(32 years pre ANH)
The Kethridge system was a small out of the way system, located at the very edge of the mid rim almost straddling the border between the outer rim territories, and only a stones throw from hutt space. Five planets orbit the primary from which the system takes its name from, which in turn was named after the man who first discovered it many eons ago. Of the five planets only two are hospitable, Yorill and Vorisch.
As Joran walked through Alameda, the Yorillian capital city, he wondered what had brought him to this out of the way place. Even as he asked the question of himself he knew the answer, the force. It was not something he could explain, it had not been a vision showing him the way, but a feeling. Something at the back of his mind that told him he had to travel rimward; and so he had moved from system to system, until he found himself here, and somehow he knew that the force wanted him here. Something was going to happen, something important.
It was mid afternoon in the city and the day was bright if not particularly hot, Joran strode through the marketplace near the centre of town, he was clothed in his usual dark trousers, short sleeved black shirt, jacket and boots. His lightsabre hung openly at his belt. At this time of day the marketplace was bustling with activity; large and small prefabricated buildings formed an inner circle, while a huge number of stalls were set up around and in-between the buildings, selling assorted goods and services.
As Joran walked down a row of stalls he looked up and saw the Royal Palace towering above the market. According to his guide book the Yorillian Royal family was one of the oldest in the sector, and the monarch was still the head of the government with the final say in matters of state, although the day to day running of the planet was left to a prime-minister. The royal palace was suitably impressive, built on a hill and surrounded by forest it was by far the largest building on the planet, a tall central column stretched skyward where it reached up and separated into four intricately carved towers spaced around a larger central one. Either side of the central column were two large thick towers that were connected to the central column by a short wall, the two shorter towers stood like guards on either side, and onto the front of each was carved elaborate creatures from the planets mythology.
A large ornate brass fence surrounded the palace, itself with several guard towers spaced evenly around its length. Leading from the palaces main entrance and down into a spacious courtyard were a set of exquisite marble steps and where they ended a long driveway stretched up to the main gate.
Lowering his eyes away from the vista on the hill he strode deeper into the market, with no clear idea of where he was supposed to go or what he was supposed to do Joran decided it might be wise to find out the mood of the locals. Spying a tavern up ahead he slowly wound his way through the knot of pedestrians and went inside. The building was made of ancient stone, not one of the many temporary prefabs that comprised much of the market.
"What'll it be?" the gruff voiced barman asked as Joran walked up to the bar.
"I'll take an ale please," he responded. The barman grunted and dually pulled a pint of ale for which Joran paid for.
At this time of day the tavern was fairly empty, but there was a small knot of locals sitting in one corner of the bar, Joran decided to sit nearby. The topic of conversation just happened to be about a conference between Yorill and its neighbouring systems, which as best he could figure was to do with the taxation of trade routes. After listening for a few minutes Joran found out that the conference was of primary importance to the region since most of the attendees had been to war which each over similar issues as this several times in the last two decades. Joran listened for the next half an hour or so picking up few useful bits of information, but interplanetary politics did not concern him.
He had just drained his glass when a sensation came flooding through the force to him, fear. Fear and panic. Quickly he rose and headed outside to emerge into a crowded street, people were running around left, right, and centre, all jabbering fearfully and pointing to the sky.
Joran followed their gaze and he could make out a large number of dots rising up into the air from the west, using the force he enhanced his vision and the dots became hundreds of airspeeders. Military airspeeders rising up from the base on the outskirts of the city, and heading this way. Soon they were close enough to make out with the naked eye, half the group continued on toward the marketplace while the rest veered direction and headed for the place.
Before he knew what he was doing Joran had joined the people on the street and was running toward the palace, he didn't know why, but he felt an overwhelming need to go there. He dodged people and vehicles, and animals and wagons as airspeeders buzzed overhead, lasers were fired gouging deep holes in the ground, some buildings were set on fire while others were vaporised, all around him there was chaos.
As Joran neared the Palace a group of speeders settled in the courtyard, the guard towers having already been taken out, and troops poured from their holds to engage pitifully few defenders.
For anyone else it would have taken them an age to reach the palace but to Joran with the force as his ally it only took a fraction of the time. As Joran neared the smoking remains of the main gate a soldier saw him approach and fired at him. Instinctively a bright purple blade materialized out of nowhere to deflect the blaster bolt back along its original path.
'Of all the times I could come here, I have to visit in the middle of a military uprising' he thought bitterly. Clutching his sabre in a double- handed grip he ran through the gates to engage the handful of soldiers outside the palace entrance. A half a second before they fired on him he felt an almost familiar presence through the force.
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There were ten delegates from the sector and their entourages, although from the noise they were making it seemed to Orin to be more like fifty of them seated in the grand hall of the royal palace.
"That's preposterous!" the head of state of Yorden Prime bellowed in a voice that rang out across the grand hall for all to hear. "Why should we pay taxes on a trade route that run right to our system! If we did not open our borders to free trade then there would be little or no trade in the whole of this sector."
"And without our trade your planet would be no more than a fifth rate backwater world, populated by pirates and smugglers," The Aryo of Belivian replied glibly from across the ornate meeting table.
"Gentlebeings please! We are not here to bicker or make slick remarks. We are here to decide on what action we will take in the event that the Republic insists on instituting a tax on trade routes, and to decide what that will mean to us," The King of Yorill told the assembly rising to his feet.
Everyone in the room turned to look at the tall Yorillian, he was past middle age with dark hair greying at the temples and commanding brown eyes. The nominal ruler of Yorill his voice carried a great deal of weight within the sector. "Now, the reason that the senate is thinking of instigating tax's on trade is to help improve the local lines of communication, hyperspace relays, holonet transmitters, and spaceports. Gentlebeings it is for our own good."
The chamber erupted in a thrall of voices, some yelling in protest, and some agreeing with the Yorillian King. Orin closed his ears to it all; of all the places to get sent to it had to be here? I really hate politics, he thought. As the instigator of the conference King Delan of Yorill had requested a mediator from Coruscant, and for some reason best known to themselves the Republic had requested that a Jedi be awarded the responsibility, and so here he was.
Of the Ten representative delegates there were only really three with any power or influence, Relimus, the head of Yorden Prime was the first as his system was the gateway to the more profitable worlds of the mid rim. The second was the Aryo of Belivian whose system owned the largest fleet of cargo ships this side of the core, and finally there was King Delan and the Yorillians who had the largest military force in the sector.
Orin listened half heartedly as an orderly calm was slowly restored to the room and let his mind drift outwards; it was then that he began to detect the first signs of fear among the local populace. Pulling his awareness away from the room he directed it outside the walls of the palace and listened. It was stronger now, fear, panic and worry, and something else, hostility - hostility that was quickly drawing nearer.
Suddenly there was a roar and then the sound of shots being fired from outside as a number of military airspeeders landed in the palaces courtyard. The startled delegates began to rise to their feet, looking around in bewilderment, when the two towering wooden doors to the grand hall were flung open and several armed soldiers marched through them; followed by three men wearing high-ranking insignia. The two palace guards near the door were quickly taken out by the butt end of the soldier's rifles while delegates and their escorts found themselves being covered by the rest of the armed soldiers.
"Gentlebeings, please do not move, for if you do I will be forced to shoot you," bellowed one of the uniformed men as he swept past the soldiers, careful to stay to one side though, out of the line of fire.
Orin was standing at the back of the room half hidden by the Yorillian delegation, almost ignored. He could move to attack right now but for some reason he sensed this wasn't the time, and odds of ten to one are never good, even if you're a Jedi.
"I am General Yori Neros, Commander in Chief of the Yorillian Ground Forces, and to my right is Admiral Valen Chord, Head of the Yorillian Navy," the man who had stepped forward declared. "And you my dear delegates are temporarily my guests," he added with a flourish.
"By what right do you hold us under armed guard!" a voice bellowed from the head of the table.
"Why my dear King Delan? By the right of history of course, do you not recognise a military coup when you see one?"
Delan moved away from his seat and boldly strode forward, his face had gone a deep red and he was incensed by what he was hearing. "There has not been a Military coup in the past three millennia," he declared.
A look of scorn crossed General Neros's face. "Well your Highness times change. As of now I assume the title of ruler of Yorill and all lands and property that comes with the tile. You my dear King are out of a job."
"You cannot, the people will not stand for this. They will not be ruled by the military again, we have moved beyond…"
"Oh please, my men now control all strategic military positions, and under ancient law my claim to the throne is perfectly legal. In a little under two days I will officially be sworn in as the new ruler of Yorill and then the people will have no choice but to accept me as there ruler!" Neros stated.
"I do not believe you have the full support of the military," Delan countered, "I will gather forces against you, I will oppose you at every turn!"
"You forget one thing your majesty," Neros grinned evilly. "You have to be alive to do such a thing."
It all seemed to happen in slow motion; Orin felt what Neros was about to do but only a split second before it happened. He leapt forward lightsabre already in hand just as Neros gave a signal and one of the soldiers shifted his weapon over to the where the King was now standing and fired. The distance was too far and Orin saw the king stager backward, a black charred hole in his chest. Orin reached his side just as the king fell to the floor, dead.
For a second there was a stunned silence in the chamber, then an agonised scream broke out as a young raven haired woman wearing a figure hugging royal purple gown sped forward to kneel beside the dead ruler of Yorill, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Orin brought his lightsabre up into the ready position, but before he could ignite it a voice said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you, not if you don't want the Princess to suffer the same fight as her father."
Orin halted as he found himself and the young woman covered by a loose semicircle of guards, they were spread out and each had his weapon pointed at the woman.
"Even a Jedi cannot guarantee to stop all the laser blasts before one hits the Princess, can he?" General Neros observed smugly. "Now drop the lightsabre and kick it over here."
With little choice Orin did as he was told and as he did he caught a hint of a familiar presence though the force.
"Right," the General said, "Now as for the rest of you gentlebeings, you will be staying on Yorill until your respective governments see fit to… shall we say, reimburse me for your passage home?
"Mr Jedi would you be so kind as to move over there," Neros indicated to a place by the far wall. Orin obeyed moving past the sill-sobbing woman who was now looking at the General with fierce hatred in her eyes.
Neros pulled a blaster from his belt and pointed it at Orin. "Now you understand why I cannot simply leave a Jedi free to run around don't you? So that is why I'm going to have to put you to sleep, and I only know one way to induce such a thing, I believe you call it a healing trance? In return for your cooperation in this matter I give you my word I will not harm anymore of these people."
As Orin's mind began to wonder how the general knew so much about Jedi healing trances Neros fired, and a scarlet bolt of energy came zinging towards him…
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The blaster bolt flew straight and true and as Orin prepared himself for the impact a glowing purple lightsaber blade slashed in front of him and deflected the blaster bolt neatly into the ceiling leaving a smoking hole. This time Orin did not hesitate, he dived off to the right as Neros fired again, only narrowly missing being hit. As he landed heavily on the cold marble floor of the chamber he stretched out his hand and called his lightsabre to him.
Meanwhile, the purple-white lightsabre spun in an arc over the group of soldier's heads and came to rest smartly in the palm of Joran Roth's outstretched hand. As the soldiers spun to face him he charged and leapt into the air somersaulting over there heads. As he did so, his slashed out with his lightsaber twice, and two soldiers fell to the floor spilt in half.
Joran landed in a low crouch and spun round to face the remaining soldiers who were totally caught off balance by his attack, he lashed out once more with his glowing purple sabre chopping the nearest soldier down, and then leapt backwards as the remaining nine soldiers turned and fired.
Orin came up with his lightsabre ignited and blocked Neros's third shot, then through the force he called the rogue General's blaster to him and slashed it across with his lightsaber before picking Neros up in a force grip and flinging him across the room.
As the General landed in a heap against the far wall Orin took a quick glance around the room, the other two uniformed officers had dived for cover and were even now yelling into their comlinks for reinforcements. The delegates had also, for the most part, found cover behind the grand table in the centre of the room, all apart from the Princess who was still slumped protectively over her dead father.
Orin moved over to her as Joran deflected or dodged fire from the remaining soldiers, gently he picked her up, she was slack in his arms and there was no sign of life in her eyes any more. Two of the soldiers broke of their attack on Joran and fired on him as he shielded the princess with his body. Quickly he moved backwards and laid the Princess behind an over turned side-table before turning his full attention on his two attackers.
Almost casually blocking blaster bolts he advanced towards them and saw the disconcerted look on their faces as they backed off a little; right into the path of the chair Orin had sent flying at them from the other side of the room. The two men went down hard, their blasters lying from their grips and before they knew it Orin was upon them, using the hilt of his sabre he quickly rendered them unconscious. He preferred not to kill if he didn't have to.
Suddenly his danger sense tingled and he turned to find a soldier about to fire on him, ducking the oncoming stream of crimson energy bolts he rolled forward and came up just short of the soldier. Staring up into the soldiers alarmed face, he brought his lightsabre up slicing the man's weapon arm off at the joint before backhanding the man across the face sending him spinning to the floor.
And then it was over.
Orin found himself staring at Joran, who was surrounded by the fallen forms of Neros's soldiers and breathing heavily. "What are you doing here?" he asked clearly surprised to see the Fallen Jedi again. But then master Dooran's words came flooding back to him. 'You will meat again… It is your destiny!'
"Saving you, by the looks of things," Joran calmly replied, giving no hint of his own surprise at seeing Orin again.
"Thanks, I appreciate it."
"Sure, any idea what we do now? This is my first Military uprising, I'm a little hazy on protocol," Joran remarked as his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in the scared and confused faces of the delegates.
"First let's get these people out of here, there's a transport on the palace roof," Orin suggested taking charge of the situation. "Then we can figure out why a trade conference has turned into a bloodbath, and what in the name of the Sith you're doing here?"
Joran surveyed the carnage around the room and nodded his ascent. "Let's move."
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Orin carefully led the way out of the grand hall and was relieved to note that no soldiers were waiting in ambush, although the sounds of blaster fire could be heard echoing down the palaces corridors. Neither was there any sign of General Neros or the other two officers, apparently they had decided to flee and leave their men to face the consequences.
Quickly and quietly Orin led the way to the back staircase on this level that would lead them straight to the roof, behind him came the forty or so delegates and their aides who had survived the fire fight. Joran was bringing up the rear.
Orin had taken point because he knew the palace layout well, but also because if they did run into the odd guard or two he would be able to deal with them without having to kill them. A lightsabre could take a hand or arm off and cauterise the wound at the same time so loss of life could be averted, he had noticed that Joran's opponents rarely survived, and while they probably deserved it he liked to avoid unnecessary deaths if it was possible.
While Orin stealthily moved up the staircase ahead, Joran reached out through the force and scanned behind them, so far as he could sense they were in the clear at the moment, although there was a fire fight going on two floors below them which was probably slowing any pursuit down. In fact, so intent was he on what was happening behind him that Joran almost walked headlong into the young woman who had suddenly stopped in front of him.
Startled she turned to face him, her eyes were wide and startled, and he recognised her as being the woman who had knelt beside the fallen man in the great hall.
"Hey lady, this really isn't a great place to stop," he growled in annoyance.
She looked up at him, her dark black hair cascaded down her shoulders and obscured her delicate face while a solitary tear crept down her cheek from her sad green eyes. "Does it matter where I stop anymore, what's the point, its over isn't it?"
Slightly confused Joran asked, "What's over?"
"Everything," she said bitterly. "My life, my planet, my family. Everything!"
"That man in the hall, he was your father?" Joran hesitantly asked, already sure of the answer.
"Yes, he was the King of Yoril. And I am… I was, the Princess Jadala," she told him sadly.
Normally Joran had little sympathy for anyone, that had been bled out of him long ago, but he understood what the girl was going through. He'd been there himself, and even after five years the pain of his loss was as fresh as it had been the day Mira had died. "Look your highness, it's not over yet. I'm sorry about your father and nothing that I say can ease your loss. I know, I've been there. But now is not the time to give up. If you do that then his death was for nothing, and the man who murdered him has won and will go unpunished. Is that how you want things to stand?"
She seemed to consider his words for a moment, and then a steely look of resolution crept across her face, her eyes hardened and she seemed to pull herself up straighter. "No," she said defiantly.
"Good, then the first thing we do is get out of here alive. After that we start thinking about making your fathers murder pay…"
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Orin reached the roof of the east wing of the palace to find it unsurprisingly guarded by four of Neros's soldiers. Two military airspeeders sat on the roof pad off to the right; beside them was a larger blocky civilian transport, which was exactly what they were looking for.
Striking with the lightning fast reflex's only a Jedi possesses, Orin struck the first guard down, destroying the mans assault rifle in the process. Pivoting on his right foot he lashed out with his left and sent another soldier sprawling to the floor, meanwhile the two soldiers on the left had been far enough away from him so as to be able to bring their weapons up. Skilfully Orin deflected the two shots aimed at him before moving a step closer to the men, and before they could get off a second volley, Orin had scooped the blaster rifles out of their hands using the force and sent them tumbling over the side of the palace. Two swift blows took care of the men, and as the delegates cautiously arrived on the roof Orin surveyed his handiwork. Four down and he hadn't even had to kill anyone.
As the last of the frightened delegates arrived on the roof Orin had the door to the transport open and began loading people onto it. It was one of the larger freight models and would take just about everyone, although it would be standing room only.
The last two people on the roof were Joran and the Princess, and as he watched them arrive he sensed that something had passed between them. He sensed a lot of fear and pain emanating from her, but also a strong sense of defiance, and from Joran he caught an impression of… could it be… sympathy?
Joran sealed off the door to their part of the roof and then moved over to stand beside Orin and Jadala. "Okay now we have transport where do we go?"
As they though about their next move a slow feeling of dread began to creep over Orin, a feeling he could not put his finger on, but somehow he knew time was running out.
"I know where to go," Jadala told them suddenly.
"Where?" chorused both Orin and Joran.
"There's a small supply base not far from hear, the General who commands it was one of my fathers most loyal supporters," the diminutive princess answered.
"Are you sure it's safe?" Joran asked.
"No, but I don't have a better idea, do you?" she challenged him defiantly, her green eyes flaring.
Joran almost smiled, she's already started fighting back, he though. "Well, I guess…." He trailed off, his face becoming an impassive mask. Both he and Orin turned back towards the door to the roof, just in time to watch as it suddenly blew outward as if wrenched off its hinges by a massive whirlwind and thrown to the floor mere feet in front of them.
A tall humanoid figure stepped through the doorway, he was dressed all in black with a flowing scarlet robe draped round his shoulders. His face was cowled and hidden, and in his hand was a glowing blood-red lightsaber.
Joran pushed the Princess behind him, then stepped forward to face this new threat, "Get to the transport," he told her. "Get it warmed up and ready to fly!"
The Dark Jedi, began to slowly circle Orin and Joran twirling the lightsabre in his left hand as he went. "I expected to deal with one Jedi, but not two. I know about you Orin Vorn, special envoy to Yorill, but you I don't know," he said pointing to Joran and growing in a low voice.
Matching the Dark Jedi step for step Joran responded, "My name is Joran Roth, and you are?"
Recognition bloomed beneath the hood of the fallen Jedi's robe, his cruel features twisted in a grotesque smile. Dark piecing eyes looked into Joran's as he said, "My name is Akin Tharll, and I believe we share something in common Joran Roth."
"Oh and what might that be?" Joran replied sceptically, absently fingering his still unlit lightsaber.
"A little planet called Azure, and a certain restaurant on Coruscant."
Anger, rage, and hatred exploded inside of Joran, and before Orin could stop him he leapt forward igniting his lightsabre and charged the Dark Jedi. His abrupt change of mood and sudden attack caught Tharll off guard, and he staggered back under the attack, bringing his lightsabre up to bear only just in time to fend of Joran's savage opening blows. Joran pressed on almost recklessly, swinging wild but powerful blows, while Tharll backed off slowly drawing nearer to the roofs edge.
Joran acted on impulse, all conscious thought was cast aside as he found himself caught up in a maelstrom of emotion; of hatred, anger, and despair. Somehow this Dark Jedi had had something to do with Mira's death, he'd been at Azure when Joran and master Dooran had taken down the rogue Jedi, and he'd tracked them back to Coruscant where he had played some part in extracting his revenge for his Masters death.
Deftly Tharll ducked and Joran's lightsaber arced over his head, with Joran momentarily caught off balance Tharll swung his own blade and almost too slowly Joran dived out of the way, although not fast enough to stop Tharll's crimson blade gouging a deep cut in his right side. He hit the floor hard and rolled out to the left as the blood red lightsabre was driven down into the roof right where his head had been. The blade penetrated the hard durocrete roof up to almost half its length, melting it like slag before Tharll pulled it back out and renewed his attack.
Now Joran was back on his feet but he was still reeling from Thrall's attack, and the deep cut in his side ached painfully. He blocked a blow aimed at his midriff, then danced out of the way of another as Tharll pressed his advantage, then, as Joran jumped a low blow aimed at his knees Tharll used the force to throw Joran backwards through the air.
Landing heavily on his back Joran's lightsabre was jerked from his grasp and the purple blade skittered across the roof out of reach, before he had time to react Tharll was on top of him, he brought his saber crashing down, ready to split Joran from head to toe…
There was the sound of two lightsabre's meeting, and a flash of light as the blood red saber met a shining silvery/white blade. Using all his strength Orin repelled the attack throwing Tharll back, then swinging a blow at Tharll's legs he moved forward giving Joran the time he would need to recover.
The savage lightsaber battle had been going only seconds, and Orin had been able to only stand and watch as Joran furiously attacked the Dark Jedi. In fact both of them had been so caught up in fighting against each other that they had completely overlooked Orin's presence. Until now.
Orin attacked relentlessly, moving Tharll back to the edge of the roof, where after blocking the luminous white blade he somersaulted overhead and spun and kicked Orin square in the back sending the young Jedi over the roofs edge.
Orin hung there by one hand, the other still clutching the lightsaber. Tharll stood over him, lightning beginning to play over the ends of the Dark Jedi's fingers as a thin humourless smile played over his lips. A smile that died as from behind him a raging scream was emitted and Joran Roth once more charged forward. Tharll spun, lightning shot out at Joran, but Joran didn't falter, he just tore on, his rage driving him forward. His lightsaber slashed in at Tharll who barley blocked it in time, then another blow and another followed, each strike getting fiercer all the time. And then, as Tharll deflected Joran's blade high, Joran lashed out with the force drawing upon all his anger and knocked Tharll clear off the roof, sending him plummeting to the earth below.
Instead of falling head first to the ground Tharll spread his arms and legs out and dropped horizontally, and just before he hit the ground he used the force and pushed the ground back creating a cushion of air to soften his fall.
Joran hauled Orin up as Tharll lay twitching on the ground below, Orin saw the look on Joran's face and put his hand firmly on his shoulder. "It would be stupid to go after him, are you going to fight the soldiers down there as well?"
"If I have to," Joran snapped, his eyes blazing and his body quivering.
"And what about the rest of us?" Orin indicated the transport.
Joran's face relaxed and his breathing became normal again; getting himself under control he nodded at Orin. "I know your right…" That's what Mira would tell me to do, to take care of the other first. "but..."
"There will be another time… but not now," Orin turned and hurried to the now warmed up transport.
"Another time... but not now…" Joran echoed.
The Kethridge system was a small out of the way system, located at the very edge of the mid rim almost straddling the border between the outer rim territories, and only a stones throw from hutt space. Five planets orbit the primary from which the system takes its name from, which in turn was named after the man who first discovered it many eons ago. Of the five planets only two are hospitable, Yorill and Vorisch.
As Joran walked through Alameda, the Yorillian capital city, he wondered what had brought him to this out of the way place. Even as he asked the question of himself he knew the answer, the force. It was not something he could explain, it had not been a vision showing him the way, but a feeling. Something at the back of his mind that told him he had to travel rimward; and so he had moved from system to system, until he found himself here, and somehow he knew that the force wanted him here. Something was going to happen, something important.
It was mid afternoon in the city and the day was bright if not particularly hot, Joran strode through the marketplace near the centre of town, he was clothed in his usual dark trousers, short sleeved black shirt, jacket and boots. His lightsabre hung openly at his belt. At this time of day the marketplace was bustling with activity; large and small prefabricated buildings formed an inner circle, while a huge number of stalls were set up around and in-between the buildings, selling assorted goods and services.
As Joran walked down a row of stalls he looked up and saw the Royal Palace towering above the market. According to his guide book the Yorillian Royal family was one of the oldest in the sector, and the monarch was still the head of the government with the final say in matters of state, although the day to day running of the planet was left to a prime-minister. The royal palace was suitably impressive, built on a hill and surrounded by forest it was by far the largest building on the planet, a tall central column stretched skyward where it reached up and separated into four intricately carved towers spaced around a larger central one. Either side of the central column were two large thick towers that were connected to the central column by a short wall, the two shorter towers stood like guards on either side, and onto the front of each was carved elaborate creatures from the planets mythology.
A large ornate brass fence surrounded the palace, itself with several guard towers spaced evenly around its length. Leading from the palaces main entrance and down into a spacious courtyard were a set of exquisite marble steps and where they ended a long driveway stretched up to the main gate.
Lowering his eyes away from the vista on the hill he strode deeper into the market, with no clear idea of where he was supposed to go or what he was supposed to do Joran decided it might be wise to find out the mood of the locals. Spying a tavern up ahead he slowly wound his way through the knot of pedestrians and went inside. The building was made of ancient stone, not one of the many temporary prefabs that comprised much of the market.
"What'll it be?" the gruff voiced barman asked as Joran walked up to the bar.
"I'll take an ale please," he responded. The barman grunted and dually pulled a pint of ale for which Joran paid for.
At this time of day the tavern was fairly empty, but there was a small knot of locals sitting in one corner of the bar, Joran decided to sit nearby. The topic of conversation just happened to be about a conference between Yorill and its neighbouring systems, which as best he could figure was to do with the taxation of trade routes. After listening for a few minutes Joran found out that the conference was of primary importance to the region since most of the attendees had been to war which each over similar issues as this several times in the last two decades. Joran listened for the next half an hour or so picking up few useful bits of information, but interplanetary politics did not concern him.
He had just drained his glass when a sensation came flooding through the force to him, fear. Fear and panic. Quickly he rose and headed outside to emerge into a crowded street, people were running around left, right, and centre, all jabbering fearfully and pointing to the sky.
Joran followed their gaze and he could make out a large number of dots rising up into the air from the west, using the force he enhanced his vision and the dots became hundreds of airspeeders. Military airspeeders rising up from the base on the outskirts of the city, and heading this way. Soon they were close enough to make out with the naked eye, half the group continued on toward the marketplace while the rest veered direction and headed for the place.
Before he knew what he was doing Joran had joined the people on the street and was running toward the palace, he didn't know why, but he felt an overwhelming need to go there. He dodged people and vehicles, and animals and wagons as airspeeders buzzed overhead, lasers were fired gouging deep holes in the ground, some buildings were set on fire while others were vaporised, all around him there was chaos.
As Joran neared the Palace a group of speeders settled in the courtyard, the guard towers having already been taken out, and troops poured from their holds to engage pitifully few defenders.
For anyone else it would have taken them an age to reach the palace but to Joran with the force as his ally it only took a fraction of the time. As Joran neared the smoking remains of the main gate a soldier saw him approach and fired at him. Instinctively a bright purple blade materialized out of nowhere to deflect the blaster bolt back along its original path.
'Of all the times I could come here, I have to visit in the middle of a military uprising' he thought bitterly. Clutching his sabre in a double- handed grip he ran through the gates to engage the handful of soldiers outside the palace entrance. A half a second before they fired on him he felt an almost familiar presence through the force.
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There were ten delegates from the sector and their entourages, although from the noise they were making it seemed to Orin to be more like fifty of them seated in the grand hall of the royal palace.
"That's preposterous!" the head of state of Yorden Prime bellowed in a voice that rang out across the grand hall for all to hear. "Why should we pay taxes on a trade route that run right to our system! If we did not open our borders to free trade then there would be little or no trade in the whole of this sector."
"And without our trade your planet would be no more than a fifth rate backwater world, populated by pirates and smugglers," The Aryo of Belivian replied glibly from across the ornate meeting table.
"Gentlebeings please! We are not here to bicker or make slick remarks. We are here to decide on what action we will take in the event that the Republic insists on instituting a tax on trade routes, and to decide what that will mean to us," The King of Yorill told the assembly rising to his feet.
Everyone in the room turned to look at the tall Yorillian, he was past middle age with dark hair greying at the temples and commanding brown eyes. The nominal ruler of Yorill his voice carried a great deal of weight within the sector. "Now, the reason that the senate is thinking of instigating tax's on trade is to help improve the local lines of communication, hyperspace relays, holonet transmitters, and spaceports. Gentlebeings it is for our own good."
The chamber erupted in a thrall of voices, some yelling in protest, and some agreeing with the Yorillian King. Orin closed his ears to it all; of all the places to get sent to it had to be here? I really hate politics, he thought. As the instigator of the conference King Delan of Yorill had requested a mediator from Coruscant, and for some reason best known to themselves the Republic had requested that a Jedi be awarded the responsibility, and so here he was.
Of the Ten representative delegates there were only really three with any power or influence, Relimus, the head of Yorden Prime was the first as his system was the gateway to the more profitable worlds of the mid rim. The second was the Aryo of Belivian whose system owned the largest fleet of cargo ships this side of the core, and finally there was King Delan and the Yorillians who had the largest military force in the sector.
Orin listened half heartedly as an orderly calm was slowly restored to the room and let his mind drift outwards; it was then that he began to detect the first signs of fear among the local populace. Pulling his awareness away from the room he directed it outside the walls of the palace and listened. It was stronger now, fear, panic and worry, and something else, hostility - hostility that was quickly drawing nearer.
Suddenly there was a roar and then the sound of shots being fired from outside as a number of military airspeeders landed in the palaces courtyard. The startled delegates began to rise to their feet, looking around in bewilderment, when the two towering wooden doors to the grand hall were flung open and several armed soldiers marched through them; followed by three men wearing high-ranking insignia. The two palace guards near the door were quickly taken out by the butt end of the soldier's rifles while delegates and their escorts found themselves being covered by the rest of the armed soldiers.
"Gentlebeings, please do not move, for if you do I will be forced to shoot you," bellowed one of the uniformed men as he swept past the soldiers, careful to stay to one side though, out of the line of fire.
Orin was standing at the back of the room half hidden by the Yorillian delegation, almost ignored. He could move to attack right now but for some reason he sensed this wasn't the time, and odds of ten to one are never good, even if you're a Jedi.
"I am General Yori Neros, Commander in Chief of the Yorillian Ground Forces, and to my right is Admiral Valen Chord, Head of the Yorillian Navy," the man who had stepped forward declared. "And you my dear delegates are temporarily my guests," he added with a flourish.
"By what right do you hold us under armed guard!" a voice bellowed from the head of the table.
"Why my dear King Delan? By the right of history of course, do you not recognise a military coup when you see one?"
Delan moved away from his seat and boldly strode forward, his face had gone a deep red and he was incensed by what he was hearing. "There has not been a Military coup in the past three millennia," he declared.
A look of scorn crossed General Neros's face. "Well your Highness times change. As of now I assume the title of ruler of Yorill and all lands and property that comes with the tile. You my dear King are out of a job."
"You cannot, the people will not stand for this. They will not be ruled by the military again, we have moved beyond…"
"Oh please, my men now control all strategic military positions, and under ancient law my claim to the throne is perfectly legal. In a little under two days I will officially be sworn in as the new ruler of Yorill and then the people will have no choice but to accept me as there ruler!" Neros stated.
"I do not believe you have the full support of the military," Delan countered, "I will gather forces against you, I will oppose you at every turn!"
"You forget one thing your majesty," Neros grinned evilly. "You have to be alive to do such a thing."
It all seemed to happen in slow motion; Orin felt what Neros was about to do but only a split second before it happened. He leapt forward lightsabre already in hand just as Neros gave a signal and one of the soldiers shifted his weapon over to the where the King was now standing and fired. The distance was too far and Orin saw the king stager backward, a black charred hole in his chest. Orin reached his side just as the king fell to the floor, dead.
For a second there was a stunned silence in the chamber, then an agonised scream broke out as a young raven haired woman wearing a figure hugging royal purple gown sped forward to kneel beside the dead ruler of Yorill, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Orin brought his lightsabre up into the ready position, but before he could ignite it a voice said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you, not if you don't want the Princess to suffer the same fight as her father."
Orin halted as he found himself and the young woman covered by a loose semicircle of guards, they were spread out and each had his weapon pointed at the woman.
"Even a Jedi cannot guarantee to stop all the laser blasts before one hits the Princess, can he?" General Neros observed smugly. "Now drop the lightsabre and kick it over here."
With little choice Orin did as he was told and as he did he caught a hint of a familiar presence though the force.
"Right," the General said, "Now as for the rest of you gentlebeings, you will be staying on Yorill until your respective governments see fit to… shall we say, reimburse me for your passage home?
"Mr Jedi would you be so kind as to move over there," Neros indicated to a place by the far wall. Orin obeyed moving past the sill-sobbing woman who was now looking at the General with fierce hatred in her eyes.
Neros pulled a blaster from his belt and pointed it at Orin. "Now you understand why I cannot simply leave a Jedi free to run around don't you? So that is why I'm going to have to put you to sleep, and I only know one way to induce such a thing, I believe you call it a healing trance? In return for your cooperation in this matter I give you my word I will not harm anymore of these people."
As Orin's mind began to wonder how the general knew so much about Jedi healing trances Neros fired, and a scarlet bolt of energy came zinging towards him…
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The blaster bolt flew straight and true and as Orin prepared himself for the impact a glowing purple lightsaber blade slashed in front of him and deflected the blaster bolt neatly into the ceiling leaving a smoking hole. This time Orin did not hesitate, he dived off to the right as Neros fired again, only narrowly missing being hit. As he landed heavily on the cold marble floor of the chamber he stretched out his hand and called his lightsabre to him.
Meanwhile, the purple-white lightsabre spun in an arc over the group of soldier's heads and came to rest smartly in the palm of Joran Roth's outstretched hand. As the soldiers spun to face him he charged and leapt into the air somersaulting over there heads. As he did so, his slashed out with his lightsaber twice, and two soldiers fell to the floor spilt in half.
Joran landed in a low crouch and spun round to face the remaining soldiers who were totally caught off balance by his attack, he lashed out once more with his glowing purple sabre chopping the nearest soldier down, and then leapt backwards as the remaining nine soldiers turned and fired.
Orin came up with his lightsabre ignited and blocked Neros's third shot, then through the force he called the rogue General's blaster to him and slashed it across with his lightsaber before picking Neros up in a force grip and flinging him across the room.
As the General landed in a heap against the far wall Orin took a quick glance around the room, the other two uniformed officers had dived for cover and were even now yelling into their comlinks for reinforcements. The delegates had also, for the most part, found cover behind the grand table in the centre of the room, all apart from the Princess who was still slumped protectively over her dead father.
Orin moved over to her as Joran deflected or dodged fire from the remaining soldiers, gently he picked her up, she was slack in his arms and there was no sign of life in her eyes any more. Two of the soldiers broke of their attack on Joran and fired on him as he shielded the princess with his body. Quickly he moved backwards and laid the Princess behind an over turned side-table before turning his full attention on his two attackers.
Almost casually blocking blaster bolts he advanced towards them and saw the disconcerted look on their faces as they backed off a little; right into the path of the chair Orin had sent flying at them from the other side of the room. The two men went down hard, their blasters lying from their grips and before they knew it Orin was upon them, using the hilt of his sabre he quickly rendered them unconscious. He preferred not to kill if he didn't have to.
Suddenly his danger sense tingled and he turned to find a soldier about to fire on him, ducking the oncoming stream of crimson energy bolts he rolled forward and came up just short of the soldier. Staring up into the soldiers alarmed face, he brought his lightsabre up slicing the man's weapon arm off at the joint before backhanding the man across the face sending him spinning to the floor.
And then it was over.
Orin found himself staring at Joran, who was surrounded by the fallen forms of Neros's soldiers and breathing heavily. "What are you doing here?" he asked clearly surprised to see the Fallen Jedi again. But then master Dooran's words came flooding back to him. 'You will meat again… It is your destiny!'
"Saving you, by the looks of things," Joran calmly replied, giving no hint of his own surprise at seeing Orin again.
"Thanks, I appreciate it."
"Sure, any idea what we do now? This is my first Military uprising, I'm a little hazy on protocol," Joran remarked as his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in the scared and confused faces of the delegates.
"First let's get these people out of here, there's a transport on the palace roof," Orin suggested taking charge of the situation. "Then we can figure out why a trade conference has turned into a bloodbath, and what in the name of the Sith you're doing here?"
Joran surveyed the carnage around the room and nodded his ascent. "Let's move."
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Orin carefully led the way out of the grand hall and was relieved to note that no soldiers were waiting in ambush, although the sounds of blaster fire could be heard echoing down the palaces corridors. Neither was there any sign of General Neros or the other two officers, apparently they had decided to flee and leave their men to face the consequences.
Quickly and quietly Orin led the way to the back staircase on this level that would lead them straight to the roof, behind him came the forty or so delegates and their aides who had survived the fire fight. Joran was bringing up the rear.
Orin had taken point because he knew the palace layout well, but also because if they did run into the odd guard or two he would be able to deal with them without having to kill them. A lightsabre could take a hand or arm off and cauterise the wound at the same time so loss of life could be averted, he had noticed that Joran's opponents rarely survived, and while they probably deserved it he liked to avoid unnecessary deaths if it was possible.
While Orin stealthily moved up the staircase ahead, Joran reached out through the force and scanned behind them, so far as he could sense they were in the clear at the moment, although there was a fire fight going on two floors below them which was probably slowing any pursuit down. In fact, so intent was he on what was happening behind him that Joran almost walked headlong into the young woman who had suddenly stopped in front of him.
Startled she turned to face him, her eyes were wide and startled, and he recognised her as being the woman who had knelt beside the fallen man in the great hall.
"Hey lady, this really isn't a great place to stop," he growled in annoyance.
She looked up at him, her dark black hair cascaded down her shoulders and obscured her delicate face while a solitary tear crept down her cheek from her sad green eyes. "Does it matter where I stop anymore, what's the point, its over isn't it?"
Slightly confused Joran asked, "What's over?"
"Everything," she said bitterly. "My life, my planet, my family. Everything!"
"That man in the hall, he was your father?" Joran hesitantly asked, already sure of the answer.
"Yes, he was the King of Yoril. And I am… I was, the Princess Jadala," she told him sadly.
Normally Joran had little sympathy for anyone, that had been bled out of him long ago, but he understood what the girl was going through. He'd been there himself, and even after five years the pain of his loss was as fresh as it had been the day Mira had died. "Look your highness, it's not over yet. I'm sorry about your father and nothing that I say can ease your loss. I know, I've been there. But now is not the time to give up. If you do that then his death was for nothing, and the man who murdered him has won and will go unpunished. Is that how you want things to stand?"
She seemed to consider his words for a moment, and then a steely look of resolution crept across her face, her eyes hardened and she seemed to pull herself up straighter. "No," she said defiantly.
"Good, then the first thing we do is get out of here alive. After that we start thinking about making your fathers murder pay…"
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Orin reached the roof of the east wing of the palace to find it unsurprisingly guarded by four of Neros's soldiers. Two military airspeeders sat on the roof pad off to the right; beside them was a larger blocky civilian transport, which was exactly what they were looking for.
Striking with the lightning fast reflex's only a Jedi possesses, Orin struck the first guard down, destroying the mans assault rifle in the process. Pivoting on his right foot he lashed out with his left and sent another soldier sprawling to the floor, meanwhile the two soldiers on the left had been far enough away from him so as to be able to bring their weapons up. Skilfully Orin deflected the two shots aimed at him before moving a step closer to the men, and before they could get off a second volley, Orin had scooped the blaster rifles out of their hands using the force and sent them tumbling over the side of the palace. Two swift blows took care of the men, and as the delegates cautiously arrived on the roof Orin surveyed his handiwork. Four down and he hadn't even had to kill anyone.
As the last of the frightened delegates arrived on the roof Orin had the door to the transport open and began loading people onto it. It was one of the larger freight models and would take just about everyone, although it would be standing room only.
The last two people on the roof were Joran and the Princess, and as he watched them arrive he sensed that something had passed between them. He sensed a lot of fear and pain emanating from her, but also a strong sense of defiance, and from Joran he caught an impression of… could it be… sympathy?
Joran sealed off the door to their part of the roof and then moved over to stand beside Orin and Jadala. "Okay now we have transport where do we go?"
As they though about their next move a slow feeling of dread began to creep over Orin, a feeling he could not put his finger on, but somehow he knew time was running out.
"I know where to go," Jadala told them suddenly.
"Where?" chorused both Orin and Joran.
"There's a small supply base not far from hear, the General who commands it was one of my fathers most loyal supporters," the diminutive princess answered.
"Are you sure it's safe?" Joran asked.
"No, but I don't have a better idea, do you?" she challenged him defiantly, her green eyes flaring.
Joran almost smiled, she's already started fighting back, he though. "Well, I guess…." He trailed off, his face becoming an impassive mask. Both he and Orin turned back towards the door to the roof, just in time to watch as it suddenly blew outward as if wrenched off its hinges by a massive whirlwind and thrown to the floor mere feet in front of them.
A tall humanoid figure stepped through the doorway, he was dressed all in black with a flowing scarlet robe draped round his shoulders. His face was cowled and hidden, and in his hand was a glowing blood-red lightsaber.
Joran pushed the Princess behind him, then stepped forward to face this new threat, "Get to the transport," he told her. "Get it warmed up and ready to fly!"
The Dark Jedi, began to slowly circle Orin and Joran twirling the lightsabre in his left hand as he went. "I expected to deal with one Jedi, but not two. I know about you Orin Vorn, special envoy to Yorill, but you I don't know," he said pointing to Joran and growing in a low voice.
Matching the Dark Jedi step for step Joran responded, "My name is Joran Roth, and you are?"
Recognition bloomed beneath the hood of the fallen Jedi's robe, his cruel features twisted in a grotesque smile. Dark piecing eyes looked into Joran's as he said, "My name is Akin Tharll, and I believe we share something in common Joran Roth."
"Oh and what might that be?" Joran replied sceptically, absently fingering his still unlit lightsaber.
"A little planet called Azure, and a certain restaurant on Coruscant."
Anger, rage, and hatred exploded inside of Joran, and before Orin could stop him he leapt forward igniting his lightsabre and charged the Dark Jedi. His abrupt change of mood and sudden attack caught Tharll off guard, and he staggered back under the attack, bringing his lightsabre up to bear only just in time to fend of Joran's savage opening blows. Joran pressed on almost recklessly, swinging wild but powerful blows, while Tharll backed off slowly drawing nearer to the roofs edge.
Joran acted on impulse, all conscious thought was cast aside as he found himself caught up in a maelstrom of emotion; of hatred, anger, and despair. Somehow this Dark Jedi had had something to do with Mira's death, he'd been at Azure when Joran and master Dooran had taken down the rogue Jedi, and he'd tracked them back to Coruscant where he had played some part in extracting his revenge for his Masters death.
Deftly Tharll ducked and Joran's lightsaber arced over his head, with Joran momentarily caught off balance Tharll swung his own blade and almost too slowly Joran dived out of the way, although not fast enough to stop Tharll's crimson blade gouging a deep cut in his right side. He hit the floor hard and rolled out to the left as the blood red lightsabre was driven down into the roof right where his head had been. The blade penetrated the hard durocrete roof up to almost half its length, melting it like slag before Tharll pulled it back out and renewed his attack.
Now Joran was back on his feet but he was still reeling from Thrall's attack, and the deep cut in his side ached painfully. He blocked a blow aimed at his midriff, then danced out of the way of another as Tharll pressed his advantage, then, as Joran jumped a low blow aimed at his knees Tharll used the force to throw Joran backwards through the air.
Landing heavily on his back Joran's lightsabre was jerked from his grasp and the purple blade skittered across the roof out of reach, before he had time to react Tharll was on top of him, he brought his saber crashing down, ready to split Joran from head to toe…
There was the sound of two lightsabre's meeting, and a flash of light as the blood red saber met a shining silvery/white blade. Using all his strength Orin repelled the attack throwing Tharll back, then swinging a blow at Tharll's legs he moved forward giving Joran the time he would need to recover.
The savage lightsaber battle had been going only seconds, and Orin had been able to only stand and watch as Joran furiously attacked the Dark Jedi. In fact both of them had been so caught up in fighting against each other that they had completely overlooked Orin's presence. Until now.
Orin attacked relentlessly, moving Tharll back to the edge of the roof, where after blocking the luminous white blade he somersaulted overhead and spun and kicked Orin square in the back sending the young Jedi over the roofs edge.
Orin hung there by one hand, the other still clutching the lightsaber. Tharll stood over him, lightning beginning to play over the ends of the Dark Jedi's fingers as a thin humourless smile played over his lips. A smile that died as from behind him a raging scream was emitted and Joran Roth once more charged forward. Tharll spun, lightning shot out at Joran, but Joran didn't falter, he just tore on, his rage driving him forward. His lightsaber slashed in at Tharll who barley blocked it in time, then another blow and another followed, each strike getting fiercer all the time. And then, as Tharll deflected Joran's blade high, Joran lashed out with the force drawing upon all his anger and knocked Tharll clear off the roof, sending him plummeting to the earth below.
Instead of falling head first to the ground Tharll spread his arms and legs out and dropped horizontally, and just before he hit the ground he used the force and pushed the ground back creating a cushion of air to soften his fall.
Joran hauled Orin up as Tharll lay twitching on the ground below, Orin saw the look on Joran's face and put his hand firmly on his shoulder. "It would be stupid to go after him, are you going to fight the soldiers down there as well?"
"If I have to," Joran snapped, his eyes blazing and his body quivering.
"And what about the rest of us?" Orin indicated the transport.
Joran's face relaxed and his breathing became normal again; getting himself under control he nodded at Orin. "I know your right…" That's what Mira would tell me to do, to take care of the other first. "but..."
"There will be another time… but not now," Orin turned and hurried to the now warmed up transport.
"Another time... but not now…" Joran echoed.