Chapter 25: The Chase

Strength is Life, for only the strong have the right to rule.

The wet stone sang along the edge of the beskad, filling the night with a melodic hum. The occasional pop of the fire added to the lyrical motions of sharping the blade. Beskar didn't rust or corrode, but the edged metal could still chip and dull without proper care, and Gaegan wanted the weapon in peak condition when he found the traitor.

Honor is Life, for without honor one might as well be dead.

In his waking dreams, Gaegan could still see Jilo as the light faded from her eyes, and his hands still remembered the feeling as they drove the sword into her breast. The slight resistance of flesh parting beneath the metal and the pulse of muscle reverberating up the handle still made his fingers itch. Just recalling her final moments filled him with a familiar frenzy. Her death, her blood was on dar'manda's hands. His outcast influence had poisoned her mind forcing her to break clan law. If only the scum had fled with her that night then at least Gaegan could look upon his death with pride.

Loyalty is Life, for without one's clan one has no purpose.

All around the edge of the firelight stylized jai'galaar in mid-dive glowed on seven other sets of beskar'gam. Earned through blood and sacrifice, the sigil linked every member of the hunting party together in their goal. They would find the dar'manda and bring him before Ja'Halir for punishment. The honor of the Watch had been besmirched and Geagan's team would rectify it.

Death is Life, one should die as they lived.

The mantra faded as the wet stone glided along the length of beskar one last time.

The trail had become fresh in recent days leading them deeper into the wilds of the planet, away from the population centers. The outcast must've caught their scent and was now attempting to lose them amongst the mountains, valley's, and forests. Gaegan would admit it was a smart tactic if overtly cowardly.

It had been frustrating to discover the dar'manda had survived that stormy night. Between the blasters, and falling into the river, Gaegan had little doubt the outcast had perished. Then the rumors began to reach the Covert. A body had washed up downstream, clad in ruined armor. An unnamed Mando had taken possession of the corpse and nursed it back to health. The location and details were too coincidental for the Watch to ignore. Hunters were dispatched to ascertain the truth. When a ship captain under immense duress confessed to smuggling the wounded filth off-planet, Ja'halir's fury was felt across the Embrace.

Gaegan and his team landed on Wayland over a month past to track down the traitor only to find a cold trail. The dar'manda had been wise to travel without his armor. Without the distinct symbol of Mandalore, none could recall his face or where he'd gone. One rotation turned into several without any clue as to the outcast's whereabouts. Gaegan was beginning to fear he'd return empty-handed when almost by accident they caught sight of the bounty posting. Gaegan cracked the first smile he'd had in weeks.

The hunt was back on.

Not only had the di'kut re-donned his armor but was making a name for himself as a thief and bandit. They tracked him all the way to a farming settlement where the outcast had assaulted the four pitiful excuses for lawmen. In a fit of pride, he'd declared who he was to the entire town. Jarek of Clan Orion, a Mandalorian. The chakaar must've had a death wish to make such an audacious presumption. Such arrogance would be carved from his flesh.

Since then Gaegan's team had been hot on his heels. They chased every lead, speeding from one village to the next. Each sighting described the same thing; a lone mando imposing his will upon a local tough, robbing them blind. It wasn't another ten kilometers before they found it. A recently abandoned campsite. Their prey was finally within reach.

The firelight shimmered off the edge of the beskad as Gaegan admired it. He could hardly tell the river stone had ever chipped the point. It was hard to believe its quality given its origin, but a tool was a tool. Besides, he found poetry in the idea of driving this particular blade into the bastard's heart. Sheathing the weapon Gaegan faced the campfire. Though the concealed moons made it seem later the night was still young,. The hunt would resume at first light and proper rest would be required.

In order to keep the pressure on the party slept in shifts, something the traitor was unable to do on his own. Against superior numbers, Gaegan doubted the outcast would turn and faced them. More than likely he'd run until he either passed out from exhaustion or starvation.

Either way, Ja'halir would have his body, and the Watches honor would be restored.

The dirt next to the fire exploded. Granules tossed into the air sparked as the flames caught them. Gaegan had just enough time to recognize the foot-long wooden shaft sticking out of the earth, leaf fletching still quivering from the impact.

"Aru'ela!" The warning shout went up from one of the warriors. "Buruk!" Cursing Gaegan turned and pulled his blaster. Eight visors automatically adjusted to the night as they scanned the darkness for intruders. None of the settlers had mentioned primitive locals, but Wayland was big and largely unexplored. Gaegan had been foolish to assume the outcast was the only savage out in the wilderness.

The darkness remained silent and subdued. Only the fire offered any respite from the placid night. Nothing attacked them and no more projectiles rained from above. All was calm.

Something beeped. Eight blasters turned and took aim at the wooden shaft. It was then they noticed the contraption attached to it. Upon closer inspection, Gaegan could see it was pieces of different communication devices thrown together. A pale blue light blinked on its surface. Before another word could be uttered the gadget crackled to life. A projection no bigger than a lothcat appeared next to the fire. A man in battle-worn Mando gear stood before them.

"So, Ja'halir is sending the dogs to do his dirty work?" the miniature warrior said looking from one Watchmen to the next. The entire group tensed in clear recognition of the voice. Jarek waved a dismissive hand saying, "Run home and tell the old man if he wants my head he can come claim it himself." So, it had been the outcast to launch the arrow into their camp. He had been mere meters away and they hadn't seen or heard him. The stones on this chakaar! Geagan's jaw clenched so hard he though his teeth might crack, but he kept his outrage in check.

Jarek, he realized was remarkably calm given he faced eight times his number. He didn't even seem put off that they were pursuing them. Was this it? Had the coward finally decided to grow a spine and face them. Given the holo-projector that seemed unlikely. It still galled Gaegan that the outcast had been so close!

"How about you show some honor," he spat stepping forward, "Face your death with a little dignity." The other warriors nodded and grumbled in agreement.

Jarek's helmeted face turned toward the speaker. It tilted slightly in clear recognition of his voice. There was even a slight flexing of his hands as if he were reaching for a weapon. After glaring up at his childhood nemesis, the dar'manda spoke. "Think real hard, shabuir," rage simmered just beneath the surface of his low tone, "before issuing challenges you might not live to regret." Gaegan couldn't help but mentally snarl at the threat. Before he could respond the outcast spoke again in that same menacing voice. This time he addressed the entire group. "Tonight, you are alive. Savor it." He paused, gazing from one warrior to the next, before finally settling back on Gaegan. "Because after dawn, the Geroya be Haran begins."

Gaegan nearly blasted the device in his outrage. The infuriated voices of his compatriots were drowned out by the blood pounded in his ears. "A dar'manda cannot issue such a challenge!" he shouted, spittle flying.

With languid grace, the traitor turned to fully face Gaegan. There was a smirk in his tone when next he said, "But a real Mandalorian would accept." Boiling fury merged with the ice that ran down his spine at the direct challenge. It was all he could do not to crush the projector into scrap. The Geroya be Haran had been called. Gaegan had no choice but to accept, and the hu'tuun knew it.

"Sending coordinates," the outcast said in as calm a voice as if ending a business transaction. Then just before the transmission terminated he stared right back up at Gaegan. "I hope you're better at death games then throwing rocks."

The communication device exploded beneath Gaegan's heel. Snarling and swearing he pulverized it over and over. Even as its powercell died within its shattered chassis he continued slamming his boot down, shouting into the night. "Oritsir gar hut'uun! Gar aruetii! GAR DAR'MANDA!"