Chapter 28 – Backlash

"Where are they going?" Luke asked as he ran alongside Nuron toward the shouts of Yuuzhan Vong warriors hunting down the remaining Star People.

"Chi'in wants to take them by surprise," she explained and jumped from a ledge down into a group of alien warriors, her lightsaber already igniting.

The first stroke beheaded one of the Yuuzhan Vong, the second, upward slash, cut another open. And then Luke was with her, and there was no more time to think. Falling into the Force, Luke let his body flow with the movements of his adversary, a stocky warrior, who tried to duck out of his blade's way, but the young Jedi reversed the arc of his lightsaber and instead of finishing the raking blow he had started, turned his attack into a stab, that pierced through the alien's armor easily.

The Jedi vaulted over the warrior's falling body, dimly aware of the fact that he was not using his own directive of a purely defensive stance. Gritting his teeth, he remembered Roj Kell's words about the sacrifice of ideals. Fact was, that he could not remain passive in this battle, and not only because he had let Nuron draw him into this fight quite casually. He had simply been following her, not thinking ahead, never realising what she was planning to do. That was what he had to improve. His farsight. His lack of thereof had cost too many lives already.

Blocking an amphistaff, he felt something brush the side of his face. Thud bugs. Annoyed, he extended a hand toward the insect coming at him again, and squashed it in a Force-grip. All right. If he forfeited his ideals now, he would later pay for that transgression. But what would that price be? It helped to analyse this dilemma rationally, but Luke also felt that there was more he should know, before he made a decision.

Suddenly he found that there was no one left to oppose him. He shook himself out of his trance, only to find Nuron facing Fahl Dan. The Yuuzhan Vong was the only one left of his comrades. Luke remembered that the Zabrak had engaged the warrior already back on Kynda'bey, but obviously had not managed to defeat him. Moving toward her, he hefted his lightsaber in both hands, ready to interfere. But she called him back.

"This one's mine," she growled, without looking back at him.

With a nod she did not see he shut down his blade. Nolyane appeared with three of her companions. They joined Luke wordlessly to watch.

Fahl Dan was regarding the Zabrak female curiously, as if evaluating her skills. Although Nuron was of slender built and half a head shorter, she was the one standing among the Yuuzhan Vong she had slain, and he was the only survivor among his own. Luke could feel grudging respect for Nuron in the alien warrior, and found that he shared it, only at a much more intense level.

"I have met a warrior who came close to your battle skills," Fahl Dan began, his amphistaff hardened into a stave that he swung lightly in his right hand. "But I defeated him in the end."

"He was fighting alone against seven of you," Nuron replied coldly. "I would hardly call that an even fight."

"So you know him."

"He was my teacher."

"A very good teacher, then. He has much honor," he continued as he began circling her. She followed him elegantly, keeping him in her line of sight at all times

"More than you, that's for certain," she answered.

"Did you know the priest?"

A visible shiver ran down Nuron's back and her golden eyes widened ever so slightly, undoubtedly in remembrance of the ancient Sith's violent death. When she spoke her voice was very low.

"I knew him, yes," she whispered, her shoulders sagging.

She moved even before Luke could blink his eyes, and he had never even felt her intentions. Startled, he felt his jaw drop. But Fahl Dan had been as surprised as he himself was. Nuron's red blade had penetrated the tall warrior's armor in a single, powerful thrust, and stood out from his back. The Zabrak leaned very close to her quarry, and her face bore a cold, merciless expression, almost bland, but only almost, for her eyes were blazing with outrage.

"He taught me never to play by someone else's rules," she added calmly, as if nothing had happened. "He also taught me to never ever waste a single moment of time. You pay for your foolish taunting, Fahl Dan."

Withdrawing the blade, she took a step back as he fell to his knees and slumped forward, dead. Luke was shocked to see tears in the Zabrak's eyes. Rushing over to her, he hugged her tightly, and she leaned into his embrace gratefully.

"It's all right," he murmured in her ear. "It's okay." Very carefully he ran a hand through her short black curls.

"How can it be all right?" she sobbed into his shoulder. "We are losing too many!"

He could only agree.

Chi'in, Polay and Lusha found the labyrinth deserted. No one remained in the maze, and the Noghri was slightly disappointed about that. He had hoped to trap the stragglers of the retreating Yuuzhan Vong, perhaps even the leader of the band himself. It was clear to him that Laa'kuan had no real importance for the invaders' overall strategy, all they had wanted here was to get rid of unwelcome intruders who might get the news about their war coordinator's lair back to the Chiss or New Republic troops.

A hoot from the maze's core brought his attention back on his companions. Lusha was standing next to Roj Kell's battered body, that lay in a pool of blood and gore. Chi'in set his jaw grimly. Jen motha, Kell had called out. People of the dead, or dead people. It seemed significant that he had spoken in his native tongue, but Chi'in was not sure how. This entire set of events was part of a riddle, he knew, and he was certain that Kell had left clues and hints scattered all over the galaxy, but Laa'kuan was the key. That much was clear. If only they could find out how to turn it in the right direction.

Frowning, the Noghri walked over to join the warrior, and Polay followed him reluctantly. Lusha's blue eyes seemed troubled, and the Noghri could sense sorrow coming from both Star People. Yet he himself felt nothing.

He knelt down beside the body and found that the Sith's neck had been smashed, almost severing the head. Blood had been splattered across Kell's face, and his complexion had turned a pale white, matching the color of his hair. Covered in dust, his bare torso seemed to have been wrapped in a golden-brown sheet, like a shroud. Chi'in lifted a hand tentatively, but then decided not to touch the other. They had never been friends, and somehow it felt wrong to violate his old nemesis' privacy now that he lay there helplessly. Dead.

His gaze was drawn toward the shattered spire and he frowned ever so slightly. Nuron had said that viewed from above the labyrinth turned into a depiction of the galaxy. A grand design, that must have taken the Abernake years to achieve, decades perhaps. Somehow Chi'in began to doubt that it had been intended to become a weapon, despite what Luke had done, and despite the way Kell had used it to give the Star People a chance to escape. After all, he had only begun employing his power when he had been beyond help already. And Chi'in was fairly certain that the ancient Sith had had no love for the sort of destructive super weapons his last student had fancied.

A place of prayer, of reverence, Nolyane had called it.

He gazed around the maze's center, taking in every detail, and he thought that in the weathered rock walls circling the small arena he could make out ancient murals, inscriptions of encantations, an entire history. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he cocked his head to one side to squint at the scriptures that had been carved delicately into the stone, flowing with it. He could read the Sith words 'dedicated' and 'life' and 'darkness'. There was more, but time had made it impossible to identify the words. Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes to focus deeply into the labyrinth.

Then Polay lay a hand on his shoulder gently, urging him to rise again. The Noghri complied quietly and turned away from Roj Kell's remains. His boot touched something half-buried in the dust and he bent down to pick up the ancient Sith's quarterstaff. For a moment Chi'in considered taking it with him, but rejected that idea immediately. He dropped the weapon again and turned around. With suspicion Chi'in noticed the expression that had been frozen on the ancient Sith's face. The way the shadows fell across Kell's features made him look as if he were smiling. It was that old mocking smile Chi'in knew so well, and it made him smile in return.

The Yuuzhan Vong, it would seem, were in for a very nasty surprise.

They reached the second waterfall without any complications. Stumbling after Nuron, Luke had a hard time concentrating on his feet. His thoughts were preoccupying all of his attention. He was wondering how the Yuuzhan Vong knew so much. How had the war master known about the Jedi? If someone had betrayed the Chiss and the New Republic, who could that one be? Not Kell, that he was sure of. But who could have an interest in betraying them? Who?

"You!"

The angry snarl tore through his troubled musings, and Luke's head came up to face Commander Al'than'erudo. The Chiss' eyes were blazing with fury, and he could sense waves of hatred roll out from the man's very presence. It was a desperate hatred, and with all that had happened it was all too close to what Luke himself felt.

"You," Al'than'erudo repeated as he stepped forward to face the shorter man down. "You are responsible for the deaths of hundreds of my people! You sacrificed them to get at the enemy fleet! You destroyed them!"

Luke swallowed hard, but remained silent, his mind devoid of anything.

"Won't you answer?" the other hissed. "Won't you at least try to justify your deeds?"

"There is nothing to say," Luke managed at last.

"So you admit it!" Al'than'erudo roared, and his right arm drew back, ready to strike at the young Jedi. But then a black-gloved hand fell on the Chiss' elbow, stalling his movement. He turned his head to glare at Nuron, who returned his gaze dispassionately.

"Any battle with that enemy would have seen you defeated," she told the other quietly. "And every commander sacrifices troops to get at the enemy. Almost every commander," she corrected herself. "But Luke did not do this out of malice. He wanted to help."

"Help!" The Chiss jerked his arm away, and his glowing red eyes bored into Luke coldly. "You will never have honor, Master Skywalker. You are a child playing with things it does not understand. You have no respect toward the lives of others. You are a murderer, whether you accept it or not. You will never be like your father, no matter how hard you try. Never."

Turning away, he stalked back toward the stealth cruiser that had settled down in the concealment of the water fall. Nolyane, who had been listening to everything said, followed him quietly. And then only Luke and Nuron were left.

"He is right," the young Jedi whispered, his voice breaking. "He is right. I had no clue, and my actions spelled disaster for Ech'an'dana and his fleet. My inaction has killed Roj Kell, and perhaps everyone else too. I am a failure."

Nuron said nothing. Looking over at her, Luke found her gazing at him, her cinnamon skin glowing in the pale light of the midday sun. She was so beautiful. She loved him, trusted him, and he had disappointed her on every level. She had told him that they were losing too many, but that was not true. He was losing them. Luke broke eye-contact with her abruptly, and turned away.

"He is right," he repeated, realizing the truth at last.

"Luke."

Her voice was soft, but that softness could not disguise the strength that lay underneath. He stopped, but did not look back at her. Instead he waited for her condemnation in silence. The crunch of gravel underneath her boots told him that she was coming to join him.

He wanted to run away.

But then she stood behind him, her presence a reassuring fire at his back. "Luke," she said anew. "You have made a mistake. You have accepted it. Now you must deal with this. We cannot take that responsibility from you."

So she too thought that he had failed. Hanging his head in quiet defeat, he nodded.

Nuron patted his shoulder gently. "Come. Let's get aboard."

Voss Parck and his troops were the last to join with General Sa'lym'a and the Dark Lord. They had retreated into the labyrinthine maze of underground caves underneath the mountains, and Sa'lym'a had selected a particularly large cave to house their equipment. Now the Chiss was following Anakin, as he walked around to take stock of what weapons and supplies they had left. Apart from the flight of clawcraft, which was still in orbit and reporting on enemy activities, they had five heavy laser guns and a sufficient supply of ammunition for their blasters and rifles. Additionally quite a few mines and grenades were available.

Nodding to himself pensively, Anakin was spinning different possible approaches to defeating the Yuuzhan Vong here on Nirauan. When Admiral Parck hurried over to join both him and the general he gave the man a placid smile.

"All present, Lord Skywalker." Parck announced wearily.

"Excellent," he answered. "I suggest the three of us get our staff and discuss our next move."

"You have a plan?"

"Yes. First I want an update on your troops, their condition and morale."

"Of course," the admiral replied at once.

"General Sa'lym'a has already sent out scouts to keep track of the enemy, in addition to Deron's flight." He preceded the other commanders into a smaller cave that the general had declared their planning and conference room. "Take a seat."

Anakin waited until both the Chiss and Parck were seated, but remained standing himself. At once both commanders rose again, their eyes betraying nothing, even though he could sense their confusion. Good. Smiling at them, he mentally congratulated the Grand Admiral on such competent commanders.

"Admiral Parck, you managed to save all the equipment you had?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." The Dark Lord let his gaze drift into the distance as he continued: "For our future operations the weapons we have will be useless. I intend to employ a much different technique than an all-out assault."

"Sir, they will expect us to use guerillia tactics and use the forests and hills for ambushes," Sa'lym'a suggested quietly. "Perhaps it would not be all that unreasonable to surprise them with open attacks."

"A valid point, General, and I do not doubt your troops' committment, but what we need are unorthodox tactics to confuse them."

"What do you suggest instead?" Voss Parck asked, a frown on his forehead.

Anakin let his smile widen into a boyish grin. "Assemble your men."

"And then?"

"Then I will teach them a song."

He laughed out loud at the look the two commanders gave one another. Unorthodox indeed.

Still smiling to himself, he left Voss Parck and Sa'lym'a to preparing the soldiers for the upcoming event and left the small cave to wander toward the entrance to the mazelike system of catacombs and caves. A single guard stood watch over the ravine they had used to get their equipment underneath the mountains and he gave the Dark Lord a sharp nod, but said nothing.

Anakin ventured into the open in silence, letting the cool night air caress his face as he walked further down the ravine and toward the valleys they had left behind on their retreat. Then, when he had found a place that suited him, he leaned his head back to gaze at the sky. Clouds were obscuring his vision, hiding the murderous enemy ships overhead, and he found his mood reflected up there. He felt a strange sadness deep in his soul, as if a distant cord had been strung and now reverbrated in his heart. He did not know what had caused this melancholy, but he knew that he could not let it nag at his resolve.

The situation of the troops stranded on Nirauan seemed hopeless, yet Anakin had vowed not to give up for as long as there was one man alive. There was no defeat. Pressing his lips together thoughtfully, he remembered Sa'lym'a's suggestion. Of course that might be a way to confuse the enemy, but the Yuuzhan Vong would not yield even if the Chiss fought as fiercely and determined as only a defeated army could. No, they had to break them through cunning and subterfuge. They had to crush them with tricks and brute force, had to bring them to the very brink of despair and leave them there.

Expose their gods for what they are, Roj Kell had told him, and Anakin was only beginning to understand the complexity of that task. It was something that went against all he valued. Over the past year he had sought to find inner balance once more, to come to terms with his past, but now it seemed as if he would have to forsake all that for good. Truth was his sole directive now.

He heaved a quiet sigh and closed his eyes. There was no peace to be found in his future, he knew. No peace for him. His heart clenched in sorrow as he thought of his family, of Padmé, who had fought so hard to reclaim what they had lost, of her love, that always filled him with such happiness. Happiness. A smile spread on his lips when he realized that there was a way out of this misery. Just one, simple way.

"Lord Skywalker," a voice said from behind him, and Anakin turned around, startled, to face Voss Parck.

"Yes?"

"The men are waiting for you."

Nodding, he threw a last glance back at the clouds. "Yes, thank you," he said. "I will be with you shortly."

The admiral left again, and the Dark Lord lingered for a while, his spirits heightened once more. There would be no defeat. Whirling away, he stalked back toward the caves. The guard he had met before gave a startled cough and took a step back, a move that surprised Anakin somewhat. But then, he could not see the golden light in his own eyes.

At first Voss Parck felt ridiculous, as they began learning the first verse of the song. The words were in some alien tongue, and complicated to pronounce. But the Dark Lord was wearing such a serious expression on his face, and such fervent concentration filled his eyes, that the laughters and chuckles among the troops died down gradually. Into that silence the Dark Lord spoke the verse again, adding rythm and melody to the words, and the admiral's eyes nearly bulged at the simple beauty of the chant. Blinking back tears, he risked a short glance at General Sa'lym'a, who was standing beside him. The usually so stone-faced Chiss seemed hard-pressed to keep his composure.

"This song," Skywalker said softly, once the last note had died away, "is over five thousand years old. It is a prayer, a dedication to life itself. Many of you may be asking themselves what this has got to do with battle." He smiled. "Well, the answer is simple: nothing."

The laughters that arose then were pleasant, a sign of relief. No soldier wanted to believe that his commander had suddenly gone insane. And Voss Parck had to admit to himself that a great weight had been taken from his heart at the Dark Lord's casually humorous comment.

"But," he continued sharply, "that is not the matter here. The enemy has already had a taste of our skills and determination. They know what to expect. What I am planning to do is to use that knowledge against them. This includes for you to learn this song." A hand was raised timidly three rows back. "Yes?"

"Sir, how could a song benefit us against the enemy?"

"Let me ask a question in return. Does any one of you know the benefits of battle chants?"

"To distinguish your own troops from the enemy!" someone shouted.

"Very good. Of course that would imply that they would not be otherwise distinguishable."

Voss Parck could physically feel the pensive silence that answer left behind. And he could almost sense the sudden attentiveness that permeated the entire cave. The admiral could understand the soldieres very well. The Dark Lord was teaching them tactics, making them feel special.

"Any more suggestions?"

"Perhaps to learn the current position of one's troops?" By the sound of it it was the same man who had first answered.

"A good idea, but that would tell the enemy the same as it does tell your commander."

"Then perhaps to confuse the enemy as to one's numbers?"

"Excellent," Skywalker exclaimed. "What is your name, soldier?"

"Okal Nawa."

"Step forward, please." A young Chiss hesitantly made his way up front to join the Dark Lord, who gave him an encouraging smile. Once Nawa had reached him Skywalker turned back to face the crowd. "The most essential function of a battle chant," he explained, "is unity. The single voice of an army signals the enemy that the soldiers are dedicated and prepared to fight to the death."

Holding up a hand the Dark Lord silenced the rising murmurs among the troopers. "The Yuuzhan Vong respect a dedicated enemy. They believe him a worthy adversary. They would never shy away from fighting a worthy enemy. Not engaging him would be very dishonorable indeed." He lowered his hand again, and directed a stern glance seemingly at each single one of them. "The Yuuzhan Vong will not waste their time on hunting us down if we do not present a worthy challenge. The more we can lure on our trail, the more we can slaughter. The more we kill here, the less will be there to attack Csilla or Almashin. And now," he concluded, "let us repeat that song."

Afterwards, as the soldiers filed past him, Voss Parck noticed the fervent gleam in their eyes, the excitement in their features. They were ready to die, and they were committed to battle.

"A strong army," General Sa'lym'a commented, when the Dark Lord joined them at last. "You have inspired them."

"Do we move tomorrow?" Voss Parck asked quietly, and earned himself a careful nod from Skywalker.

"Indeed. Tomorrow. You must deploy your troops within the next three hours."

"Three hours?" the general repeated. "Why so long?"

"First we need to split them into three armies. One under my command, to bait the enemy. One under your command, General, to confuse the enemy. And you, Admiral, will lead the force that will crush them."

The last was delivered with such icy precision that Voss Parck almost flinched. "And second?"

"Second, we will determine the battle-ground. It must have forests and hills, and ravines to spare us the preparation of moats and ditches. General Sa'lym'a, do you have a suggestion?"

"Yes, sir. North of here. We can reach that site before morning."

"Excellent. The third will be to prepare the single armies."

"Prepare? Prepare how?" Sa'lym'a inquired, curious.

"I want all three to deploy different tactics," Skywalker explained. "Come. The three of us need a bit of quiet to make our own preparations. Sergeant!" he called out, and the human officer who had quite accidentially moved into the position of the Dark Lord's aide, appeared at his side. "You will recall the fighters. I want Naas Deron and Puket with me."

"Yes, sir." Whirling away, the sergeant went about his task.

Voss Parck studied the Dark Lord intently. "Why now? They seem to perform excellently up there."

"We will not have use of the clawcraft tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will need everyone down on the ground." A cold smile crept onto his lips, startling the admiral. "Tomorrow, my friends, the Sith will rise again."

It was bitter cold in the small hours of the next day, and Anakin suppressed a shiver, appearing completely at ease, even though he wore next to nothing. Apart from the black pants he had only allowed himself to carry a cloak, but that was for different reasons than shielding himself against the cold. He wanted the enemy to know his troops' leader at first glance. Next to him, Naas Deron made an almost savage impression, with his skin covered in ritualistic scripture that had been hurriedly painted on a few hours ago. His dark hair was in disarray, and he carried a quarterstaff in his left hand that he had been uncomfortable with when first presented with. It reminded him too much of Roj Kell, he had said. Puket, her lekkus raised ever so slightly in apprehension, was the only one who wore her usual garb. Her pale blue skin echoed the hue of the morning sky that was hung with dark clouds.

The three of them stood in a small circle, with Chiss soldiers spreading out from that center ten deep. All of them bore crossbows, and Anakin had made certain that they all could handle them. The enemy scouts would report the details to their commander, who had two choices. For one he could believe that the performance this assignment was going to give was indeed a sign for their dedication and bravery. He would then order his troops to destroy that army. Second, he could anticipate this little show to be bait, and would send his scouts out to find any hidden ambushes. Which was where General Sa'lym'a's troops would come in.

The Chiss general had deployed his soldiers in five groups in a loose formation around Anakin and his contingent, making good use of what cover they could find in the small forest and the ravine that cut through the small valley they had selected to become their battle-ground. Once the enemy scouts had made certain that there was indeed an ambush planned, they would gleefully report to their commander, who would congratulate himself on being favored by the gods. He would send his own elite troops to crack the ambush and send a minor force against the Dark Lord. And then Voss Parck would strike. Provided they got that far, Parck's troops, the best among the soldiers this force had to offer, would herd the enemy toward the crossbowmen Anakin would lead back here to retreat.

In essence, they were offering the enemy an easy victory, and if their commander was anxious to move on – which Anakin was certain he was – he would take that invitation gladly.

Closing his eyes, he let his mind expand beyond the edges of the circle his contingent was forming. He could sense the soldiers lying in ambush, could sense the troops waiting to come down on the surprised enemy. But he wandered further, gathering more information as he went. It was hard to keep track of everything, but he let himself flow with the Force, following strands of information instinctively. There they were. Seven scouts. They were cautious, knowing that the enemy had had time to prepare. And very soon conditions would turn even worse for them. As if called by that thought the clouds overhead started pouring hard rain down on them. By the look of it the downpour would last throughout most of the day. Good. The change in the weather, that had announced itself the night before, had prompted him to keep the clawcraft on the ground, and he could guess that the Yuuzhan Vong would have similar problems with their own starfighters.

"Ready?" he called out over the roar of the storm, and a chorus of voices answered. "All right! Follow me!"

He turned around abruptly and started marching off, toward the distant plains. This was another message. They were leaving the protection of the mountains, and the enemy had to see that too. Behind him the troopers started chanting the song he had taught them the night before, a low hum that tentatively broke through the rain. The words were burning in his mind, clear and strong, and he could feel the melody reach out for him, filling him with pride and defiance.

Anakin smiled as the voices behind him rose louder and louder, until they were all singing at the top of their lungs. Only the three Sith kept silent. The Dark Lord felt his mind drawn like a bow-string when he sensed movement ahead. Almost instantly shouts and cries erupted at the flanks of his troops, where Sa'lym'a and his contingent were undoubtedly engaging the Yuuzhan Vong elite forces. He had the utmost confident in the Chiss commander's quick wits. He would manage just fine. Raising a hand, Anakin signaled for his troops to break into a confused rabble. The soldiers darted this way and that, seemingly undecided and surrpised. A moment later the vanguard of the Yuuzhan Vong sent to meet them appeared on the rise before them.

"Now!" Anakin hissed, and immediately Naas Deron darted ahead, and stabbed the quarterstaff into the earth with a wed thud. Retreating again slowly, the Sith warrior kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. The quivering staff served as marker for Voss Parck's troops, but of course the Yuuzhan Vong could not know that. They would take it as provocation. With wild cries the armored aliens rushed down the hillside, a dark tide of savage force.

"Draw back!" the Dark Lord yelled, and his soldiers fled obediently, back toward the valley they had started from.

The last to retreat he, Puket and Naas Deron had the brunt of the attack to deal with, but they held their own, slowing the advancing soldiers for a moment. Three red blades reaped their harvest among the enemy troops, but the sheer numbers forced the trio to retreat gradually. By now Anakin was cursing his decision to wear the cloak. Totally drenched by the pouring rain, it got stuck against his wet skin, hampering his movements. But he could not simply discard it. That would be regarded as dishonorable by the Yuuzhan Vong, and they still had to retain an air of honor, until they would show their true faces. The Dark Lord blocked the upward slash of an amphistaff and avoided another slash elegantly. As expected, the Yuuzhan Vong tried very hard to get at him.

Naas Deron, his blade a mere blur, had shifted his position a bit further away to give his companions more room to move. And Puket for one needed it too. The Twi'lek weaved her lithe body through the enemy troopers with a dancer's grace. Contrary to her lover, who had primarily trained with Chi'in, she was employing less traditional fighting techniques, testimony to the instructions received from Roj Kell . Behind them the loud booming noises of grenades striking the ravine at their backs tore through the din of battle and the raging storm. If any Yuuzhan Vong had managed to circle them they would not get to enjoy that little advantage.

"Look out!" Deron yelled, and Anakin had only a split-second to react, before he was jumped by four Yuuzhan Vong warriors. He could sense them easily, but it was not yet time to fully employ his powers. This one he would have to fight without the aid of the Force. A kick sent one of the attackers stumbling away, giving Anakin some breathing space, and he twisted out of the way of two amphistaffs that came at him.

The third he planned to block with his lightsaber, but when he brought his right arm around in a wide arc the rain-soaked cloak clinging to his skin slowed his move to such an extent that he wanted to howl in frustration. Thus hampered he was far too late to react when the Yuuzhan Vong reversed his blade and brought it down hard on the Dark Lord's forearm, cutting through the cloth with astounding ease, and severing the limb completely. The force of the blow shattered Anakin's balance, and he was only dimly aware of the sudden screeching cries that rose around him. Hatred flared from the aliens surrounding him, hatred that bordered on the edge of madness.

Dumb-founded, he stared at his right arm lying in the mud, his artificial right arm, and his mind fused in sudden understanding. The Yuuzhan Vong despised anything mechanical, and to them this droid-like appendage had to make him an abomination too. With a savage grin, the Dark Lord lunged at the next best warrior standing before him and drove the two metal rods that had replaced the bones in his right arm deeply into that one's face. Backhanding the wounded creature with his left hand, he freed himself again and rose to his full height with a slow grace fueled by a distinct feeling of triumph. He was done playing around. Time to show them that the ancient Sith were still very much alive.

Voss Parck was running with the first wave of his troops, as they moved stealthily across the muddy ground toward the small valley, where the Dark Lord had lured his pursuers into a trap. Holding his left hand up and extending two fingers he signaled for his lieutenants to take their commands and peel off toward the left and right flank to help Sa'lym'a's troopers herd the elite forces attacking them into the fray up ahead. The noise was deafening. When they passed the quarterstaff that stood forlornly on the slope of the hill they had just crossed, Voss Parck could already see the Dark Lord's troops fight off the attacking Yuuzhan Vong. As expected Skywalker, Deron and Puket were in the first line of defense, leaving the others to prepare the battle-ground.

"Hold!" he called back toward his troops.

He had no idea what the Dark Lord had meant when he had said that the Sith would rise again, but when he saw the tall warlord straighten after a melee with a number of enemy warriors he gained an inkling of what was to come. All of a sudden the ground seemed to be coming alive when the fifth contingent of Sa'lym'a's troops broke from their hiding places in the low bushes and tall grass separating Voss Parck's group from the Dark Lord and his men. The Yuuzhan Vong were effectively trapped inbetween three forces, and for a moment confusion seemed to spread throughout their ranks.

The first row of alien warriors was shoved back into the mass of their troops at an imploring gesture from Naas Deron. With the rain having washed away most of the symbols that had been painted on his torso he was almost indistinct against the background of grey and green, his body smeared with paint and mud. In contrast to him his Twi'lek companion seemed particularly pretty, an ethereal beauty amidst violence and imminent death, jarring the overall picture of the battle-field. She wore a smile on her face, a particularly nasty one.

Taking a step forward, she gestured for Deron elegantly, and the bulky human darted forward instantly. He delivered a hard blow to one of the stunned Yuuzhan Vong's neck, dropping the creature to its knees. Then Puket joined the two of them and again the first row was pushed back by an unseen force, leaving only that single warrior in a widening circle of disturbed enemies. Naas Deron held his captive's shoulder tightly as the Twi'lek leaned toward the thing, an almost compassionate expression on her beautiful face.

"Have your priests not seen the portents of misfortune in the guts of your slain?" she asked coldly. "Have they not warned your commanders of the dangers of angering the gods through worthless battles?" The Yuuzhan Vong did not answer. He seemed transfixed by the alien female standing before him. "Had you been worthy," she continued, "you would have been honored to die gloriously." She sniffed in disdain and withdrew again. "Cor'dan," she addressed the Dark Lord with a small bow, "will you speak the judgement for the gods?"

"You are not our gods," the captured Yuuzhan Vong sneered in badly accented Basic. "You are infidels. You are abominations."

Skywalker's face twisted in an ugly snarl that made his scars stand out more prominently than before. "Bring him," he ordered quietly.

Naas Deron obeyed instantly, and the thing was dragged unceremoniously toward the Dark Lord, who let his left hand slip underneath the armor covering the alien warrior's chest. With a powerful jerk he ripped the hard plate off and dropped it to the ground.

"Unworthy," he snapped. "You believe that you choose the manner and time of your death, yet you let yourselves get caught like Alde birds in mating season. You honor your gods with meaningless death. You mock them with artificial life."

"The gods have looked benevolently upon the Yuuzhan Vong in the past," the warrior said heatedly. "The gods shelter us and lend wisdom to our glorious leaders."

"Glory! What do you know of glory!" the Dark Lord roared. The unfortunate captive's head exploded in a gust of golden light, and bone and gore were splattered everwhere. With a drawn-out howl the creature's comrades surged forward, but Naas Deron spun around and held them back with a gesture of his hand.

"Glory," Skywalker repeated in a low hiss. "Your sacrifice is not worth anything. Your gods," he continued, each word dripping with contempt, "lie slain among the stars, and it is time for you to join them. It is time for you to perish once and for all."

Voss Parck held his breath, his body tensing all over in apprehension of the order that would surely come. Then, in a tone that left no doubt as to the Dark Lord's sincerity he said, loud and clear: "Execute them."

"Look at that," Han growled under his breath when the Millennium Falcon began the long approach to Nirauan. Space around what was left of what looked like a mine screen was littered with wreckage, TIEs, burned out cruisers, and even three Star Destroyers. The sad remains of the battle-ships were slowly being drawn in by the planet's gravity, and Han decided to use them as camouflage for his own ship. "What a mess," he sighed and shook his head.

"Once you engage in battle suffering losses becomes part of the game."

Han threw his co-pilot a hard glare, but Andarack did not even have the grace to look embarrassed. "A game, huh? You Sith and your stupid games. And what about the people who died here? Do they count for nothing?"

The Noghri nodded solemnly. "They count for very much, Han Solo. You must not believe that the Sith do not value life."

"It damn well seems to me as if you don't," Han pressed out. "Why're you so silent?" he asked harshly, when Andarack did not answer.

"Death should be met with respect, Han Solo, and a great many people died here. I can sense their anguish. It it worse on a battle-field, because death comes slower there, but even out here it is still strong enough to – " he broke off, and Han suddenly felt embarrassed.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and a thick silence settled between them.

The Falcon weaved her way through the debris deftly, but Han took his time to gaze out at the enemy ships that were cruising not far away. His radar was spewing data at him relentlessly, most of it confusing. "What the hell are they doing there?" he asked aloud and slapped a hand impatiently against the radar screen, that showed hundreds of small, pod-shaped objects dropping toward the planet's cloud-shrouded surface. "Bombs?"

"I doubt they can deploy them effectively in such weather," Andarack commented. "Perhaps they are probes of a sort."

"Perhaps," Han echoed pensively. "Do you think you can find them once we're inside the atmosphere?"

"Yes."

"Great! Then hold on tight, 'cause we've run out of cover!" Han shouted and brought the Corellian freighter up to top speed. It was a clear path down, through a giant corridor that had cut through the mine screen somehow. The wall of grey clouds came up fast and then they were inside. "Who-hoo!" the Corellian laughed. "And not a single shot fired at us!"

"They are retreating."

"What?" Bewildered, he glanced over at his co-pilot. The Noghri's nightmarish face was fixed in concentration. "What do you mean, they are retreating?"

"If those were probes, it makes sense for them to move on and keep an eye on the planet over those probes. Logical. Or perhaps those probes are something else entirely."

"Oh, great! Can you be a bit more precise than that?"

"My apologies, no," Andarack answered drily. "But perhaps you should fly a little lower. Over there."

Han let the ship drop a few hundred meters and pointed her toward the distant mountain range. Suddenly the Falcon's sensors were beeping in alarm. "What the heck – Contamination? Looks like one of our ships crashed into the planet."

"Yes," Andarack confirmed, leaning forward in his seat to study the ground intently. "It's the Executor."

Blood draining from his face Han found that he could not breathe. The Executor. Grand Admiral Thrawn's flagship, the most powerful ship left in the galaxy. Gone. "We are done for," he whispered quietly. "If Thrawn is dead we are well and truly done for."

"Don't lose hope yet," Andarack reminded him. "Go down lower, we should be able to see them any moment now."

And indeed, as the ship descended toward the low forests on the other side of the mountain range, Han could make out movement not far off. Killing the thrusters he slowed the ship and brought her back around in an elegant arc. Amidst a heavy rainstorm the Falcon settled down close to the hills at the foot of the mountains, and the Corellian carefully powered down the engines. "You sure this is them?" he asked softly.

"Very," the Noghri replied. "Come. Let's go and meet them."

The aftermath of the execution left Anakin's heart numb and frozen. Now he understood why Roj Kell had never allowed himself to truly commit to feelings. They were so much more intense now, each distant emotion a sting. But there was a way out, he knew, and he had to cling to that ray of light or he might as well go mad with the prospect of leading so lonely and cold a life. That he did not want again. He had spent decades in numb silence, planning and plotting, but in the end none of that had had any real importance. He did not want to embrace the darkness once more. Instead he longed for the warmth of the light, for life itself. Falling to his knees, he closed his eyes, resignation slowly overcoming his fervent desires.

Once accepted there is no way back.

It is worth everything. It is everything.

The key to life is life itself.

Anakin jerked in surprise at the sound of that voice, his own, he realised. It was true. He was the one to determine his own destiny. He rose again, a grim expression on his face that held Naas Deron and Puket at a distance when they moved toward him, concerned.

"Lord Skywalker!" It was Voss Parck, who was working his way through the ranks of troopers toward them. "I think they are retreating!"

Startled, Anakin gazed up, and indeed, he could sense the ships overhead, could sense the life pulsing through their veins, and they seemed to prepare to leave, just as Parck had said. But there was something else, a familiar presence. Solo. He smiled at the thought of his future son-in-law, and wondered why he was here, how he knew of their plight.

"You are right," he told the admiral, "they are indeed withdrawing their ships. And it would seem as if transport is on its way here." The rain was lessening somewhat, but in its place harsh winds tore at the Chiss standing in the valley, and Anakin could feel their discomfort easily. "Perhaps we should find some shelter," he suggested.

Turning around to call for Sa'lym'a to find a suitable place for them to rest, he felt his words stick in his throat. At first he thought it was a vision, but if this was a vision, then reality would have to be defined anew. It was Nirauan, but then, it was something else too, a different place, as if it had been changed somehow, redesigned in a way he could not explain. Instead of the lush forests, vines covered the hills, and the mountains seemed strangely grey and green, as if algae or fungus of some sort were growing on them. The entire setting had a feel to it that he found oppressive, and a foul taste seemed to permeate the air around him.

"Watch it!"

Anakin was taken completely by surprise when Naas Deron impacted against him and both of them hit the muddy ground. Struggling upright, the Dark Lord pushed the other away impatiently.

"What the hell is that?" Voss Parck exclaimed at the sight of a strange, pod-shaped brown thing that had apparently fallen from the sky. Before the words were even out of his mouth the leathery skin of the thing broke open, and the vile stench that escaped from its interior drove the assembled soldiers back. "Poisonous gas?" the admiral asked quietly, his voice trembling just a bit.

"No," Anakin managed, overwhelmed by revulsion. "They are going to change the planet," he finished and then proceeded to be very noisily sick.

When he could think straight again the rain had stopped. Puket was bent over him and dabbed at his forehead with a damp towel. He blinked heavy eyelids at her, realising that he was aboard the Millennium Falcon.

"Solo?" he asked quietly

"He is here, my lord. Admiral Parck and General Sa'lym'a have set out to track these pod-things and destroy them."

Anakin shook his head fervently. "There are too many. We need to be elsewhere."

"Where?" she asked, non-plussed. "If we do not destroy the pods Nirauan will die."

"Not die. It will change," the Dark Lord explained wearily. "But if we stay here we will certainly lose much more than Nirauan. I can feel it."

"Then we will rejoin the Grand Admiral?"

"Yes. We will go to Almashin to meet him there."

"Almashin?" Han Solo asked from where he stood in the doorway, and Anakin started at finding him there so suddenly.

Nodding at the Corellian, he sought the other's gaze, knowing what he would find there. "Once we are with Thrawn you are free to return to Bilbringi, or Coruscant, wherever Leia may be now," he told Han gently.

The man's expression relaxed somewhat. "You sure you won't need me again to get you out of trouble?"

Anakin smiled. "I am certain."

Han crossed his arms in front of his chest, and his eyes narrowed somewhat. "Bilbringi was attacked."

"What?" Sitting up abruptly, Anakin felt icy fear flash through his mind. "Why didn't you say so earlier? Is my wife all right? Leia?"

"They had picked some bad company the last time I saw them. Kell."

The Dark Lord frowned deeply. "Kell. What was he doing there?"

"He told us that you were in trouble, and your wife sent me to get you into safety. She seemed very concerned for you."

"Really?" He smiled at that, an image of her gentle face dancing enticingly in front of his inner eye.

"There's more. Yana Dar has sent Karrde some equipment to run some program called Seeker. Requires an awfully big database. Know anything about it?" Han made a face at the look Anakin gave him and added. "Your Lordship," hurriedly.

"I guess you can stop calling me that," the Dark Lord told him graciously.

"Yeah? How should I call you instead?" Han joked. "Dad?" He laughed at that.

"Perhaps we could stick to first names."

"All right then. Anakin."

Han was a bit suspicious at the sudden offer. So far the Dark Lord had not seemed inclined to acknowledge the role Han played in his daughter's life. He had certainly never been loath to using him as one of his assets, no, but he had never treated him like a member of the family. Apparently that was going to change now. The Corellian felt uncertain how to react to this new situation. On one hand he felt a bit honored, but on the other he believed that Anakin should have made that offer much earlier. Why now? What was he planning to do that required Han to really trust him? The small smile that appeared on the older man's scarred face almost made Han blush in embarrassment.

"Something wrong? Han?"

"Er, no, everything's okay." He noticed the smile on the Twi'lek's features as she sneaked past him to leave the two men alone. Han cleared his throat pointedly. "It is just ... That I had hoped to join Leia a bit earlier."

"We are somewhat short of transport," Anakin explained with a shrug.

"That isn't just another trick to keep me away from her, is it?"

"You believe that I've been keeping you apart deliberately?" The Dark Lord's brow rose in consternation. "Perhaps you should consider two things: First, I love my daughter, and I want her to be happy. That includes accepting everyone who brings her joy and happiness. Second, I will do anything to ensure her continued happiness, which means fighting this war for her sake, my son's, yours ... Everyone's sake, really. I am not doing anything to spite you, Han. I am only doing what I think is right."

Exhaling slowly, the Corellian pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I get it, I think. And I think Leia should know what has happened here."

Anakin nodded gravely and rose from the bunk he had been resting on. "Andarack is with you?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Intution. I need to talk to him in private. Can you try and get Leia or Padmé on the line?"

"Sure," Han replied, feeling dismissed. He turned around to leave the small cabin and wandered over toward the cockpit, lost in thought. Of course he understood that Skywalker – Anakin – was not doing this for selfish reasons. If he were selfish, he would probably rule the galaxy by now. Smiling wrily to himself he set about getting a lead on Leia's whereabouts.

TBC

PS: Of course Chapter 27 had to have a romantic ending; after all, Belana has played the romantic part over most of the Backlash-Storyline, and its only fair that Kell gets his back for being totally unromantic, if sentimental.