When Erithon Zale and the rest of Havoc arrived to find Organa Castle in an uproar, it didn't come as a surprise. What was unexpected was that the hubbub was in fact not in response to their arrival, the conquering heroes who'd reclaimed the Spears of Organa. The news had preceded them, but the feeling around them was one of panic, not celebration. General Kashim spared them a glance as they were escorted into the command room.

"Lieutenant, you're not too late."

"Sir?" Erithon snapped a quick salute that was echoed by Jorgan and Dorne, swallowing the frown that was tugging at his lips. I've got a bad feeling about this.

"The reports of your victory at the Spears are welcome, but the debriefing will have to wait. We have another pressing concern. Thul has seized hundreds of Organa citizens as hostages. The duke and his diplomat were to meet with the Wolf Baron, but something's gone wrong. We just received a report from Duke Organa. The diplomat was exchanged for the hostages. We're preparing to stage a rescue."

"A diplomat? Who did-" Erithon paused as the holo began chiming, and Kashim swiftly opened the channel.

It was Duke Organa himself, looking furious and harried. "Kashim! The negotiations were a trap, blackmail!"

Kashim nodded stiffly. "Your Grace, Havoc Squad has returned from securing the Spears of Organa." The general adjusted the focus of the holocam to Havoc Squad, and Organa's strained expression eased.

"Lieutenant! We are indebted to you for your actions in returning control of the Spears to House Organa. My grandfather would be proud." The signal flickered, and Kashim reached to adjust the controls. "We need your aid once again."

Erithon fought to keep his expression stern. Nobles could be a little dramatic. "Havoc is at your service, Duke Organa."

"The trap was… diplomat alone-" Organa continued to speak while the holo continued to shudder and crackle. "-aken in trade for our people. We will not leave her behind. General Kashim has… location-" The failing signal cut off any further instructions, but a glance at Jorgan and Dorne told Erithon everything he needed to know.

"General, give me the coordinates, and we'll move out."

Kashim tapped a few commands into the console and after a moment Erithon's own datapad chimed, displaying a warehouse situated in the nearby farmlands.

"Excellent location for an ambush," Jorgan muttered over the lieutenant's shoulder. Dorne's response was more measured, lips pressed into a tight line.

"Sir, if there are civilians involved, we are certainly within our capacity to aid the Duke once again."

Erithon skimmed the attached report, wondering aloud. "Who was the diplomat involved? Someone from the Republic?"

"A Jedi, an old friend of the Duke. House Organa has close ties with the Order, even an enclave," Kashim replied, nodding toward a robed, restless teenager standing outside the room, holding a stack of datapads. A training saber peeked out from behind one shoulder.

She said… it was supposed to be… damn. Erithon shook his head. It was stupid to assume every Jedi out there was Aitahea; there were thousands, right? He didn't know if his last message had even gotten to her; the quickly recorded holo hadn't received a reply yet when he'd last checked. Even if that was just a few minutes ago while they wound through the expanse of Organa Castle.

The soldier pulled his datapad in a little tighter, about to check just once more… Maybe a message had come in the last few minutes… Unless it really was… Nah.

Erithon cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Back into the fray it is. Let's move out, Havoc."


Aitahea Daviin strode purposefully into the warehouse, Qyzen Fess close behind. The Trandoshan muttered uneasily at her shoulder, almost too softly for the Jedi to discern his exact words.

"Herald, this place…"

"I sense them too. The Blackguard."

"Come, then, more offerings for Scorekeeper."

Aitahea nodded, still uncertain about her strange role as religious figure, but sure of the approach of the handful of Thul assassins who rose from the shadows of the warehouse with hostile intent.

"This was not agreement," Qyzen hissed, his voice quickly drowned by the sharp sound of Aitahea's lightsaber igniting, the bright glare revealing a vicious challenge in the guards' eyes as they closed around the two.

"No, it was not," Aitahea replied evenly. "Brace yourself, Qyzen."

The Blackguard were clearly enjoying the opportunity to hone their skills against a Jedi warrior, but Aitahea did not plan on simply leaving them to their entertainment. She began with a wave that swept half of the attackers off their feet, then whirled around to set the ground shaking beneath the feet of the others that faced Qyzen. On Alderaan, where so much of her growth and training had taken place, the Force felt like an old friend, ready and willing to lend her strength, and she leaned deeply into the sensation. The ambush, on the other hand, deteriorated spectacularly as the Blackguard struggled and failed, one by one, to rise to their feet. Satisfied, Aitahea deactivated her lightsaber and looked toward the human man slowly descending the warehouse stairs.

The Wolf Baron laughed while his applause echoed through the warehouse. "Impressive. The chance to see a Jedi in action… well, it makes this whole war seem worthwhile." The baron strode confidently into the center of the room. His prideful aura was unmistakable; he had every confidence that he had the upper hand in the situation, that perhaps the tables had even – finally - turned in his favor.

Aitahea remained still as he circled, following his steps with her eyes. "My name is Aitahea Daviin. I stand before you as a Jedi and representative of House Organa. I am here to negotiate the safe release of the Organa people you hold captive." The Jedi pushed her awareness deeper into the Force, but the baron's pronounced overconfidence failed to give away any secrets.

The Baron gave her an appreciative look. "Well met, Master Jedi. I am Baron Jharkus Thul – better known as the Wolf Baron." He gave a mocking half bow, glancing past her toward the entrance. "Is the duke on his way, or did the old man send you in his place?"

"The duke follows close behind," she replied steadily, despite the Baron's lack of decorum and her own growing sense of peril. "I request evidence of the hostages' safety, my lord, before we proceed."

"Excellent. Heronus? Show the Jedi what she asks."

Thul lingered at her shoulder, Aitahea fighting the rising unease that crept up her spine as his henchman opened a holochannel on a nearby access point. The flickering hologram resolved into a handful of haggard subjects, one young man at the front.

"My name is Brant Sonn. I am an eighth-generation subject of House Organa. My family, along with many others, was captured by House Thul." The holo showed Brant swallowing hard before continuing. "They're treating us… well."

Aitahea was about to voice her growing concern when a commotion made them all turn toward the entrance. Charle Organa came striding into the hangar, fury in his eyes.

"Baron!" Organa roared as he approached. Aitahea moved swiftly to intercept him, but the Duke only shrugged off her hands. "What've you done with my people?"

Thul sneered. "Keep your duke on a leash, please. The prisoners are in a very precarious situation." At this, Organa began to reach for the baron, but Aitahea caught his arm, alarmed at his wrath. She offered an almost imperceptible shake of her head, eyes beseeching.

"Your Lordship, let us discuss the peaceful release of the hostages. Your Grace?" she said quickly, all courtesy and aplomb, glancing between the two men while silently weaving a tapestry of peace and patience around them.

Baron Thul looked down at the Jedi haughtily, ignoring the livid Duke. "I have three hundred forty-eight prisoners." A dark gleam filled his eyes. "I am willing to make a trade."

The Force was suddenly thick with treachery, and Aitahea fought to steady her breathing through the suffocating sensation. Something was not right here. Unaware of her struggle, Charle lifted his hands in desperation. "I'll do it, Thul. House Organa will not fall, with or without me." Aitahea began to shush him, but the Baron's harsh laughter interrupted them.

"Ha!" he howled. "You misunderstand, Your Grace. I want your Jedi." Aitahea startled at the sudden shift. "She will become my prisoner in exchange for the hostages."

"What? Utterly ridiculous! I won't-"

Thul cut him off with a sharp motion. "She is more useful to House Organa than you, Your Grace." He chuckled, smug and sure. "With your Jedi out of commission, the next battle will be easily won. What say you, my dear?" Aitahea pulled in a sharp breath, alarmed. "You can rest happily in our jails until the Republic ransoms you back, or you can have three hundred deaths on your conscience." He extended a hand as if offering her a dance. Her skin crawled at the look in his eyes.

This was no choice. A single life for more than three hundred was a generous offer, but the baron's plan to attack once she was in custody could certainly turn the war effort against Organa and the Republic. Soldiers or civilians, one way or another, would be lost. It was no choice at all.

"You have my cooperation, my lord," Aitahea replied solemnly, drawing away from Duke Organa. A bereft look marred his dignified features. "Release the hostages, along with my crew and the Duke." She gave Qyzen a grim smile, unable to read his expression, but accepting his curt nod with relief. "I'll submit peacefully."

The Wolf Baron brayed in triumph, but the Jedi ignored his open hand, instead offering only a slight bow, little more than a nod. Baron Thul's expression faded from jubilant to bemused, settling finally on red-faced rage.

"Aitahea," the duke called, low and dangerous. "You will not be forgotten. I swear it." Aitahea offered her friend a sincere obeisance before she was flanked by the remaining Thul guards. Qyzen grasped Organa's shoulder and began leading the duke out of the warehouse, casting wary glances over a shoulder.

The baron clenched his still open hand into a trembling fist, and Aitahea worried for a moment that she'd severely miscalculated. Thul glared at her, lips twisted into a livid sneer, before flinging his hand toward her dismissively. "Use the gas. Keep her incapacitated until the transport is ready."

"Wait!" she cried, straining against the hands that clamped around her arms. "You already have my surrend-" The mask that slammed over her face heralded a bitter odor, followed swiftly by darkness.