AN: A little tribute to Coran of Baldur's Gate. That's if anyone remembers him. And, ouch, all the battle scenes in this chapter...

7. Dromund Kaas: Luck be a Lady

Lord Grathan obviously subscribed to the same Sith Fashion magazines that Lard Baras did. He wore it better. On a man of a powerful physique the mostly metal attire looked more terrifying than comic. The uninvited guests took a moment to contemplate their unsuspecting host.

"I hope that you don't feel the urge to get a hold of durasteel shoulder pads, starship spikes and bucket helmets, my Lord Yvolgar," Vette murmured. "To, you know, fit in."

"No man with lekku could pull this look off," Lord Yvolgar grimaced, and pushed his protectively further back.

"Yes, they are very pretty, and it would be a terrible pity to puncture it," Vette conceded.

Lord Yvolgar beamed proudly at her for a moment before hailing their mark: "Lord Grathan? Your Lady wife sends her best regards." And let the sabre out.

"He should have attacked," Vette thought desperately, "there is place for chivalry, but a Sith Lord's private chambers ain't it."

"How very kind of the old biddy to send in the entertainers," Lord Grathan responded icily. "Do satisfy my curiosity, alien pup: Why the pink crystal? Was it on sale?"

"It's magenta!" the words were out of Vette's mouth before she could stop herself.

"Ah, so it is a genuine preference for tacky." Lord Grathan managed to include her in this assessment. "Let me guess? Lord Baras' latest fool?" With that, the Lord's own sabre was revealed to be of the traditional red kind. A conservative son of a wampa.

Lord Yvolgar uncharacteristically kept his mouth shut, circling the opponent warily, before trying a feint. Lord Grathan parried lazily. Vette fired a flurry of bolts, but he reflected them just as easily as Yvolgar's sabre. She released another volley trying to keep the Sith occupied enough for Yvolgar to find an opening. But Yvolgar suddenly threw caution to the wind and reined furiously fast blows on his opponent. Ineffectual blows, to be sure, but relentless.

The elder Sith did something… and Yvolgar froze in mid-air, coughing, fighting for his breath. Vette shot and shot, angrier than a hungry sleen. Her fire was burning the mark now. The Sith roared, tossed Yvolgar aside, and leaped towards Vette. Vette dove, rolled, unloaded a clip into the man's looming mask before she had to work on getting away from the sabre strikes, left, right, left, ouch… behind Grathan's back, Yvolgar landed in a crouch, instead of hitting the floor like a rag-doll, and immediately leaped up into the air, the sabre held high over his head in a two-handed grip. The impact of the sabre coming down on Grathan's neck was devastating, and would have felled a lesser opponent. But Lord Grathan wavered, kept his footing, and wheeled back to slash low, at Yvolgar's feet.

Vette crab-walked away from the circling men, and shot Grathan in the back. Chivalry's foolish anyway!

Yvolgar hit hard, two-handed, screaming with every hit. Lord Grathan stopped paying Vette any attention, relying on his armor to deflect what blaster fire it would. He backpedaled, his blade coming up lower and weaker, lower and weaker, lower and…. Yvolgar's attacks did not lose potency. On the opposite, he seemed to be gathering power to him, strike after strike, then, suddenly, he took a step back, span, clobbered more than slashed, and Grathan's sabre was a fraction too slow. He toppled and hit the floor in a clang of metal.

Vette dropped her arms, blasters suddenly too heavy to hold up. Incredibly, it was done… or not.

Lord Yvolgar rounded on the body; hit it again, and again, before throwing himself against the wall with an enraged scream. The impact dropped him to his knees. He slowly turned round and slipped to the floor, long legs outstretched. There he sat panting, as Vette slowly walked over. The feral expression still made his features barely recognizable, but the red glow around the eyes was growing dimmer. She called out a hesitant: "My Lord?" and Yvolgar's eyes finally focused on her. Green eyes. With pupils and all.

"Wampa's teeth!" he exclaimed, and let his head fall back, to howl with laughter. "I've killed a Sith Lord!"

"Pfft," Vette replied with a becoming modesty.

"We did…" he amended. Vette extended her hand to pull him back to his feet. "Can you walk?"

A barely audible sound emerged from Grathan. Vette whirled to point the blasters at the not quite dead man. The resilient bastard was laughing! "Won't…" he fairly giggled, "won't survive me long. Lord Baras… will… have you…"

Vette shot him.

Lord Yvolgar lifted a querying brow: "Why?"

She shrugged: "Itchy trigger finger, My Lord." Okay, so she'd lied. It's not like she fully understood it herself. It's just finishing off the Sith seemed a small price to pay for not seeing Yvolgar fly off his handle again. Yvolgar seemed to be satisfied. He pried the mask off the corpse and twirled it in his hands: "Let's not keep the Lady of the house waiting."

Lady Cellvanta flowed towards them in a swirl of skirts. She was smiling, and the singed headpiece was gone. Instead, she boasted a curtain of silvery-blond hair. The kind that some Twi'leks find exotic rather than outright ugly. "Ably done, My Lord! Allow me to extend the House Grathan's sincerest congratulations and thanks. There will be a reward waiting for you as soon as I smooth over the misunderstanding with the Dark Council and our assets are available to us." She moved as if to take the mask from Yvolgar; but only placed her hands over his.

"Is not there a bonus on delivery?" Lord Yvolgar said teasingly, holding to his trophy.

"Oh, most assuredly," she replied. Both of them let go off the mask and it clanged to the floor. Lady Cellvanta chuckled throatily and deftly occupied the resulting space. She whispered something into Yvolgar's ear, caught his hand and started leading him away.

"What, any port in the storm?" Vette muttered… or she thought she would. Instead it came out rather more loudly than she intended. And decidedly shrilling.

Lord Yvolgar jolted away from Lady Cellvanta. "Pardon me, my Lady, I have just grew disinterested in the offer."

"Easy come, easy go. But a man of your age, losing interest just like that? On a shriek of a hysterical slave girl? My, my, how peculiarly fragile… Is it typical of your generation?" Lady Cellvanta drawled.

Yvolgar contemplated the nails of his left hand. "Good thing you brought up age, My Lady. I've just noticed that we can deal on more even terms if your son is willing to pay up the bonus…"

Red spots of rage bloomed on Beezlit's handsome face, as he rushed forward screaming: "MOTHER! Did you hear what this alien scum's just implied?!"

"Maybe not. Well, I am not into the older men either," Yvolgar seemed unruffled, and still completely consumed by the study of his fingernails. But he was just as mad, Vette realized, only his fury was contained, like boiling water in an outwardly solid kettle. If even someone like her who did not sense the Force could feel it, a Sith should see it as plainly as a gathering storm.

Lady Cellvanta caught her son square on the chest as he tried to speed past her, and shoved him behind her back, her eyes fastened to Yvolgar all the while. "He is just joking, my sweet. So did I. Do not take offence, My Lord…" She bowed to Yvolgar politely, and promised a reward once more. Then Lady Cellvanta made her excuses, and left the room with some dignity, holding Beezlit firmly by the shoulder. That woman is a survivor, Vette thought with a surprising stirring of respect.

"Are you really younger than Beezlit, My Lord?" Vette turned to Lord Yvolgar curiously. "No," he spat out and charged down the hallway. Scared to be left in the compound all alone Vette loped after him. "Hey, did this rabid wompa rat bit you?!"

Lord Yvolgar let her mount the speeder in complete silence, sat behind her. She thought she heard him grit his teeth. She waited. Finally, he whispered right into her ear, his breath touching her cheek: "Never do that again."

Vette pursed her lips: "Yes, My Lord. I understand, My Lord. Next time You Lordship wishes to explore the local midden heaps, I'll leave you to it."

Lord Yvolgar's skin looked two shades darker when he stormed into Ba'al's office. "Done!" he growled. "Tell Baras."

Dri'kill Ba'al looked up form a datapad. "My, my. Look at this chest all puffed up. Proud, are we, brute?"

"Give me a reason," Lord Yvolgar replied dryly, "I beg you."

Ba'al smiled sardonically. "That dense? What more should I do, throw a glove into your face? Is that what you do on Tattoine?"

"Good enough for me," Lord Yvolgar chuckled, and unleashed the lightsabre with a flourish. "And I come form Balmorra!"

Ba'al rose to his feet and came to meet him.

"Vette, take cover," Yvolgar commanded. "This is not your fight."

"My Lord," Vette argued, "It beats me why there has to be a fight at all, but—"

"Please?" he insisted with a sheepish grin, and Vette sighed. "Fine, fine. It's a man thing. Or a Sith thing. Or a Lord Yvolgar thing. Whatever it is, it's a stupid thing! My Lord."

"The slave girl is right, dimwit. Kass is not Balmorra, and I am not a stupid man to overlook back-up," Ba'al said, as the lightsabres connected sending multicolored sparks in the air. To validate his words, the doors burst open admitting half-a dozen guards in Grathan uniform. They opened fire without asking questions. As Yvolgar deflected the flurry of bolts, Ba'al took a couple of lazy, taunting strikes, enough to make his opponent bleed. "I will make my position more secure as I destroy the murderous intruder. Why, I am about to become the most valuable servant of Lady Grathan."

"Post-mortem," Lord Yvolgar grunted, leaped up in the air, drawing the unseen Force to him. He landed lightly in a crouch, but the released force was anything but light. It exploded outwards from him, dropping the squad to the ground. Ba'al alone remained standing. Vette decided that it was time to make it her fight, and started picking off the guards one by one. Child's play.

The two men rained blows in earnest, but then Yvolgar did something odd that sent Ba'al's sabre flying in a wide, glowing arc across the office. Ba'al put his palm up, but not to stay the inevitable fall of the magenta sabre. He pushed Yvolgar back with the Force, and dove for his own weapon. Falling back, Yvolgar hooked Ba'al's ankle with his feet, and both Sith crashed to the ground. Lord Yvolgar tossed his sabre aside in a needlessly gallant gesture.

Vette rushed to pick both sabres, and regretted it immediately. Yvolgar's was hot and so heavy, she was barely able to carry it. However, it was Ba'al's sabre that gave her the creeps, projecting something cold, twisted, coiled…

"YIELD!"

Vette turned to see Yvolgar, knee on prone Ba'al's upper arm, overextending it to the point of snapping. Ba'al screeched with pain, and tapped.

Lord Yvolgar's face lit up with a self-satisfied grin. "The problem with alpha males, Ba'al, is there could only be one." And he released the hold on the Sith.

"Don't!" Vette shrieked, just as Ba'al rolled onto his back, lightening quick, brought up a small pistol aimed at Yvolgar's throat and shot. Yvolgar jerked when Vette screamed, so the shot grazed his neck, cheek and lek, turning into an angry burn almost immediately.

"You're right for once, brute," Ba'al rasped and pushed the trigger again. Lord Yvolgar opened his mouth wide and issued a deafening roar. The sound wave dampened the blaster fire. Ba'al convulsed, and died, a stunned expression stamped into his features.

The room went quite save for the sounds of the distant mayhem on the grounds. Lord Yvolgar cringed and fumbled to stick a med patch to the burn. "Look, Vette," he said apologetically, "I didn't mean to kill him, not really. Couldn't control it at all. Should have had the woman, Vette. I-"

"My Lord," Vette urged him, "we can't stay here."

He looked up at her with a strange, helpless expression: "Maybe he was right, and Vemrin was right, and I am an ignorant—"

"We can't stay here," Vette repeated forcefully, interrupting his soul-digging exercise. It would do nobody any good for him to dissolve into self-loathing tears.

Lord Yvolgar nodded, focused his green eyes on her. Then he got up to his feet, touched the lek to make sure it healed, grabbed his saber in one hand, shoved Vette behind him unceremoniously and walked out of the building to the miraculously intact speeder without a challenge. Oh, a few droids spotted them, but shied away from the drawn blade. Either they had a self-preservation setting on, or Lady Cellvanta was as good as her word.

Vette moved to take the driver's seat, but Lord Yvolgar forestalled her. "I'll get us out, no worries. Hold tight!"

Uneasy, Vette mounted behind him. The perimeter of the courtyard was still a battlefield, but it seemed that the central portion of the estate was quiet. Perhaps the truth with the Dark Council was already arranged.

"Better close your eyes too," Lord Yvolgar warned, and pushed the gas to the max.

When the shouts and the sounds of the blaster fire died down, Vette opened her eyes carefully, and then firmly shut them back again. For a good measure she pressed her face into Yvolgar's back and tightened her grip on his waist until her arms hurt.

"Hey, I need to breathe!" Yvolgar yelled over the roar of the engines.

"Then you should have let me drive!" Vette shouted back at him.

Lord Yvolgar managed to bring them back to the cantina in one piece and polished away enough food to feed an extended family in Nar Shaddaa's slums for two weeks. He chatted, and laughed, and sounded like his old self, and she might as well have dreamed up that helpless look in his eyes. Still, Vette couldn't help but notice that he walked like a drunk man. Could a Sith overindulge with the Force, she wondered? At any rate, the alarms that started going in Vette's head when she first saw Lord Yvolgar rage were not chiming any longer. They blared. Oh, Lord Yvolgar was the brightest thing in this corner of the sky, no doubt. And she didn't care to be around to see its fiery end and get caught in the blast to boot.

So, Vette sensibly spent a good chunk of the night searching Holonet for the traces of her old gang.