being. I believe that you ought to be tortured and get a little glimpse of hell before you go there. That would be most satisfying." Xirylin allowed himself a smirk. Then his features became stony as he looked to the Jedi. "But they must die immediately."

Many armed, dangerous looking men suddenly dislodged themselves from the crowd and surrounded the quartet. The Wookiee bodyguard let out a battle growl, also forcing himself into the rising action, but this effort, while it would have been good enough against average individuals, was nothing for the trained Jedi. They were on their feet, their weapons activated, and Cloudia was ready at the same instant.

Oddly Marten was standing as well, but none were paying attention to him as the Force-users blocked blaster bolts and severed limbs. The stench of seared flesh seemed to clog the entire room. Drudwyn was able to pump his blade into the Wookiee’s heart, even before the bodyguard could extend his mutilating claws. Within a few dozen seconds all the opponents were either dead, or lying on the floor groaning in pain. The patrons were gaping at the still-standing Jedi, amazed and frightened by the fray.

Attention only went to Gryg when Jaynine threw its hands up and wailed, "Oh, my!" Everyone was shocked to see that Xirylin’s former employee was holding a thermal detonator, its lighted, metallic surface flashing, signaling that it was ready to be used.

"Put that away," Xirylin ordered. "It’s not going to do you any good because you don’t have the nerve to drop it."

Marten’s face was full of insanity, and Cloudia couldn’t tell it was feigned or not. "Don’t I? I’m as good as dead anyway. You said so yourself."

"Still you wouldn’t drop it." The one-eyed man seemed fully confident until Gryg yelled his response.

"I would! And I will, Xirylin! That is if you don’t let us go this instant. I’d love to take you down with me." Suddenly Marten’s voice went deep with pleasure, his tone seemed to lend even more credence to madness. If he was faking he seemed to be well seasoned at doing so. There was nothing in his stance that declared that he would not drop the thermal detonator.

"You’re bluffing," Xirylin said, in spite of that.

Marten smirked. "If you’re willing to take that chance. Of course I would say that you’re stupid enough for that. You let Jedi come to your table with lightsabers."

Gryg was about to drop the detonator. Everyone could see his hand slowly loosening around the deadly sphere. One more second and Black Head and everyone in it would be disintegrated.

It was Xirylin who relented. "Leave if that’s what you want to do." Marten turned the weapon off, and it seemed the like the droid, along with many others, sighed. "But I suggest that you watch your back. I can have you tracked down so fast you won’t even know what hit you."

"Thanks for the warning," Gryg replied, his sarcasm only tolerable because he hadn’t tucked the thermal detonator away. Unabashedly he scooped up the Rosk jewels and returned them to his vest; then he turned to face Torin. "Grab one of those blasters for me."

The Padawan was reluctant, not knowing what Gryg had in mind, but he obeyed, picking up the weapon and handing it over. Everyone seemed to think that the madman was going to shoot Xirylin to death, but Marten did nothing of the sort. He just pointed the blaster downward and began walking to the exit, marking sure that everything in the smoky room stayed as it was. But even without being a Jedi Marten knew that trouble lay just outside.

"Be ready," he whispered to his comrades, and all nodded to acknowledge his wisdom. "I’ve got a plan."

Only Gryg himself knew exactly what his plan entailed, and feeling pleased, he allowed himself a private, dark grin, but he forced it to fade. He couldn’t allow his self-satisfied feelings to bog him down. Soon they exited the Black Head and once the Tenlite darkness had engulfed them, Sorrel and a dozen others crept out from the shadows.

Cloudia and the Jedi were ready to fight, but Marten’s attention was on his part of the plan. He reactivated the thermal detonator and threw it forcefully into the establishment. It didn’t explode right away for it was on a timer, and once it hit the floor, Gryg shot at the door’s control panel. The door itself slid into place and jammed.

Vicious pride swelled within him again as he turned around and joined the fray, firing the blaster with heated excitement. He allowed a barrage of lasers to char through Sorrel’s face. He’d never liked that stupid piece of bantha fodder anyway, then as sick gratification rolled through him, he turned from his first victim and took out some of the others. He really had forgotten how satisfying murder could be.

With Cloudia and the Jedi present, there were fewer opportunities to willingly stain himself, but there wasn’t time for him to take out all his foes. That thermal detonator was going to do so much damage that it was best to be as far from the doomed building as possible. So once all of the enemies had been dispatched in the tremendous whirl of lightsabers, blaster fire, and stunning Force-use, Gryg beckoned the others to follow him as he broke into a run.

As the four quickly pressed southward, Torin asked, "Do you think there will be more coming?" He knew well what the guide had done, disapproving, thinking it an unnecessary action, but he figured that there was another exit where Xirylin and his employees and the patrons could escape.

"No, we’re safe from them," Gryg said, beaming with arrogance. None of the others understood, so he explained. "Xirylin had me install the locking mechanisms on all the exits. I linked them together, so that if one was rendered inoperable, then all of the others would be too. And I also linked the comm system to that. If the doors failed, then it would too. I suppose Xirylin’s learned all about my tampering by now."

The others were not impressed. "Why did you do such a thing?" the Padawan responded, his features tightening.

"Just because I could, and I thought it might come in handy one day. What an understatement."

An intersection cropped up at that moment, and the quartet veered eastward, following Gryg’s lead. The Jedi apprentice opened his mouth to ask something else when Marten pointed to a bulky, shadowy building up ahead. "That’s where the ship’s at. We’re almost-."

Before he could utter another word, the thermal detonator had went off, the explosion so massive that it shook the ground where they stood. The decimated building caught fire immediately, high flames blasted skyward in a hazy cloud, and burning debris hurled by them.

Cloudia and the Jedi were knocked off balance in another way. The dying people had screeched through their minds; the disturbance in the Force was jolting, and immediately after collecting himself, the Padawan glared at Marten, trying to get a hold of his anger and disgust.

"What about the innocent people you just killed?" Torin seethed.

"Don’t give me any more of your fanatic Jedi philosophies. Those people weren’t so innocent."

The blaze was growing, people in the streets were screaming, so frantically that it was quite difficult to hear Marten’s response, but the Padawan had caught every word. He could feel himself shaking at Gryg’s selfish arrogance, and now he understood why Master Drudwyn hated the thief. He was tempted to hate the man as well; Gryg deserved to be despised.

Yet Torin took a stabilizing breath. He couldn’t give into this sudden anger, not when he, his Master, and Cloudia would be walking straight into a powerful Dark Jedi’s lair. So he merely kept his mouth shut, though that in itself was quite a task.

"Now Let’s go," Marten suddenly beckoned his comrades ahead, his voice still showing his irritation toward the Jedi apprentice. All followed the guide’s lead, and within a few minutes the quartet entered the building, which was roofless and packed with ships. The Death’s Sneer was by far the smallest, but it was in plain view. It seemed to have been completely repaired, but that meant very little. It was time to see if the Rosk had done their job and sabotaged nothing.

The four boarded the small ship, and luckily it didn’t take long before the vessel was streaking through Tenlaw’s eastern night sky, the fire still raged below them. Gryg was piloting the Death’s Sneer, the reason unknown. It merely seemed like a sign that the thief was attempting to leech himself onto the group permanently. This pleased no one, but the thought vanished from their minds as they prepared to exit the planet’s atmosphere, almost ready to put the hyperdrive to the test.

***

Waiting has to be one of the most difficult things in the universe to endure, and if Tasha Sumrac wouldn’t have learned that lesson long ago, she would certainly have been learning it now. It felt like ages had passed since she and Rensor had returned to the Blaze of Glory and contacted Xcelcior Melgrot. Time had slowed dramatically after the transmission concluded. It must have been the impending unknown mixed with the lack of things to occupy their minds.

The bounty hunter’s vessel was frozen above Tenlaw, cloaked, motionless and patient as a predator preparing to strike. Yet its passengers were more likely to become prey. The Dark Jedi, knowing that something had gone wrong, was on his way to rendezvous with his servants. When he arrived, his wrath would most certainly be unquenchable.

Tasha only wanted it to be over. Cloudia Wandry and the three men with her had found their ship and were off to Drakhsah. The bounty hunter had watched as the small vessel burst into hyperspace, heading in that direction, at least three hours ago. It could have been more than that though. It certainly felt like it.

Sumrac had the urge to get up and pace to wear off some of the horrid energy that was coursing inside her, but she remained seated and merely wrung her hands together. She had tired pacing before, but it had only served to irritate Rensor and make him more nervous. Tasha decided to be kind to him, although he had caused this situation, because he was the one looking to suffer most from it.

As the bounty hunter sat there, trying not give into the desperation that her idleness was breeding, her mind wandered to the transmission she and Rensor had shared with their Master. She recalled the whole thing, though she tried to stave off any thoughts concerning it.

Tasha had stood on the transmitting pad, the Mersighdonian kneeling beside her as the Dark Jedi’s image appeared before them. Xcelcior flashed them a smile, the _expression rather frightening for there was something false about it. The bounty hunter sensed he knew what Rensor had done, and she trembled, almost giving into her rising urge to plummet before him.

Then the Dark Jedi spoke. "I assume all has gone well, my servant." His voice was like a razor reaching out to cut flesh, and his tone seemed to add, Things better have gone well. Tasha lowered her head even more that it already was, and she couldn’t respond at first. She could well imagine the razor in his voice slashing out her heart when she told him what Rensor had done, and as she found herself lost to that image, Xcelcior ordered, "Report what has transpired." He didn’t need to verbally state ‘now’ for her to start speaking.

"Cloudia Wandry still knows that I’m after her…" The bounty hunter fell silent for a moment, her trembling had not ceased, and she chided herself for becoming rattled. It wasn’t in her nature to be so nervous, or at least it hadn’t been until she had fallen into the Dark Jedi’s grasp. "But that is the only good news I can tell you. Things did not proceed as planned."

"Why?" Xcelcior did nothing to mask his anger.

"Rensor became somewhat overzealous, and he attacked the Churyen before I had a chance to strike." The bounty hunter expected her Master to explode with fury, but the Dark Jedi seemed to become calm, too calm.

"I see," Xcelcior said. He briefly closed his eyes in dark meditation, and when he opened them he glared at Tasha. "Apparently this is something that must be discussed in person. I will rendezvous with you over Tenlaw; then we will talk."

The bounty hunter slipped from the troubling memory as a series of beeps led her back to reality. A ship, which was silvery, sleek, and disk-shaped, appeared on the main screen, revealing itself to those aboard the Blaze of Glory. Xcelcior was in this other vessel—the Bleak Omen—which looked to be a sister ship of those given to the Zepleen long ago. It could be no one else, for only the Dark Jedi knew that they were there.

Tasha spun her chair around, her anxiety suddenly rising as she watched the Bleak Omen closing in on them. It seemed like a ravenous, predatory beast, ready to feast upon the Blaze of Glory as it quickly stalked through the blackness. But then with a certain rapidness the sleek craft descended, disappearing under the bounty hunter’s ship.

The woman waited a few moments before engaging the locking clamps. The vise snared the Dark Jedi’s vessel and linked it with the Blaze of Glory. The delay was now over. Xcelcior Melgrot would soon be appearing before them, preparing to dole out punishment. Tasha felt her back go rigid, but at least it would all be over soon. Well, that’s what she was hoping for.

The bounty hunter exhaled in an attempt to calm herself, closing her eyes and letting everything fade. There was a peace she found in this void, if only she could leave her fear in this dark, internal place, then it would die as she, herself, evaporated into oblivion. But the emptiness was penetrated by the Dark Jedi’s footsteps.

Terror seized her heart like a cold fist, and she jerked, her eyes shooting open. This was it then. She felt that the encroaching evil would seek to crush her, perhaps not leave her dead, but something worse. Even still she rose and turned in the direction of the clanging footsteps. She would meet her fate bravely. No matter what it was, she would not give into the icy fear that was clogging her veins.

Then her Master entered, his omnipotent, festering anger radiated toward her and Rensor, and the Mersighdonian cast himself from his chair and onto his knees. As Tasha glanced down at her fellow servant, she witnessed him press his face to the floor reverently. He was shaking with fear, possibly recalling every time he’d seen Xcelcior use his Dark Side powers. The bounty hunter couldn’t help but pity Rensor, even though she’d warned him that something like this might happen.

When she turned her eyes from the Mersighdonian, she found that Xcelcior was staring at her. He maintained his aura of power, but he looked placid. That was extremely forbidding, for the bounty hunter had felt the Dark Jedi’s fury as he’d entered. Tasha couldn’t help but expect things to turn violent at any second.

"You needn’t worry about yourself, my servant," Melgrot soothed, though the bounty hunter did not trust his words. "Just because things did not go as I’d hoped doesn’t mean that I blame you, and it’s not as if any harm was caused. I will still have what I desire."

The Dark Jedi smiled at Tasha, the expression slightly cloaked his renewing rage. The bounty hunter stood there, expecting a jolt of recompense to be shot her way, but now Xcelcior was glaring down at Rensor, his eyes poured scalding wrath upon the lowly figure.

"Marzan, get to your feet," Xcelcior ordered, his face murderously dark and his voice almost heart stopping.

The shuddering Mersighdonian didn’t want to be obedient. He knew quite well what was coming, but he slowly forced himself to his feet anyway, and not of his own volition, he found himself looking straight into his Master’s fatal stare. He swallowed hard, his crimson flesh paling and his eyes bulging with fear. He cursed himself for being ruled by his abhorrence of Cloudia Wandry, and as much as he hated to admit the fact, it was clear that Sumrac had been right all along.

"Why did you try to attack Cloudia Wandry when you knew you were not to be involved?" The Dark Jedi asked, his lips becoming viciously tight. "I would think that you knew better than to disobey me."

"I only did it for you, Master." Rensor’s voice was ascending in pitch. He could do nothing to mask his horror as he was forced to continue looking into Xcelcior’s wrathful eyes.

"For me? I don’t believe that in the slightest. I want the truth."

"But it is the truth, Master! I swear to you, I wanted to prove that she wasn’t worthy to be your servant. I thought that if I could deliver her to you dead that you might agree with me."

Xcelcior could not suppress a mutilating laugh, and his glare intensified. It seemed that Rensor would crumple before him for the Mersighdonian had no more power to stand on his own, but the Dark Jedi used the Force, almost casually, to keep his servant standing.

"Touching," Xcelcior said, his sarcasm as sharp as a serpent’s fangs. "But hardly true. And even if it were, I am the one who decides who is worthy to serve me and who is not. I know you hated Cloudia; I know that you were jealous of her because she had more time and precedence in my thoughts than you did, and rightfully so, it’s apparent. I also know that you had plans to frame her for stealing the Mersighdonian credits, so that she would be in a terrible predicament with Urius Valenteen. You wanted her to be punished and mocked, but you moved just a little too slowly.

"So tell me, Marzan, who is the more worthy servant? Certainly it can’t be a lying piece of filth such as you are."

Rensor shook his head and carried the lie further. "No, no," he croaked in a whisper. "I swear I was trying to help you, not myself."

Now the Dark Jedi had become completely stoic, void of all emotion it seemed. "Have you forgotten what happens to those that lie to me?" Xcelcior asked, but he allowed no response. He tore free of all calmness, his wrath bursting into full view like an exploding star. "How dare you lie to me, on top of all the hideous errors you’ve already made?" he blasted, then reached out with Force and threw the Mersighdonian into the room’s farthest wall.

When Rensor slammed against it, he groaned as sudden spears of pain pierced into his side, and he tumbled onto the floor, slightly rolling onto his stomach before lying there, motionless. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his Master coming, and he let out a quaking, somewhat stifled moan. It sounded like the word ‘please,’ as if he were futilely begging for mercy.

Now the Dark Jedi was towering above the crumpled Mersighdonian, glowering down in a demonic fashion. "Get up," Xcelcior growled to his servant. Rensor weakly tried to obey, but it was the increasing fear, more than the pain that forced him back to the floor, grunting. "You will rise or I will make you. Is that clear?" The Mersighdonian gave what looked to be a nod, then after much effort, he was finally able to obey.

The room was filled with a surreal, inert silence until Xcelcior forced Rensor’s stare to lock with his again. Yet there was no hesitation in what happened next. The Dark Jedi sharply plunged one of his fingers into the Mersighdonian’s eye socket. Rensor howled in pain as the appendage tore through, utterly destroying his eyeball.

When Xcelcior extracted his finger from the remnant ooze, Rensor cupped his hands over the violated, bleeding socket and withered to his knees, gasping in agony and fright. He had never fully understood the horrifying mercilessness of his Master before this, and now as he tried to keep his remaining eye from looking at the Dark Jedi, he wished he would have stayed ignorant.

Then the Mersighdonian felt the Force yanking him back onto his feet. He tried to resist the manipulated energy, but there was no way to fight the Force. He should have learned that from Cloudia. Despite his determination to kill her, he hadn’t been able to, which was too bad. If only he had been allowed that pleasure before being tortured. Suddenly Rensor found his back pressed to the wall, it was almost over, but surely Xcelcior had saved the most horrendous part for last.

The Dark Jedi outstretched him arms in a horrid gesture that his servant had seen many times, and he unleashed a blast of Force lightning, which coruscated into Rensor’s chest. The searing pain caused Marzan to issue an ear-splitting scream, and Xcelcior sent more of the killing power into him.

The Mersighdonian writhed, seemingly at one with his suffering, and he wailed even more, his screams were only silenced by his death.

Then Xcelcior turned to his remaining servant, smiling, yet somewhat subdued. Tasha thought that this was a façade, that he would soon take care of her, and her back stiffened as her Master approached.

"Now that that’s been taken care of…" the Dark Jedi paused, he was now standing close to the bounty hunter, and she could not suppress a slight, backward jerk. Xcelcior’s smile widened, he was amused at her reaction to his closeness. "Set a course for Drakhsah."

All was silent; there were no more words or any acts of punishment. Tasha couldn’t and wouldn’t protest that. Still she resolved to keep herself prepared, just in case he was patiently waiting for her to forget what had happened to Rensor. She assured herself that that would never happen, and she sat down in the pilot’s seat and began performing her task.

***

Three days after escaping Tenlaw, the Death’s Sneer pulled out of lightspeed directly above Mersigh. It had been Cloudia's idea to do this, but the young woman didn’t honestly know why she had made the suggestion. Maybe it was something in the Force quietly urging her. It was the only thing she could fathom, for they could have made it to Drakhsah without stopping.

Marten was still at the vessel’s helm, albeit looking different than he had a few days ago. He’d relented the ship’s controls a few times to clean himself up, and during his first visit to the cramped refresher, he'd allowed himself the privilege of shaving. Now that Gryg was without his scruffy brown beard, he looked exactly like he had when he'd left Valenteen's organization. He was about to enter Drakhsah's coordinates into the nav-com— Cloudia was revealing them—but suddenly a visual transmission flickered onto the main screen.

It was obviously coming from the city of Regalia Staymen, more specifically from one of smaller conference rooms in the royal palace. The fact was easily noted because of how the chamber and its furnishings had been constructed from golden jue-la and silver ornate.

There were four people in the transmission, all quite familiar to the half-Churyen. The one sitting behind the centermost part of the imposing, silver ornate desk was Prince Narapoj. The purple-skinned man was clad in a simple blue suit; his vestments seemed to speak less of sovereignty and more of loyalty to the common people.

Standing to the prince’s right was his Ceruelian mother, and sitting directly to his left were Pali Matra and Olivia Graysky. The three women were dressed in green gowns, and though their attire lacked regality as well, the flowing garments made them look beautifully exquisite.

"What is your business here?" Narapoj asked, his voice reposed.

Marten responded, "We have no business with you. We were merely setting course for another system."

The prince gave a half nod, looking somewhat disappointed. "I see. I apologize for intruding upon your journey then. I had merely noticed that your ship bares markings like those upon the vessels of Urius Valenteen’s Death Fleet. I thought you might be coming to see if we needed assistance."

Gryg didn’t seem concerned and he looked as if he were going to brush off Narapoj’s statement with a snide comment. Yet before he could say anything Cloudia spoke instead. "Prince Narapoj, this is Cloudia Wandry. Are you in need of our help?" Marten shot her an _expression that seethed with vile impatience, and the daughter of the former Jedi Master chose to ignore it as best she could.

Narapoj smiled and released a quick laugh. "No, actually we rebels are doing quite well as you can see, Shen-lethia Wandry. We are running most of the planet, but I must admit the war is far from over. There are still many firm pockets of regal loyalists, those that remain staunch supporters of the monarchy, even though my father died within the first few days of battle."

"I’m sorry to hear that," the half-Churyen said, though the news was hardly shocking.

Narapoj nodded somberly. "I know that nothing can be done about it now, but still I wish that my father would have ruled differently to prevent this needed uprising, or at least that his death would have made the monarchists realize that peace and democracy are better choices. Perhaps they would have if not for my father’s former Chief Adviser. Lentul, I believe, is trying to have himself made king of Mersigh. He has seemingly manipulated many loyalists into agreeing with him."

"Prince Narapoj, are you sure that you don’t need our help?" Cloudia asked sincerely.

"I am sure. The new democracy of Mersigh will survive. Also I must add that I no longer go by my regal title. I am now called Chief Justice. These women, my mother," he gestured to Aleena, "And my wives," he then pointed to Pali and Olivia, "are my most trusted advisers."

The young woman was bewildered. "Your wives?".

The Chief Justice nodded. "I have decided to forsake many of the regal traditions, including the annual wife-taking. Instead I have taken these most recent of my father’s wives in the hopes that they may know a decent life here. I have also pledged to them that I will wed no others, for I don’t desire to collect wives as one would material possessions." After the explanation Narapoj paused, then he thought to ask,

"Was your missing crewmember ever recovered? When I was imprisoned I heard that the boy had been kidnapped."

"Yes, but right now I am no longer working for the organization. I am going to go Drakhsah to deal with Xcelcior Melgrot."

"The Vile One," the Chief Justice said, shuddering at the mention of the Dark Jedi’s name.

Cloudia had never heard Xcelcior called that before, but it definitely fit. "Yes."

"I won’t ask why. Because of my father I know of his interest for you, but you must tell me, are you prepared to go up against him? He is very powerful. For over a hundred years he was the true ruler of Mersigh. The only one who ever had the courage to stand up to him was my grandfather, and because of that the Vile One murdered him the moment he ascended to the throne."

The young woman gave the question some thought. Was she prepared? She didn’t think she could truthfully say that she was, but then again she figured that there were very few who were fully ready to face someone so powerful, who had spent ages immersed in the practices of the Dark Side.

"I am as prepared as one can be," Cloudia stated, repressing a sigh. "Two Jedi from Coruscant are escorting me to Drakhsah. Together we have hopes of destroying the Vile One." The half-Churyen watched Narapoj’s eyes fill with concern.

The expression did nothing to quell her ever-increasing doubt; in fact it called even more reservations to fill her mind and it seemed to give her hopelessness a louder voice. She was what Xcelcior desired for many reasons, and she didn’t know if she was strong enough to transcend the temptation. Master Drudwyn was utterly contaminated and it was her fault. Torin was only a Padawan learner; he was stubborn, but had he progressed far enough in his training to know how to fight the Dark Side’s seduction?

And Marten did not seem like a good addition to the team. He had no remorse for all the innocent people he had killed with the thermal detonator. Therefore he was probably the easiest servant to gain, even though Gryg was very talented in deflecting the Force.

"I must suggest that you and your party land at once," Narapoj’s voice broke through her bleak train of thought. "I’m not trying to stop you from heading out on this excursion, even though I believe it’s unwise. It’s just that I have something to give you that may help you in your quest."

Cloudia squinted. Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips tightened. "What are you talking about?"

The Chief Justice responded with a question. "Have you ever heard of a Dark Jedi called the Starkiller?"

Before the half-Churyen could respond, Pali turned to face her husband; the woman’s head-tendrils swayed gently as she moved. "Shen-lethia Wandry knows of the Starkiller. I told her of him the last time she was on Mersigh." Narapoj gave the Tendril a warm, grateful smile. "But she does not know how he was vanquished, for I, myself, am unsure of the details."

Cloudia feared that she knew more than any of those on the planet, for Xcelcior had told her why his ancestor had left Mersigh. It had nothing to do with anything that the Mersighdonians might have done, but she did not wish to reveal that to Narapoj and the women, so the Chief Justice explained the supposed vanquishing.

"Kardul of Oxine, an ancestor of mine and a Holy Man at the time, preformed a secret rite unbeknownst to nearly everyone on the planet. He hid himself in a cave deep within the saturated wastes, and everyone thought him dead for some years. But he was alive, purifying himself before the gods so that they might grant him the knowledge to create a holy talisman.

"This talisman was to be a normal item infused with the power of the gods, but no one knew how such an item would be birthed. It was Kardul that found the way. He’d been given a divine vision during his cleansing solitude, and once he’d created the holy talisman, he returned to civilization and confronted the Starkiller with it. Sadly Kardul lost his life in the struggle, but Mersigh’s greatest adversary was vanquished."

Narapoj’s expression exuded confidence. He truly believed this holy talisman would work on Xcelcior, but Cloudia knew that it probably wouldn’t, if only because she doubted that it had ever worked on the Starkiller. She felt that the original Dark Jedi had slain Kardul, and then left in order to hide the black-bladed lightsabers. But she didn’t want to disappoint Mersigh’s new leader or disrespect him.

"Do you wish us to take this holy talisman?" she asked.

Narapoj nodded. "It would make me rest easier."

His expression was so honest that the half-Churyen could not rebuke the offer. "Then we’ll take it," she said, her tone quite resigned. "What do we need to do?"

"The bubble in the solar dome will be made ready for your descent, and once you’ve penetrated Mersigh’s atmosphere, make your way to Landing Pad Two. It will lead you to the bowels of the palace. I will send someone to meet with you there."

Before Cloudia could thank him, the image of the Chief Justice and his advisers flickered away, and after a moment, she found herself looking at Marten. Gryg was quite angry; his lips had long since curled into a sneer.

"Don’t tell me you believe that this ‘holy talisman’ is actually going to work." The young woman tried to interject, but Gryg went on. "Apparently the Starkiller never died. He’s the one controlling the Rosk as we speak, and that plainly tells me this talisman of theirs isn’t going to do us any good."

Finally Cloudia was able to say, "I don’t believe this talisman will do any good. I just-."

"Just what?" Marten interrupted, his nose wrinkled with spite. "Are you saying you want this prince or whatever he is now ‘to rest easier’. Well, I don’t give a damn about how he rests. This is just a waste of time."

The half-Churyen was tempted to ask Gryg if he was ready to face the Dark Jedi, but perhaps he thought he was since he’d so willingly fused himself into the group, so she said nothing.

Drudwyn, who was standing near the back of the room with his arms folded atop his chest, stated his opinion. "I hate to say it, but I agree with him." Then the Jedi Knight glanced at his Padawan. "What do you think, my apprentice?"

Torin forced himself not to look any one in particular. "I think we must be patient."

Suddenly Marten glared at the young Jedi, his thin lips tautly meshing together. "Oh, to hell with your Jedi philosophies! Haven’t you realized that I’m sick and tired of you spewing them!"

The Padawan forced himself to remain calm. He didn’t like Gryg at all. He didn’t like the man’s capacity for disdain or cruelty, but he would not allow his temper to intervene. Still it seemed that his Master was ready for a fight.

"Why do you seemingly have a problem with the philosophies of the Jedi?" The tall man strode forward as he spoke. The question sounded somewhat casual, but there was a serpent swaying beyond these words.

"Not seemingly, Drudwyn. I do have a problem with your ignorant Jedi philosophies, especially when fanatic hypocrites shove them in my face. I refuse to tell you why."

It was clear that Gryg wanted to fight as well, he was clearly laying bait and Drudwyn was going to take it, but suddenly, gratefully, a Mersighdonian voice came over the comm and slashed though the tension. "The bubble is securely open. You may now commence in landing."

Marten looked at Cloudia, hoping she’d say that she’d changed her mind, but the half-Churyen shook her head. "I promise this won’t take long."

Gryg spun his chair around fitfully, and he began to take the Death’s Sneer toward the blue green sphere, which was elegantly draped in glittering gold.

This little band had no hope against Xcelcior Melgrot, Cloudia realized, but still there was nothing that would stop them from eventually heading to Drakhsah, for it was there, of all places, that destiny awaited them.

***

Mersigh hadn’t looked as bad as Cloudia had expected it to after nearly a month of war. Some of the more grand buildings of the former regime lay in crumbled heaps, only a few columns were spires amongst the rubble, and the execution platform where the rebellion had begun was in ruin. Yet the royal palace and the Great Temple looked untouched for the most part, and the majority of the minor buildings in and around Regalia Staymen were in the same good condition.

Maybe that was because the new government was striving to clean everything up, while the loyalists were now in hiding, plotting when to strike next. Another thing that might have added to the lack of destruction was the scarcity of more destructive weapons. Valenteen’s organization had provided well for the insurrection but not that well.

The Death’s Sneer now hovered above a metal barrier, which suddenly spiraled open to reveal the pit where Landing Pad Two was, and Marten took the ship into the catacomb-like cavern that connected to the palace’s understructure.

The landing concluded rather quickly, so did the departure from the craft. Marten sent Cloudia an impatiently stern glare as they headed down the ramp into a dank subterranean pit. "I really hope this won’t take long."

"It shouldn’t," the half-Churyen responded, but her mind was far from her words. The cavern was eerie, a severely odd place for a landing pad, and she could not keep herself from absorbing the details.

The thick brown earth seemed to have been molded into a spherical dip so long ago that it almost looked like a completely natural formation. Some rigid stalagmites still hung as sentinels around the metal barrier.

Cloudia didn’t know why the designers hadn’t decimated them when they carved into this place to deepen and shape it. These stalagmites appeared to be demonically sharp teeth, which seemed as if they could shatter down at any moment, but perhaps there was a good reason that they remained, if not a macabre and twisted one.

Then suddenly the light overhead was blocked from view, for the access-way wrenched itself shut. Yet the earthen walls themselves appeared to be glowing, as if the planet’s energy was coursing through them to keep them alight. But the gentle radiance did not make allowance for adequate vision.

"Great," Marten growled. "I wonder where the welcoming committee is."

His snide words were responded by a mechanical hiss. A set of electronic doors a short distance ahead opened and an unfamiliar looking, blue-clad Mersighdonian male stepped through. His smiling face was illumined by the glow-stick he held.

"Welcome," the man greeted kindly. Yet though he sounded very sincere, there was something else Cloudia and Jedi were picking up from him. You’ll be sorry you came here, was what the Mersighdonian was thinking, but the reason why was somehow elusive. The young woman figured that it had something to do with the ancient hatred of Force-users, but she couldn’t be sure. "I am Hylman Dinjom. The Chief Justice has sent me to bring you to him."

Yet before any of the others could move forward, Drudwyn closed in on Dinjom and accusatorily said, "I think you’re lying. Who are you, and what do you want from us?"

The Mersighdonian’s smile began to falter. "I… I told you, good sir. I am Hylman Dinjom, here by the Chief Justice’s order."

"Enough," the Jedi Knight stated, disgust manifesting in his tone. He raised his hand and waved his fingers before Dinjom’s eyes. "You will tell us the truth."

The Mersighdonian nodded, his mind becoming hazy. "I will tell you the truth."
Drudwyn gave a wicked smile but quickly allowed it to slip away. "You will tell us who you are and what you are trying to do."

Dinjom obeyed. "I was honest when I told you my identity, but I was not sent by Narapoj Oxine. I was sent by Mosg Lentul, the future king of Mersigh."

"And what did this Mosg Lentul want of us?" the Jedi Knight asked as he continued circulating his fingers.

"He wanted me to bring you to him, so that you could be killed for helping the rebels."

"I see," Drudwyn mused. He looked as if he was going to give Dinjom a final instruction, but instead he brought out his lightsaber. The blade hissed to life and went ripping through the Mersighdonian’s torso. It all happened too quickly.

"Master!" Torin finally exclaimed when Dinjom fell to the floor, a lifeless heap.

The Jedi Knight twisted around, the silver shimmer of his still-ignited lightsaber made his contorted face look absolutely frightening. "Don’t dispute what I have just done, Torin. I will not have my actions disregarded by my own Padawan learner."

As much as Drudwyn’s protégé wanted to protest, he couldn’t force himself to say a word. He merely turned to Cloudia and gave her an urgent look. It was quite unfortunate that the Jedi Knight knew exactly what his Padawan was thinking.

"We’ve been through this before, the artifact has not contaminated me! You are naïve and stupid if you believe the Dark Jedi’s lies. Cloudia, you will not get rid of it while we are on this planet, as my ignorant apprentice has suggested. I forbid it."

Torin wished that he could reason with his Master. If only he could make him understand, but there seemed no possible way.

The half-Churyen, though, felt as if she were as much under the Dark Side’s influence as Master Drudwyn was. Even at Torin’s sensible urging she didn’t know if she could talk herself into giving the black-bladed lightsaber up. Of course that didn’t matter. There was no way that the Jedi Knight would let it go regardless.

Drudwyn remained stiffly in place, the silvery illumination still playing upon his malevolent _expression, then he shut down his weapon. "We don’t have time for all this foolish arguing. I’m going to find this Chief Justice and retrieve the amulet from him."

The Jedi Knight spun around, his robes fluttering behind him as he quickly strode past the dead Mersighdonian and out the doors. The others were behind him in a heartbeat. Drakhsah might be their destiny, but it certainly was clear that they weren’t ready for it.

***

It was amazing how well Drudwyn navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Mersigh’s royal palace. His determined impatience, meshed with his Jedi powers, led him into the bowels of the once regal residence and to the precise set of stairs that led to the first floor. Upon snaking through that level’s magnificent silver ornate hallways, he and the rest of the group came upon a grotesque scene.

A Mersighdonian female in green robes of office lay crumpled on the floor. She was dead; she had apparently been bludgeoned by a large rock that had been callously cast aside. The Jedi Knight paused and knelt beside the corpse, trying to get a clear picture of what had happened.

By the time the others got close enough for the same type of inspection, Drudwyn was on his feet again. He glanced briefly at his comrades before speaking. "She was the one who had received orders about us from the Chief Justice. Hylman Dinjom killed her."

If anyone would have thought to respond, they wouldn’t have been able to, for Drudwyn was again on the move. The others were in hot pursuit only moments later.

***

Several minutes following the gruesome discovery Drudwyn blasted into what had once been the palace’s main throne room; Narapoj was there, still flanked by his mother and his wives. Surrounding them was a group of seven Mersighdonians, male and female alike. They were dressed in the same type of garments as the dead woman in the corridor, and standing like statuesque guards along the two parallel walls was another mixed company of Mersighdonians. There were a dozen of these silver-clad sentries.

As Cloudia appeared in the room with Torin and Marten she noted that the chamber was somewhat different than it had been less than a month ago. The kingly throne and its platform were gone, replaced by four plain chairs, which appeared to be made of wood—a mediocre, yet rare commodity on Mersigh. The Chief Justice and his advisers, except Aleena, occupied all. The Ceruelian remained standing in front of hers.

"We are here for the holy talisman," Drudwyn told Narapoj, his tone grave.

Upon seeing that Cloudia was with the bearded man, the Chief Justice nodded, but he ignored the statement for the time being. "Where is Tara Prendali, the one I sent to bring you here?" He was very concerned and shock blossomed upon his face when the Jedi Knight revealed the truth.

Narapoj bowed his head. "This is most distressing," he said with a sigh, then he rose and approached Drudwyn and the others. "I am dreadfully sorry to bring you into all of this."

"We don’t desire your apologies. We merely want this talisman you’ve offered. Then we’ll be on our way," Drudwyn stated.

Narapoj raised his fist, which had been clenched at his side, and he held it before the Jedi Knight, his fingers loosing to reveal a very beautiful amethyst jewel.

Gryg was gaping over Drudwyn’s shoulder now. His eyes glinted with greed. Perhaps coming here hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

"Maybe I should be the one to take that," Marten said as soon as he saw the tall Jedi reach for the talisman. The remark garnered surprise from his companions and also anger from Drudwyn.

"Why?" the Jedi Knight growled, and as soon as he fell silent, his Padawan was quick to add,

"Yes, I thought you didn’t-."

Gryg knew that Torin was going to be far too revealing in front of the prince, or the chief or whatever the ruler called himself, and so Marten interrupted. "Well, a guy can change his mind, can’t he? And besides I’m the only one here who can’t use the Force. What am I supposed to do to protect myself?"

"But you can deflect the Force," Cloudia said.

Gryg was starting to feel angry. They were all ganging up on him, and he didn’t know how he managed not to do something stupid then and there.

"Yeah, that’s right, but do you think I can protect myself against someone as powerful as Xcelcior Melgrot?"

Well, Marten had proved himself, at least verbally, so Cloudia told Narapoj, "You should give the holy talisman to him."

The Chief Justice nodded and placed the radiant gem in Marten’s hand. He looked like he would say something to the group, but suddenly the words dried up in his mouth, as he spotted Lentul and a few dozen regal loyalists infiltrating the room from all corners.

Joparan of Oxine’s former adviser was smirking, the expression wide with malice. "Prince Narapoj," he said mirthfully. "It seems that this little insurrection is going to meet its rightful end today. You see its head will be toppling off at any moment."

The Chief Justice faced his enemy, bold despite those frightening words. "Kill me if you dare, Lentul, but there are others willing to take my place, others that will fight for democracy and equality."

The man laughed. "And who are these others exactly? Your criminal mother, or perhaps your females, void of morals though they are? Or maybe you’re speaking of those in your Council of Mersighdonians. What a pitiful band of dressed-up commoners. Or are you talking about your army, which is only a miniscule coalition of freaks? The people of Mersigh would be more proud to have me as their king and have no rights at all than to have this twisted, foolish democracy you are creating."

Narapoj, despite being assailed with insults and falsehoods, held his temper. "You’re wrong, and I urge you not to try and find out how much so."

Lentul laughed once more, but soon all signs of pleasure vanished from his _expression. The former royal adviser pointed his blaster at Narapoj and signaled for his retinue to follow suit. The Chief Justice would have died then and there, but suddenly all the loyalists’ weapons soared out of their hands.

The most shocking part of this was that Cloudia and her Jedi colleagues had nothing to do with it. All the blasters and such were hurtling to the other side of the room, the sliver-robed Mersighdonians were catching the ones they needed and discarding the extras. Then they opened fire on Lentul’s horde.

A hail of lasers swarmed violently throughout the room. The air was so riddled with blaster bolts that it seemed that innocent bystanders would be injured, but each fiery, crimson projectile seemed guided by the Force. Nearly all the bolts hit their targets with ease, and most of those landed in fatal places.

This coalition was strong in the Force, although when they had been stationary it hadn’t seemed as clear. It was strange that all these Mersighdonians had been trained in Jedi ways, when Force-use was forbidden and reviled.

Did it have anything to do with the Dark Jedi? Cloudia wondered. Somehow she didn’t think he was directly involved, but perhaps he had allowed this to go on underground somewhere. Perhaps Joparan of Oxine or one of the other kings had found out but Xcelcior had prohibited them from doing anything about it.

Something about all that seemed very right to the half-Churyen, and she suddenly had the feeling that the Dark Jedi was going to pick up where his ancestor had left off. He was going have an army of Mersighdonian Force-users, not only to have control over Mersigh, but to use as minions that would help him destroy the entire Jedi Order.

Cloudia felt very odd as Drudwyn and Torin exchanged a few words with Narapoj. She knew that the Jedi had revealed their surprise and that the Chief Justice had explained that he had decided to have these Force-users as Mersigh’s defenders, so that he could reveal that the veil of prejudice against them had finally been lifted.

Then the two sides wished each other well. Yet though the young woman had known all this had transpired, she hadn’t heard the words. She was incased in a gloom so thick that it seemed that it would never dissipate.