"Okay Merry, I think it's time you finished that story." Beriven said, suddenly. They were about a quarter hour into dinner, Thug had already finished, and Tha'varr had already started fussing over some of the fruit they had recently purchased.
Though surprised, the other children who heard the suggestion readily agreed.
"Yeah Merry, it's been weeks since you started it." Anita agreed.
"We wanna know what happens to Nali." Thema agreed.
"I think it's Pali." Bug said.
"Pali Trivish." Thug said, breathlessly. "I've been thinking about that story every night since you started it, Merry."
"Well, do we have anything really important to do?" Beriven asked. The others shook their heads, and even Marius found nothing to say in response.
"Then it's settled. As soon as Bug, Thema and I finish the dishes, Merry will start reading the rest of the story. Thug and Anita can go get our sleeping bags and help Tha'varr with whatever she has planned." Beriven said.
Marius grinned sheepishly, and shook his head. "Don't you have work tomorrow morning, Thug?" He asked.
"Yeah. But one of us always has work." Thug said, with a shrug. "Do you want to read in here?"
"Yeah. I'll set up under the lamp in the corner." Marius replied. He stepped out to go find his book as the others started their tasks, taking vigorously to their chores.
In his absense, Tha'varr had finished her tasks, and the dishes were left to dry. Bug, Thema, Thav'arr and Beriven were already starting on a small, sweet dish of fruit and whipped cream as Thug started laying their sleeping bags down on the floor in a circle around where Marius was planning to read.
By the time Marius came back, the rest of them were waiting, and beside his bed was a small bowl of dessert, and a glass of water.
Marius grinned, and said "Thanks, guys."
He sat down and opened the book, straight to where he had left a small piece of paper. "Does anyone need a recap?" He asked.
No one said anything, but a few people looked to Thema and grinned.
"Okay then. Basically, a warrior from a sorcerer training world called Tython was wandering the galaxy. Her name is Pali Trivish, and she came across a world called Mandalore, which has a reputation for producing great warriors. They're using Ion Bombs on their own people, and they shoot her ship down when she asks about it. She's found by a rival clan's scouts, who agree to take her back under protective custody."
"So anyway," Marius begins. "Three hours pass swiftly through the quiet, warmly lit jungles before Taramon leads the others into a clearing. They had kept the pace of a slow run throughout, despite the Mandalorian's heavy armor, and Pali's unfamiliarity with the planet's heavy gravity.
As the forest gave way to a grassy clearing, the other two took up defensive positions near a small grove of rocks, while Taramon took off his backpack and fished out a small communications array.
"I take it," Pali said, softly, as she ducked down behind a rock near the Mandalorian captain. "That because you don't have a speeder nearby, that we're in enemy territory."
Captain Taramon grinned at her, and said "You'd make a formidable strategist. We're actually about half a day away from our clan. If I can make radio contact with one of the recon parties patrolling the borders, we should be picked up in about twenty minutes. If not,"
"More running." Pali noted. She closed her eyes for a moment, and allowed herself to see through the Ashla, allowing its power to give her eyes sight that could see through rocks and walls, and across great distances.
On the edge of her sight, like a dark stain on the horizon, she could see the presence of that mysterious sorcerer who served clan Amdor. Against the soft, small lights of those not attuned to this mysterious power, the dark ink of his presence was as noticeable as a carrier ship in a small village.
It did not escape Pali's attention that she, too, would be quite noticeable to one who could see through the Ashla. Even a practitioner of the Bogan, surrendered to its dominating need for self-indulgence, would see her.
"We might be in danger." Pali said.
"Of course. We're half a day in enemy territory with no sure way back." Taramon said.
"More so than you realize." She added. "I can sense the sorcerer. Even at this distance. He's over there," And she pointed to the horizon. "About three days on foot."
Taramon stared intently towards where she pointed. "The Capital, with the largest spaceport on the continent, is that way. If he's anywhere, he should be there."
"The problem is, if I can sense him, he can probably do the same." Pali said.
Taramon's eyes widened at the realization, and he turned to the soldiers nearby. "Two minutes, drink some water and eat a little bit. We can't wait for the speeder. Amdor's sorcerer may be able to sense our guest."
He offered her a water flask, which she took gratefully. "How specific is this ability? Can he tell exactly where you are?" He asked, after she started drinking.
She handed the flask back to him, and said "I can tell he's in a city, but I'd have to be closer to be more specific. I'm going to start looking for patrols, but unless he comes looking for us himself, he can only relay a general location."
"So we'll be able to stay out of sight, but we'll never shake them until we get into our own territory." Taramon concluded, checking the charge on his disruptor carbine. "It's going to be a long day."
"Not the sort of day I like, sir." Estan said, "I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around."
"Remember what victory is, Estan. It's getting the four of us to safety with what we know. We adjust our tactics accordingly." Taramon said sternly.
"I know, I know. I still don't like it." Estan muttered.
"We may have an alternative." Pali said softly, pointing to the horizon. "They likely assume I'm alone, within only light weaponry. They won't be expecting the three of you."
The three Mandalorians exchanged a long, meaningful look between them. Despite the face covering helmets, Pali knew and shared the grin on their faces.
"That more to your liking, Estan?" Taramon asked.
"Don't you know it!" Estan and Radavan both exclaimed, pumping their disruptor rifles in the air.
"A half-hour later," Marius began.
"What?" Bug asked. "What happened to that half-hour?"
"Nothing important. That's why the story is skipping it." Marius explained.
"Oh." Bug said, and sank back a little, grinning sheepishly at Beriven, who's scowl was fierce enough to set paper on fire.
"So, a half-hour later, a small speeder crested the nearby hill, and caught Pali making a speedy dash into the dense brush surrounding a river bed. A few futile shots were fired into the brush, before the speeder turned to stop at the edge of the brush.
A half-dozen Mandalorians, all armored, clambered out of the speeder, disruptor rifles trained on the area Pali was last seen. One of them, who's armor was pained with bright red streaks down the arms, waved his fist towards the bush and held the hand back up again, holding two fingers in the air. Two others moved quickly to the edge of the bushes, slowing to a near crawl as they started inside.
The red painted guard, their commander, pointed to the speeder and held another two fingers in the air. Two other Mandalorians took up positions beside some rocks, near the speeder.
As the commander started to walk a little to the east, one more soldier accompanying him, the two soldiers who had started into the woods finally disappeared from view.
As soon as they faded from sight, disruptor fire erupted from behind the Mandalorians guarding the speeder, catching both of them unawares. The blasters were barely heard before the guards were thrown to the ground, burn holes through their armor.
The commander whirled and ducked behind a fallen log, while his companion dove behind a small pile of rocks. They were professional soldiers, calm enough under fire to not shoot recklessly and reveal their position. Instead, both soldiers scanned their surroundings, searching earnestly for their attackers.
The nervous silence that followed ended quickly, as someone screamed from the woods. A small shuffling of brush followed, and two quick disruptor blasts followed. The commander waited, staring towards the woods, then gestured towards the woods.
The other soldier stood, moving towards the edge of the brush, when another quick disruptor blast flashed against the side of his helmet. He fell to the ground, the clatter of his armor echoing in the air.
The commander whirled and spied the shooter, who ducked down beneath the tall grass. He started firing in that direction, getting three quick shots off before another disruptor blast took him in the back, dropping him to the ground.
"Clear!" Taramon shouted, from his position. He crawled out of his burrow, a hastily enlarged hole that some small animal used as a shelter, and waved towards the speeder.
"Clear!" Estan shouted, now standing over the two Mandalorians guarding the speeder. He prodded them both carefully with his disruptor blaster, and then checked under their helmets for a pulse.
"Clear!" Pali shouted, from the woods. She stepped out of the brush, a blaster in her right hand. Her left held her short vibroblade, which still hummed quietly.
"I'm hurt!" Radavan shouted, and the other two Mandalorians dashed over to his position in the tall grass.
Estan arrived first, and took out a small knife, applying it to the joints between Radavan's armor. "Where did he get you?" Estan asked.
"Just below the left shoulder." Radavan gasped. "That commander was a crack shot."
Taramon stepped up to Radavan, and took off Radavan's helmet. "You're lucky we have the speeder. You'd probably slow us down with that wound."
"Sorry, sir." Radavan gasped.
"Don't be. You did well." Taramon said, grinning.
Taramon flinched suddenly, in sudden understanding, as Estan took a small cannister out of his utility belt. He grasped Radavan's other shoulder firmly, and said "get ready, this is going to hurt."
Estan started spraying something, and Radavan screamed in pain.
Pali caught up to them, and kneeling beside a gasping Radavan, asked Taramon "What did you do?"
"Bespin Soda, just cold enough to be a liquid. The soda counteracts the corrosion from the disruptor blast, and the cold neutralizes the burning. It hurts like hell, and he'll be sick for a week, but he should be able to use that arm again." Estan explained, as Radavan started coughing weakly.
Taramon stood up, and slid his blaster underneath Radavan, just below the shoulders. "Pali, slide that blaster about halfway between his stomach and waist. Grab both blasters. Estan, slide your gun beneath his knees. We'll carry him back to the speeder."
Radavan grunted a little as they picked him up, but was otherwise silent as thye carried him to the speeder, and gently (as much as you can, with a Mandalorian wearing Durasteel armor), draped him along the back seats.
"Estan, take the rear guns. Pali, take the sensors and keep an eye out for approaching soldiers.
"My sight through the Ashla will serve us better." Pali said. "There's another small group, about twenty minutes away. No one else is anywhere near us."
"All right then. Take the sensors anyway, we need to talk about what we do next." Taramon insisted. "Besides, you can check the transponder signals and see if any allies are nearby."
Everyone else manned their posts, as Taramon took the ship up and set out towards friendly territory.
"Hey, Merry?" Anita asked, quickly. Marius turned to her and stopped talking, inviting her to continue.
"You're not going to stop there, are you? I know it seems like a good spot, but it's still early." Anita said. Beriven and Thug both shouted in agreement, and the others murmured their assent.
"I wasn't gonna stop yet." Marius said.
"They passed through the border without incident, and slipped into a small outpost mostly buried beneath a hill." Marius continued. "A small cave, barely large enough to fit the speeder, was watched by a well camouflaged sentry, who had long since marked their approach.
Taramon took the comm, "Alturion Taramon, Gamma Bata zero four. Recon mission all accounted for, plus one. One NEMA."
"NEMA?" Pali asked.
"Non-emergency medical assistance." Taramon said.
"Only on Mandalore, would a disruptor burn not be an emergency." Pali said wistfully.
"It's to be expected on the only world that produces real soldiers." Taramon retorted. "Forgive me though, if you intended that as a compliment."
"Sort of. I admire your strength, but wonder about your priorities." Pali said, softly.
Taramon shrugged, as they passed into a long tunnel. The only lights eminated from the searchlights on the speeder, and couldn't reach whatever end Taramon was fixed on.
"I've only heard vague rumors before now, but a great deal is being told of this 'war of force', that happened on Tython. What happened, and how great were the battles that happened there?"
Pali shook her head sadly. "They were wars of grief for many of us. Grief that they should have happened, grief that we should have to wage them, and grief that those we cared for, even loved, were killed by our hands."
"So you were not warriors, in of itself."
"Very few of us, who studied the Ashla and shunned the Bogan, cared for the martial discipline. None of us were fond of violence. A few of us, though, thought a calling to use the Ashla to master the discipline of warfare was a worthy calling. The Ashla might temper the inclination to misuse the martial skills, and the capacity to wage war might lend us enough strength to protect the world around us." She sighed. "We proved to be right, though none of us would have the heart to say so."
"The Bogan delights in the expression of emotion, particularly selfish ones. Those that practice it tend to justify taking what they want by the power they possess. They felt that inclination should not be interrupted. Ultimately, since we who practiced the Ashla felt differently, and said so, it came to war."
"Imagine wars commanded by sorcerers who could see the future, and watch the most minute aspects of a planet wide war from a single chair. Imagine every enemy you had could shape the will of the Bogan to show them how to kill you, with swords, bombs and blasters guided by a power more assured than tracking devices and optical telemetry. Now, add to this how most of your allies had never held a weapon before, and even as this war came about, still refused to kill." Tears welled in Pali's eyes. "To be hated by those who depended on your protection."
Taramon was silent for a long moment, as he slowed the ship. Lights were now visible at the end of the tunnel, and he turned off the search lights. "We Mandalorians fight for the joy of the conflict, and our capacity to grow strong with it. Our greatest delight is in finding an enemy so strong that we cannot win.
"I are not a warrior. Not in the way you Mandalorians are. It is grief that lets me cut down my enemies, sorrow that guides my hand." Pali explained.
"We're here." Taramon said. They stopped in a large hanger, where a dozen Mandalorians had guns trained on their speeder.
"What is this?" Taramon shouted, standing. He was careful, despite his incredulity, to keep his hands spread wide. "I checked in correctly, ahead of schedule. Explain yourselves."
"Under normal circumstances, you'd be dead already, Alturion." A harsh, raspy voice said, and a figure stepped out from the shadows. Like the others, this Mandalorian was covered in Durasteel armor, but the helmet was painted with two read lines that went over the eyepieces, and the chest-plate was painted blood red. "That prisoner is supposed to be tied, gagged, and sedated."
Taramon scowled, and said "The guest is Pali Trivish, a warrior of Tython, a field commander in its legendary war. She is here because of hostilities engaged against her by Clan Amdor, and carries great honor in our eyes."
The Spokesman took off his helmet, revealing a head of short cut, grey hair over a very scarred face. One of the eyes appeared to be a cybernetic implant. "You understand the implications, Alturion Taramon? And the consequences?" He asked.
"I do, General Barak." Taramon said with a sharp salute, his gauntlet clanging against his Durasteel armored chest.
"Good." He waved to the shadows, and two more soldiers stepped into the light. "See to the NEMA. And strip that speeder to see if there's anything in the databanks we can use to our advantage." He turned back to the other guards who still trained their weapons on the speeder. "Debrief the others, and take the prisoner to a holding cell. We'll start the soft interrogation in an hour."
"Soft interrogation?" Taramon asked.
"Having you speak for her has earned her enough honor that I'm not having her tortured on the spot. Did you expect more, Alturion?"
"Do I carry enough right to make a challenge?" Pali asked, slowly, and every eye in the room shifted to her.
"By combat?" General Barak asked, with an amused smirk.
"Yes. I wish to challenge my treatment as a foreigner and prisoner. I am a soldier, a veteran of many wars, and wish to be treated as such, with the rights and duties pertaining to a soldier allied to your cause." Pali said, carefully adding weight to her words. The Ashla carried their weight to every ear, and even the veteran, a seasoned commander, had trouble shrugging off the spell of her speech.
"What proof do you bring that you are allied to my cause?"
"I seek the destruction of the upstart masters of Clan Amdor, and the renegade of Tython that acts as their champion." Pali said.
"Why?" The general asked.
"The renegade is possessed by a power that has rendered him desirous of destruction, seeking dominion over what he can and oblivion for what he cannot. Clan Amdor has used Ion bombs against those who do not possess them, a crime I am keen to see punished."
"And the purpose of your challenge?"
"To earn honor enough in your eyes to be allowed to assist you, if your goals are similar to my own. I have been informed by the Alturion that they are."
General Barak nodded. "Agreed."
He turned to the soldiers around them. "Does anyone wish to answer that challenge? Does any soldier here wish to dispute the world of this foreign soldier, who's word has been upheld by the Alturion?"
"I do, General." One of them said.
"Then choose the battle."
"Swords and armor. No guns, no other weapons, particularly not whatever sorcerous powers she has." He said again.
"Swords and armor against a foreigner, unused to our gravity, without her own durasteel? A coward's choice." Estan said, loudly.
"It hardly matters." Pali said, gravely. "I can see the end of this duel come about a thousand different ways. They each end in his defeat."
Pali turned to the general, and asked "When does the duel end?"
"When one of you asks if the other yeilds, and the other either say yes, or fails to say no." The General noted.
"May I use my sword?" Pali asked, patting the short vibroblade strapped to her leg.
"As if a foreigner's sword could do a thing to our armor." The challenging soldier said. He stepped forward, and discarding his blaster, drew two long blades from the holsters on his back. "Can we do this now?"
Pali shook her head sadly. She drew her vibroblade and engaged it, finding a measure of comfort in its rhythmic humming. She stepped into a dueling stance, the blade pointed at her enemy's heart. "We begin the moment the General allows us to."
"You're pretty eager for someone who swings her sword by her grief." Taramon said.
"He won't die. Though he'll loose." Pali replied.
"He won't yeild." Taramon warned.
"He doesn't have to." Pali added, cryptically.
"Begin!" General Barak shouted, cutting the conversation short.
The Mandalorian rushed for her as soon as the general shouted, devouring the distance between them in a few quick heartbeats. Before many of those watching registered, one of his swords was sweeping in a long, backhanded arc towards her head.
Taramon watched, stunned, as Pali dodged the first, then the next few blows that the Mandalorian swung. He knew the warrior challenging Pali, though not by name. A man a few people had made tidy sums betting on in the dueling rings, who might have been the best sword fighter in the base. His swings were measured, trained to leave no real openings, and his two handed style was carefully measured so that each swing positioned him for the next.
Yet, from the way she dodged the first swing, tilting her head so that the blow passed within inches of her head, and moving her sword to block the thrust she knew was following, Taramon knew there was no bravado in her claims to victory. Her eyes didn't blink, she hardly moved, and despite only having a single, shorter weapon, no armor, and being quite a bit smaller than the Mandalorian warrior attacking her, she gave no ground.
Three swings passed into harmless air, and the fourth blow she caught by the arm before it descended. With a startling economy of motion, she stepped right up against him, too close for his other arm to swing a sword at her, and held her sword below his chin.
They both froze in place for a moment, before Pali asked "Do you yield?"
The warrior, despite the blade held to his throat, scoffed indignantly. "Of course not."
She stepped backwards just as quickly, just outside the reach of his sword, and smiled. He made no move to attack her, but readied his swords in a defensive stance.
"I sense no fear in you. It's what delayed me here, you know." Pali said, softly.
"What do you mean?" The warrior asked.
"When I came, the Ion bombs were being used. Warriors died by the tens of thousands, and I felt what they felt as they died, an echo the Asha carried to and beyond my ears."
"They felt no fear, as they died to those weapons. Resolve, and a little regret, but no fear."
The warrior paused for a long moment, and the discarded one of his swords. With his free hand, he took his helmet off. "What is your name?" He asked.
"I am Pali Trivish, practitioner of the Ashla, a soldier from Tython."
He saluted her, his helmet clanging against his durasteel chestplate. "Meturion of clan Gladia, Batim-Morsh. I lost good friends to those bombs. To hear they died without fear is," he paused. "I have no words for it."
He set his helmet, and gripping his sword with both hands, leveled the point straight towards her. "I hope you make use of the honor you earn today."
"Your cause has my loyalty. Till our victory, or my last breath." Pali replied.
Pali made the first move, darting forward and thrusting with her sword. He tapped the blade with his own, brushing it aside, and drew the sword back to make an overhead slice.
Pali, her actions guided by the Ashla, stepped just slightly to the right, and as the sword came down, flicked her sword in a sudden thrust.
The sword punched through Batim's armor, and through the arm, the blade protruding a full foot from the other side. Batim gasped in pain, and using his free arm, began to pull the blade back to swing at her.
Pali pushed hard on the sword, yanking it to her left and pulling the arm with it. Blinded by pain, he stumbled forward, barely catching himself before he toppled over.
Pali quickly let go of her sword, and grabbed the Mandalorian's helmet. She deftly yanked it off his head, and before he could recover, swung it hard into the back of his head. His eyes rolled up, his face went slack, and his armored body collapsed onto the floor.
Panting a little, Pali asked 'Do you yield?"
The general waited with crossed arms for a long moment, before raising a fist into the air. "Pali Trivish, soldier of Tython, you carry great honor in our eyes. You may remain among us, a trusted comrade, and carry your sword with pride."
"Alturion Taramon, when you defended her honor, did you know of her tale? How the warriors who fell to those Ion bombs felt no fear?" The General asked.
"I did, sir. And I believe her account of things." Taramon replied.
The General smiled softly, and in a voice too soft for the harsh, scarred soldier, asked "Miss Trivish, would you be willing to relay to some of us the entire story, of our comrades and what they felt at the end? I cannot describe how great an honor you would offer us, by doing this."
Pali returned that soft, sad smile. "It's a tale I'm happy to tell. I cannot know what your people will bring to the Galaxy in the coming centuries, but I cannot doubt its significance." She followed the General's gesture, and followed a soldier into a larger hall, where over the next few hours she would recount, as best she could, the fierce determination and grim, defiant calm that permeated the Ashla with the deaths of so many warriors of Mandalore.
Marius closed the book and set it down. "I think I'll stop there tonight. Any longer, and Thug won't know how it ends."
The others looked to Thug and grinned, as his head rested awkwardly on the wall, fast asleep.