Their party lasted well into the night, after the sun set behind Calousan, and the long darkness of the lunar eclipse began. It was, to even longtime residents of the moon, an eerie thing to see a side of the sky covered with nothing but darkness, and the orphans were no exception.
"I think Merry should finish that story." Beriven said, as they sat on the roof, staring at the sky. A small flash of light appeared overhead, in front of the sky that the planet now blocked, a sign of someone exiting hyperspace.
"Yeah!" Thema and Bug both shouted, and they both cringed. Anita and Beriven laughed aloud, and Marius smiled.
"Considering all we've been through, Merry, I'm with Beriven." Mystery said, and settled down onto a small jut in the wall. What Mystery said had a habit of happening, and the others grinned as they settled down into a circle, and waited patiently.
Marius sighed, and said "All right, you win. I kinda want to hear how it ends, too."
"You mean you haven't read ahead?" Beriven asked.
"Did you?" Anita asked, glaring hard at Beriven.
Having voiced her suspicion, it would have been impossible for Beriven to convincingly claim that he hand not, even if it were true. "No! Of course not!" He insisted, already certain of the outcome.
"Oh bull! You can't do that to us, just because we can't read as good!" Bug exclaimed. "It's unfair!"
"I'm with Bug." Thug said, and cracked his knuckles. The others, including Tha'varr, who had just started handing out the last of the crackers Marius had bought earlier, took a similar vein. Bug and Anita both threw the closest things they could find at him, and Tha'varr took bak the crackers she had set on his plate.
"I think Berry should read." Marius said, with a triumphant grin on his face.
The others smiled vindictively, and everyone turned to Beriven as one. "You got a problem with that?" Thug asked, menacingly.
"All right, all right." Beriven surrendered, waving his hand. "But seriously, this is like killing a gizka with a thermal detonator."
"I'll make tea!" Tha'varr exclaimed, delightedly, and dashed downstairs. The others followed, and Beriven hung back a little, until he and Marius were the only ones on the roof.
"How'd you rope me into this?" Beriven asked, dismayed.
"Your fault, for suggesting I read ahead." Marius responded. "Though I think there's less than half of the story left. Your voice shouldn't give out before then."
"What if my voice gives out, though?" Beriven asked.
"Bad things will happen." Marius warned, looking over to Thug.
Beriven shuddered. Grumbling about being dragged by the ear, he shuffled back against the wall and settled down with the book. He flipped through a few of the pages, and said "Once upon a time,"
"Hey, wait for Tha'varr!" Bug exclaimed, and the others laughed.
"Berry wasn't even reading from our story." Thug said.
"He wasn't even reading from a story in the book. None of them start that way." Marius added. "That is such a stupid start for a story, though."
"No it's not! It's a classic!" Beriven exclaimed, throwing a pillow at Marius. "Every great fairy tale starts that way!"
"Great fairy tale means bad story. We're way too old for fairy tales." Bug added, smiling.
Tha'varr stepped back inside, her arms filled with mugs. Thug and Anita both stood up to help her, taking a few from her hands and passing them to the others.
"Would you prefer 'A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far, Far Away?" Beriven asked.
"Ooh, that's not bad." Anita exclaimed, clapping her hands.
"Except that neither Tython or Mandalore are in a far away Galaxy." Thema noted.
"Oh, would you start already?" Thug asked, rolling his eyes and cracking his knuckles.
"All right, all right!" Beriven said, and opened the book to the small piece of paper Marius had used to mark their place.
"Over the hours, Pali was asked by these stoic, grim faced and scarred warriors to recount to them, often struggling to hold their own tears, the sensations she felt as their comrades had fallen to the ion bombs that had claimed their lives.
She tried, as well as she knew, to tell them how their grim, unflinching determination, and their courage, could be felt through the Ashla, and how the manner of their deaths had made an impression on a power that permeated the entire galaxy.
"In death, their last thoughts, feelings, can be felt powerfully through the Ashla." Pali told them, as another small group of warriors crowded the doorway, keen to hear. "From most, you can feel them fear their fate, rail against how unfair they find it. It is common even among soldiers, to find them fear the end they knew would come. They regret dying, even as every action of their lives lead towards their death."
"When we fought on Tython, many of those who died feared death, as well. Most were scholars, who failed to believe that they might be killed for what they believed to be right. But a few of my friends, who knew battle from their earlier lives, had already reconciled themselves to their deaths. It wasn't that they looked to die, but what they were doing was important enough to them, that dying for it didn't frighten them. Some wept for the duties that others would have to shoulder in their place. Others died smiling, their hearts sang because they loved the opportunity to stand against the horrifying evil we fought. One left an echo in the Ashla that still lingers, like laughter, even now.
He was my teacher, and a warrior. I felt his death, half a world away, in the middle of a battle where tens of thousands died. He saw the end of the war, and the victory for our cause, and celebrated it with his last breath.
When I felt your comrades die, as each bomb when off, there was never one singular emotion. Some of you felt regret, having tasks left undone. There was the concern for the fate of those who would be left alive, and for the outcome of your war. Others felt the grim satisfaction of being worthy enough warriors that such weapons had to be used against them. But in their own way, none of them felt fear.
There was no pleading for live, or railing against the cruelty of fate. It is this strength that kept me here." Here, she stopped and smiled. "And, I suppose, because my ship has been vaporized."
General Barak held up an armored fist, straight into the air, and every eye in the room stared at him intently. "That's enough. Our guest has obliged our request, and told us a tale that we should keep alive, forever. General soldiers, you're dismissed. Officers will remain."
Most of the armored soldiers turned and departed, leaving perhaps a dozen soldiers standing in the corners of the room, all of them carrying their helmets in their hands, and their disruptor rifles strapped to their backs.
"Alturion Taramon. You did well to bring her here, especially by ambushing their patrol and using their transport to return. I trust someone on your squad deactivated their transponder?"
"Standard procedure, sir. Estan also checked at regular intervals to make sure it wasn't broadcasting anything." The Alturion replied.
"Good man. Ms. Trivish, if I may ask, you mentioned the foreign champion of Clan Amdor, the one that killed Landon Amdor, is a sorcerer of some kind. You called him a renegade from Tython."
Taramon turned to Pali and asked "When we first found you, you only suggested he was a sorcerer. You didn't say he was from Tython, or that you might know him."
"It was a recent revelation. That presence I can sense, in the distance, is familiar. I simply didn't recognize it before." Pali explained.
Taramon nodded, and asked nothing further.
"What can you tell us about this enemy of ours?" General Barak asked.
"He was a sorcerer, much as you know." Pali started, pausing to put her thoughts into words. "We knew him as Maras Trandaeu, a practitioner of the Bogan, the dark opposite of the Ashla. He loved conflict, and often sought challenges with enemies he thought were worthy, despite it endangering the outcome of the battle. He made a fearsome champion, but a poor general."
"A poor general? Then it's possible he's a tool, rather than the mastermind?" Taramon asked.
"A willing tool." Pali asserted. "He is likely using their dependence on him to assert his own ability to rule. Eventually, he will sit down on a throne."
"Not if there's a warrior left alive on this world." One of the other officers asserted, and every other warrior in the room bashed their armored gauntlets against their chest-plates, in what Pali now knew to be the customary salute of these Mandalorians.
"How did he prefer to fight?" Taramon asked.
"With his powers. Though he could break bones by pushing with the Bogan, he preferred to fight with a sword, often for the sake of demonstrating how his powers of foresight could allow him to defeat impossible odds. There was a story of him killing nine men, all armed with blasters, with only a sword."
There were appreciative whistles from the officers in the room.
"So the bastard did use this mysterious power of yours to defeat Landon." General Barak noted. "Just nothing overt."
"After a while, using some aspects of the Ashla, or the Bogan, become as natural as breathing. It would be as separating us from our own limbs." Pali said.
General Barak nodded. "Thank you for that." His next words were a little louder, and directed to everyone in the room. "As you may have heard, we have intelligence from a variety of sources, including our guest, that indicates clan Amdor do not have any more Ion bombs.
This is important, because any efforts to strike against them since they started using those bombs was forestalled by the concern that they had more. Also, since their most imposing threat has been used up, I believe that a sudden, decisive strike against Amdor's spaceport would see many of the other clans rise up and join us." The General explained.
"You suspect, sir, that if we seize the spaceport, and they don't retaliate with another Ion bomb, that we will prove to the clans that Amdor no longer has them?" Taramon asked.
"Exactly. Soldiers, your thoughts?"
"It sounds like a real plan, General." One of the others said. "Sure beats sitting around, waiting to get slaughtered."
"Sir," Taramon said. "If we seize Amdor's spaceport, and manage to persuade Mardeth and Iasan to deny the fleet their ports, we could end up holding our enemy's best weapon hostage."
"Their ships short of fuel, their spaceport in enemy hands, a part of their army smashed by an attack they weren't expecting..." General Barak had a fierce grin on his face, and his eyes seemed to light up as he contemplated what might come. "And their champion dead. That's going to be a central piece of this operation. Deny him an escape route, engage him with overwhelming force, and finish him off."
"Pali, you said you could see him with that sorcery of yours?" Taramon asked.
"I can. I have to be close to be specific, but even right now, I can give you a direction and a general distance. He hasn't left the city he was in earlier." Pali answered.
"Good." The General said. He tapped the desk, and one of the officers unfurled a map of the Capital. The planning took the better part of the night, and only afforded them a few hours of sleep before their mission began.
Here, Beriven coughed hard, and made a great show of drinking his tea. "Sorry, my throat."
"All right, if it hurts that much." Marius said indignantly, holding out his hand.
"No way! Beriven gets to finish!" Thug insisted.
"But Merry reads better." Tha'varr said softly, and the others looked at her strangely for a long moment. Beriven grinned, Thug scowled a little, while both Anita and Thema looked to each other, with a knowing smile on their lips. Even Mystery, normally quite stoic, smiled a little.
Bug, completely oblivious, said "Yeah, he does. I'd rather enjoy this story than make Berry suffer."
The others scowled at Bug, but didn't disagree, as Beriven handed Marius the book.
"So let's see," Marius said. "The dawn came swiftly as the huge red star climbed the horizon, leaping swiftly past the hills and into prominence. As it rose, so did the durasteel clad Mandalorian warriors, who through years of drills put on their armor and assembled their weapons with the deft precision of long practice."
Marius looked to Beriven and said "Gizka barf, Berry, you skipped over about ten pages worth of description."
"I wanted to finish the story before the end of the month." Beriven replied, scathingly. "At the pace you were reading, we'd be adults before you started another story."
"I didn't hear you complaining when you weren't reading." Marius countered.
"Stop fighting and read, already!" Thema hissed, and when the others failed to disagree with her, Marius eventually took the book up and continued.
"Among soldiers, the dawn before battle is silent in trepidation, as men and women with lives, hopes and ambitions far removed from the battlefield shoulder the demands of their profession. But for warriors, true warriors, the morning before battle was a time of celebration. Well known veterans would boast of deeds soon to be done, and those looking to make a name for themselves would jockey for a position in the vanguard.
In the camp, surrounded by men who lived for the moments to come, only Pali watched the rising sun without a smile.
She sat on the roof of the compound, her short vibroblade disassembled in front of her, carefully cleaning its components. Behind her, the darkness fled as the light marched along the fields, inky shadows giving way to rich colors and vibrant sounds. Birds would appear, and the occasional shadowy shape of one of Mandalore's famed beasts, fully as large as a building, could be seen in the distance.
Pali watched the shadows as they fled from the dawn, and as she watched, hoped her own battle would go so well.
In the distance, despite the dawn, the black presence of her enemy from an old war hung against the dawn, devouring the light that came from the people in the city, drowning the light of Mandalore's immense sun.
"How did you defeat them, back on Tython?" A voice asked from behind Pali, who looked over to see the now familiar face of Taramon, who leaned against the access railing that lead to the roof. His face held no mirth, and despite the fierce gleam in his eyes, he made no attempt to express his anticipation for the coming battle.
"From what I've heard, and what you've told me, the practitioners of your side of this power aren't much for battle or even learning about combat. Sure, they probably had a few other people like you, who were used to war, but I can't imagine you were enough to make up for a whole religion of people who loved combat."
Pali shook her head sadly, and said "The Bogan doesn't enjoy conflict. And neither do its practitioners, particularly. They seek victory, conquest, and dominion. It's a strange affliction, a poisoning of the perspective that prolonged use of the Bogan inflicts, until it eventually enslaves those who use its power.
Those who lead them were quick to avoid a confrontation they might loose, or risk themselves personally. As for us, while we avoided conflict, were more than willing to sacrifice ourselves if it meant stopping them. In the end, when their leadership faltered against our resilience, their unity fractured, and instead of one strong enemy, we faced dozens of weak ones."
Taramon said nothing for a long moment, staring at the sunrise. "Sounds like these sorcerers are more dangerous alone, than in a group. I wondered, if we Mandalorians had found a kindred spirit in this enemey of yours."
"Have you?" Pali asked.
"The furthest thing from it. The strength of a warrior of Mandalore lies in the strength of everyone he fights with. Our weapons are only as good as the craftsmen who make them. Our leaders only as good as far as their orders are obeyed. Our ships as good as our mechanics. There is no disunity in us." Taramon replied. He sighed then, and added "I'm actually saddened a little, by that."
"Because they'll never be an enemy worth fighting?" Pali asked.
"Exactly." Taramon said, with a sigh. "Ah well, at least we have one sorcerer to fight." His voice quivered a little with excitement. "You say he killed a dozen men with just a sword? Even if they were armed with blasters?"
"Only nine. When you surrender yourself to the Bogan, given yourself to its will, you can gain a sense of the immediate future, and can anticipate threats to your life before they happen. Maras was renowned for his capacity in that regard."
"So you say he can dodge blaster fire?" Taramon asked. When Pali nodded, he grinned to himself, and began fiddling with his disruptor rifle. "Nothing rapid fire and concussion rockets won't solve."
Pali reached down, and reassembled the pieces to her vibroblade, testing the finished product in her hand as she listened attentively to its quiet whirling. "When do we leave?"
"In five minutes. I was actually sent to collect you." Taramon said, sheepishly.
They looked at each other intently for a long moment, as something passed unnoticed between them. Grinning, they holstered their weapons, and Taramon offered Pali a disruptor pistol, which she willingly took and holstered at her side. Together, they marched down to the mustering areas, and left for the battle to come.
"Hey, can I take a quick break?" Marius asked. "I need to drink a bit of this tea." Looking guiltily to Tha'varr, he picked up the now cold cup and took a few quick gulps.
"If you don't like it, just say so." Tha'varr said, rolling her eyes.
"And offend you? Merry would sooner stab himself in the eye with a spoon." Anita said, with a smirk.
"If he doesn't take the spoon out of his mug, he might do that." Beriven mused, as Marius took a few deeper sips. The spoon swung precariously and rapped him on the nose, and he coughed as he swallowed a mouthful of cold tea.
The others laughed, even Tha'varr, as Marius tried to wipe as much of the tea as he could off of his chest.
"At least he didn't get the book." Thug said.
"I think you better finish now, Merry. If you stop again, you'll injure yourself before you finish." Bug said, and the others nodded in amused agreement.
"Okay, okay." Marius muttered, and picked the book up again.
"The briefing was surprisingly simple, with General Barak, a confident, almost amused grin plastered to his face, describing in intimate detail exactly what he wanted his officers to accomplish with their respective assignments. He didn't give specific orders or targets, but mentioned specific objectives and goals, and then laid out what their scouting reports had said about enemy strength.
By the end of the briefing, the officers looked almost as if they were the ones who had given the assignments out, for how well they seemed to know what they were going to do.
What Pali managed to gather, was that the small company Taramon had been assigned, which included the mostly recovered Radavan and Estan, were tasked with finding and killing the sorcerer.
"The annoying part, is that we have to sit and wait, while everyone else stars this battle for us." Estan said, scathingly.
"It's to force the enemy to engage, so that they're not monitoring our insertion." Taramon said. "Believe me, we'll see more action today than most warriors get in a year. Mandalorians will cheer when they remember today."
They loaded their gear into a small dropship, and a small crew inspected the parachutes one last time before the strapped them onto their backs.
"A parachute insertion?" Estan asked.
"High Altitude, Low Opening. Only a hundred paracts above sea level." Taramon explained hurriedly. Pali couldn't help compare him to a small child with a present.
"That's cutting it close. The spaceport's launch cannon is almost that high." Estan noted, but he was also grinning.
Pali shook her head and muttered something to herself.
Shortly, they were buckled into their seats, and the only sound to be heard inside was the buzzing of the radio chatter as the Mandalorians marched to war. Calm, collected voices became more frantic as they began to join the battle, and the comm line was soon drowned in requests for artillery strikes and reports on the position of enemy forces.
Taramon grinned and turned to Estan. "Sounds like they're having fun down there."
Pali turned to them, and said "Our target's still in the city. It looks like the large communications tower in the downtown core."
"Wait, wait, is this another villain sitting in the top floor in the tallest tower in the city?" Beriven asked.
Marius shrugged, and Beriven rolled his eyes.
"Let me guess, it's raining in the city, the storm clouds are thick and dark, and the tallest tower stands ominously against the stark and foreboding spread of the city." Beriven muttered, scowling. "So clique."
Marius glared at him angrily. "Can I read now?"
Beriven waved his hand lazily, and Marius continued.
"The ship's engines flared to life, and the Mandalorian warriors with Pali shouted encouragement as the ship lifted gently off the ground, and then rocketed forward and out into the sky. The roar of the engine eventually drowned out the shouts from the occupants, and the stopped, to stare grimly towards the city as it's outer sprawl quickly came into view.
The ship banked into a steep climb, and the thrusters burned with new vigor, pushing its occupants deep into its seats. Pali struggled to raise her hand, and turned her head to Taramon. "How many g's are we going though?"
"Four. Our pilot's a bit of a space jockey. Used to do risky high orbit entires through blockades near the Radamaw Void. There isn't a better pilot in the Galaxy, but there isn't anyone crazier."
"What's his name?" Pali asked.
"Travish Mortimer." Taramon replied.
"No way!" Bug exclaimed.
"You're serious!" Tha'varr added. "Mortimer? Like Gothe?"
"Careful. The galaxy is a big place." Thema added, and Beriven nodded in agreement.
"I'll ask Gothe about that." Marius said, grinning a little.
"The ship eventually leveled off, and by that time, the city was a small lattice of straight stitched etched along the skyline, the corridors for its larger rapid transit lines and spaceport the only discernible shapes. Even the capital tower, where Pali's deadly enemy lay, was only a small dot against the sprawl of the city." Marius contined.
"No rain." Marius added, grinning at Beriven.
"Without warning, the rear hatch on the ship opened up, and even with the environmental shield, the air suddenly turned cold. Taramon shivered despite himself, and even Pali, sustained by the Ashla, cringed at the feel of it.
"It's cold enough to freeze the Mercury." A shout came on the intercom, unfamiliar to Pali. Taramon grinned a little, as he unbuckled his seat harness and strapped on his helmet.
"Strap on your helmets, and get a good fit on them. Unless your breathing through your internal suits, you'll get the bends before we hit the ground." Taramon added, then turned to Pali. "You have your oxygen tank?"
"Of course." Pali smiled, as she strapped the small tank to her waist.
"All right." Taramon turned to everyone, who immediately assembled near him. "You all know your staging area. We're dropping the marker first, and we assemble there. Once that half-hour elapses, break radio silence. Channel twelve. We're after speed, not stealth. It's believed our enemy will be able to see, or at least sense our accompanying VIP, so our only advantage is in how fast we pull this off." Taramon explained crisply, with a sense of authority that the soldiers rapidly responded to.
"Warriors of Mandalore, what do you seek?" Taramon asked, loudly.
"Battle!" The others shouted, in concert.
"Warriors of Mandalore, why do you seek battle?" He asked again.
"To find a foe worth fighting!" The other cheered again.
"What do you seek in battle?" Taramon asked, a third time.
"A fight worth telling!" Came the answer.
"And who will tell of our deeds?" Taramon asked, finally.
"The rest of the Galaxy, when they hear about it!" The others cheered, loudly, as they marched to the shield.
As Taramon stepped in front of it, the flickering haze dissapeared, and air rushed out of the ship. Eagerly, the Warriors of Mandalore stepped out onto the ramp, and fell into the clear sky towards their war."
Estan fell first, silently slipping off the ramp and disspaearing from sight. He was followed swiftly by a dozen others, all of whom cheered loudly as they plunged into the frigid air. In moments, only Pali and Taramon remained.
"Relax. It's a much better parachute than the one attached to your escape pod." Taramon said, and Pali could hear the grin in his voice.
Pali smiled at the sentiment, and leaning forward, let herself tumble out of the ship, and into the open air.
The fall, despite her helmet, took her breath away, as the heavy gravity of Mandalore took hold of her, and tried its best to tear her out of the sky. Clouds rushed past her sight in a sudden fury, as the dots that marked the distant city grew into shapes.
Behind her, she could see the Alturion, Taramon, in a headlong dive towards the surface, and grinning, angled herself so that she too held her head towards the ground, like a bullet.
Below her, in the city, she could see flashes of light spread along its western buildings, and small streaks of grey seemed to accompany the sudden eruption of large explosions, that flared between buildings. Even with her helmet, and the roar of the wind, she could hear the sounds of those explosions.
Silently, she closed her eyes and focused on the Ashla, feeling its presence permeate her existence, and stared at the dark presence in the tower, her implacable enemy. She stared and focused, and knew that in that tower, staring out, her enemy was staring at her in turn.
Around him, the shroud of his presence blocked her sight; any person nearby would be thoroughly hidden from her senses. He could have half a brigade of soldiers nearby, and she wouldn't know it.
Below him, and around him in the nearby buildings, there were only a few hundred people, scattered into small groups of a dozen or less. Far more than the small party that accompanied her, but far fewer than there would have been without General Barak's assault.
She opened her eyes again, to find the world much closer than she had last seen it, and gripped the rip cord on her parachute as she shot towards the ground. Below her, small grey plumes suddenly popped into the air, in a small cluster just below her. She tilted her body towards those plumes, and waited while she watched Taramon as he still plummeted ahead of her.
Startlingly close to the ground, Taramon pulled his own parachute, and she ripped her own. The small lead chute caught the air, and pulled the rest of her bag out into the air. The sudden hault was startling, as her body was jerked from terminal velocity to a lazy featherfall. Catching her breath, Pali disconnected the oxygen tank, and took a deep breath as she drifted through the last bit of distance until her feet comfortably touched the ground.
She quickly took off her helmet, and tossed the Parachute bag aside, drawing her vibroblade and a disruptor pistol. She favored the combination for her ability to hold each in a single hand, allowing her a versatility that served her well as she fought on Tython.
In the distance, a figure gestured by pounding his hand against his chest, and then saluting, the gestures the soldiers on the mission were given to identify themselves. Quickly, she returned the gesture, and hugging the wall of a nearby building, darted across the city block.
The Mandalorian's armor was familiar, and she smiled as she slowed in her approach. "Estan." She nodded in greeting. "Where's the rest of the company?"
"Taramon has a dozen soldiers and is moving to the front gates of the building. He's going to open as many entrances as he can, and then cut inside. Hopefully, the rest of the squad manages to group up and join in before they finish. We're supposed to find a safe hole to hide in, and wait for an opening to enter."
Pali nodded, and asked "The building Maras is holed up in, is it the capital building of Mandalore?"
"Sort of. It's where most clan meetings are held. It's officially the headquarters of a trading consortium, but since they took over Clan Amdor, it's become the headquarters of the government." Estan explained.
"I see. So what's our mission?"
"I've been sent with enough explosives to level a city block. Which is the idea. I set these charges on the foundation of the building, and we level it. This was supposed to be plan B, but Taramon's been listening to radio chatter coming from what he suspects are a lot of soldiers. He figures we don't have the luxury of an assassination any more."
"I see." Pali said. "Let's get moving then."
They skirted the edges of buildings in near silence, Pali using her sight to avoid curious eyes. Eventually, they managed to make it to the Capital building without incident, and arrived to find a firefight well underway.
"Shit." Estan muttered.
A small group of armored warriors were hunkered down behind a makeshift barricade of newly fragmented rubble and the smoking wreck of a transport. All around them, at the ends of the street and from the windows of the capital, disruptor fire shot at them, keeping them pinned in place.
"Alturion!" Estan shouted into the comm, crouching behind the building. "Are you under fire?"
The response was almost immediate, and came from a voice that was calm, measured, and quick to the point "No, but they're ours. Is Pali with you?"
"She is, sir." Estan responed quickly, though the tone of his voice betrayed a hint of surprise.
"Good. Plan B isn't going to work. Our squad has kicked the hornet's nest, so there's no way you're getting the bombs in there without someone else dismantling them after you."
"Then what's the plan, sir?" Estan asked.
Rocket fire interrupted the response, as explosions rocked the makeshift barricade their allies were huddled under. It rocked, and pieces of it blew apart, but it held. They could hear a sigh of relief over the comm.
"We've succeeded in keeping our target from taking flight. Right now, we need to kick our way through the defenses. Standby."
As Taramon finished speaking, rocket fire erupted from quiet corners of the area, and sped towards the front entrance. The large doorway erupted in black smoke and brilliant flame, and the thick smoke that now hung over the street was impossible to see through.
"All groups, inside. Sweep the corridors for resistance, and then work your way up. Estan, does Pali have a fix on our target?"
Estan turned to Pali wordlessly "About halfway up the building." She stared for a moment, then added "He has about a dozen guards with him."
"Good. Get inside, we'll regroup at the stairs." Taramon said, and the line went dead.
Without hesitating, Estan whipped around the corner, and setting the butt of his disruptor rifle against his shoulder, ran towards the entrance. Pali followed him half a heartbeat behind, darting quickly to the side of the building for cover.
Through the smoke, they could see a sudden eruption of white disruptor blasts pounding into the windows of the capital, smashing glass and kicking cement into the air. Pali followed Estan as they rounded the corner and started into the building, to find that they were the first ones inside.
Estan's disruptor rifle flared to life as he strafed into cover, darting out of sight as Pali rounded the corner and rolled into cover. Disruptor blasts lanced towards her, but collided harmlessly with the wall behind her until they turned, distracted by the sight of a dozen armored warriors unleashing their own firepower into the room.
Pali ran among the shadows, careful to keep herself behind cover, and crossed behind some soldiers barricaded behind a desk. She leapt quickly, her vibroblade punching through the Mandalorian's armor to plunge through his chest. Without wasting a breath, she leveled her disruptor blaster at his closest companion, and fired just as he turned his head.
Her next shot took the third warrior before he could turn to swing his blaster at her, and she followed him down to the ground, ducking behind the barricade as enemy soldiers caught sight of her.
She cursed as a barrage of disruptor fire flashed over her head, and barely heard the soft clanging of a small, round object as it dropped into the barricade a few feet away from her.
It took her a precious second to remember what a thermal detonator looked like.
Cursing, she reached with the Ashla and too hold of it, flinging it out the window as quickly as she could before ducking for cover.
The explosion ripped the window frame apart, and blew pieces of the building across the room. The force of the explosion threw Pali, and the makeshift barricade, and sent them both tumbling across the room.
Her sight went black for too many heartbeats, as Pali struggled on the floor to orient herself. Around her, disruptor fire flared again, and as she focused and her hearing returned, the blaster fire dimmed until it grew quiet.
A helmeted soldier stood over her, and then knelt down beside her. "Pali," Taramon said, softly. "Are you okay?"
Pali smiled despite herself. "I will be. I just need a few moments to recover."
"That was quite the blast. Your lucky that soldier couldn't throw."
"He could. I managed to toss it out the window in time." Pali said, weakly, as she struggled to her feet. "We're winning?"
"So far. Estan took it pretty badly, diffused disruptor shot burned through his barricade and part of his helmet, he may have lost his eye."
Pali cringed, and her head sank a little. Grimly, she said "It's a good thing he has a spare, then."
Taramon laughed, and clapped Pali on the shoulder. "Now you're talking like a Mandalorian!"
"That's the dumbest line I've ever heard!" Bug exclaimed.
"I'm with Bug on that one." Anita added, quickly.
"It's actually kinda cruel. Pali doesn't seem like that." Beriven added.
"There's more." Marius said, hushing them up.
"But her heart was bitter, to find herself in the middle of a battle again, to be forced to take up a calling that she had fled to Tython to escape, and had been driven from her sanctuary because of.
"Six casualties. Nine soldiers didn't make it to the rendezvous on time. Counting Estan, we have about fourteen men left." Taramon listed, as casually as if he were doing inventory. "Pali, how many people do you see in the floors above us?"
Pali, turning her head away to hide the salt filled sting of tears welling in her eyes, scanned the building above her with her sight. "Fewer than forty. Besides the dozen near Maras, none of them are in groups larger than four."
Taramon nodded, and turned to some of the other soldiers nearby. "We'll take the stairs, no detours. Avoid any unnecessary firefights. We flash-weld the doors as we go up. Demork, Zavaen, take point. Let's go."
With that, the other armored warriors flowed into the stairwell, and started up the building. As they marched, a pair of soldiers would stop at each entranceway and pack a small tube of putty into the doorframe. After a few moments they would step back, check their work, and then light a small corner of the putty on fire.
As they marched, the stairwell was illuminated with the brilliant flare of bright red sparks as the metal of the door melted into the frame. No smoke rose from the light, the sudden transfusion of heat wasn't accompanied by fire.
They stormed up the stairs, almost without incident, until the ripping sound of disruptor fire began hammering at the sealed doors below. The sound, though faint, was enough for Taramon to pause, and shake his head sadly.
"Looks like we're crippling our escape route. Vance, Craigson, set charges on this floor. I want the next forty steps down to disappear." Taramon said, and the two armored warriors took to their tasks.
A few more floors, and a sudden flash silently illuminated the stairwell. Pali turned her head to look, and the brilliant white light flickered and died, as blocks of the stairwell simply tumbed down onto the stairs below them, breaking apart and ripping deep gouges into the support beams that held the stairs in place.
"Photonic burst." Estan explained. "Poor weapon to use against people, and looses most of its cutting power against the reflective surfaces of most metals, but on concrete or plastics, nothing works better."
Pali nodded, grimliy. She turned back to Estan, and asked "how's your eye?"
"Like you said, I have a spare." Estan said, curtly.
Through the Ashla, emotions can be sensed at times, particularly when the practitioner is paying attention. In Pali's case, at the moment, the war might very well have been forgotten.
"I'm sorry. For my words. The heart was not reflected by them." Pali said, softly. She bit her lip, as she spoke.
Estan started, and looked at her. "That's a strange apology."
"It isn't one I've ever used before. It's something my teacher once said to me." Her voice hitched, and she swallowed hard. "It was the last thing he ever said to me."
Estan nodded, and took off his damaged helmet. His face looked almost unmarred, though a small set of bandages now wrapped themselves around his head, covering his right eye. In his left, his gaze settled on hers and held her, intensely.
"Yesterday, you said he left something like an echo, when he died. Like laughter, the joy of winning a war worth fighting. What was he apologizing to you for?" Estan asked, softly.
"My teacher was telling me why I shouldn't come with him, when he went to die, for a small village of no strategic value, filled with people who hated us as much as our enemies, for the war that ravaged their world. He told me that I should live, to make use of his sacrifice. He knew that his own death, defending those villagers, would galvanize the population of Tython, and they would rise up and help us defeat our enemies."
She sighed, and said "Then he turned back to me, and apologized to me. Exactly has I did to you. He didn't say anything else, he didn't explain himself. He left then, and died in a small village."
Estan nodded, and took off his helmet. His left eye was badly burned, and much of the face around the eye was now a network of white flash burns and scars, ones that would never heal properly.
He smiled, despite the damage to his face, the war going on around them, and the pain he must have felt. "Looking at you right now, I think I can understand why he said that."
"What?" Pali asked, confused.
Estan made no move to explain himself, but with a flick of his wrist, tossed his helmet over the stairwell railing, and let it plummet down to the ground. Wordlessly, he turned and started up the stairs, and Pali, still confused, followed.
Taramon, a flight of stairs above them, stared quizzically at Estan, as they regrouped in front of a large set of doors.
"He's just past those doors. A dozen men guard him. Spread thinly in a semi-circle around the room, angled to the door." Pali affirmed. "We are going to loose a lot of people trying to get into that room."
Taramon shrugged beneath the armor, but said "Then we try a different tactic. Travers, do you still have the neurotoxin gas grenades I told you to pack?"
A helmeted warrior nodded in affirmation, and Taramon turned back to the door. "Punch a small hole through the door, and let the gas loose. Re-seal the hole, and set yourself up to open the door afterwards."
The soldiers saluted, and Taramon turned to Pali. "From here, watch him closely."
"But sir!" Estan exclaimed. "Our suits are insulated against almost any type of gas. It won't do anything to those warriors inside."
"But that sorcerer of theirs probably won't be wearing our armor." Taramon replied. "It was enough of a pain getting Pali to do it. If I'm right, then our target either tries to escape or dies before we have to fire a shot. If I'm wrong, we at least get a smoke screen when we enter. Do it."
Two soldiers took positions beside the slit in the doors, and one pulled out a small canister, similar to a grenade. The other took out a small container of something similar to putty, and began setting it in a small circle slightly larger than a Mandalorian's armored fist.
"It's the same stuff we used to cut the stairwell. You set the putty against the surface, and then set the photon deflectors around the mould. When you ignite the putty, all the light is refracted and focused through an extremely narrow point. A slight bit of oscillation on the deflectors prevent the cut from being clean, or else the surface friction from such a clean cut would be worse than not cutting at all." Estan explained.
"An improvised laser from an incendiary. I doubt anyone else in the galaxy would have come up with that." Pali remarked.
With a short hiss, the photonic burst flared slightly, and died out as quickly as it started. Quickly, the soldiers pulled the materials aside, and with the butt of a sidearm, knocked a small cylinder out of the door, where it clattered noisily in the room beyond. The soldier with the gas grenades pulled two pins, punched them through the hole in the door, and immediately set a small piece of metal against the end, which they started welding without wasting a heartbeat.
Blinking from the sudden flare of the photonic burst, Pali almost missed the sudden descent of the black haze as it dropped from view.
Startled, she looked below her feet, and watched as Maras Trandaeu threw himself into a window a dozen floors below them.
"Gizka barf, he just jumped at least a dozen floors." Pali exclaimed, running for the stairwell.
"Estan, after her! Travers, Nelison, concussion mines around the door, then we leave it behind. Everyone else, rappelling gear." Taramon shouted, pounding soliders on their backs as he scrambled for his own rope.
Pali, in those short moments, had already sprinted to the stairs, and was flinging herself down them almost an entire flight at a time. Her reflexes and movements, guided by the Ashla, lent her a grace and dexterity that was impossible for anyone, especially an armored soldier burdened with nearly his own weight in gear, to mimic.
"The stairwell!" Estan shouted, from a floor above her. He stopped, and started tying rope to the handrails along the stairwell. "It's missing almost eight floors!"
"Not a problem." Pali shouted back, and reaching the gap, stepped off the stairwell and plummeted through open air.
She took the fall without a hint of difficulty, landing softly at the edge of an open door seven stories down. Estan watched her disappear through the doorway, muttering 'my life for a jetpack' under his breath'."
"Woah!" Bug exclaimed. "I wish I could use the Ashla."
"I'd rather have the Bogan." Thug said. "It's more useful so far."
"They actually seem pretty similar." Beriven said. "I wonder if it's more about the person wielding it."
"I don't think so. Those scary sorcerers pop up all over the place, and they all use the Bogan. But only people from Tython seem to use the Ashla." Marius noted. "Anyway," He added, turning back to the book.
"She caught her adversary at the edge of her sight, and drew the disruptor pistol in her left hand has her right gripped the holstered vibroblade. The shadow, barely more than a silhouette against the skyline, whirled out of sight, forcing Pali to dash through the doorway.
She instinctively ducked her head a little as she stepped through, and disruptor fire ripped the wall behind her, coming from her right. She turned the blaster and started firing, dashing into the room and towards the cover of overturned tables.
Before she made three steps, the shadow pushed out his hand towards her, and she gritted her teeth as a wave of the Bogan took her off her feet and hurled her into the wall. She broke the plaster and much of the insulation, and even though she couldn't think, managed to roll a little into cover.
Disruptor fire crashed into the space she had only recently occupied. Without a word, she pointed to another table nearby, and taking hold of it through the Ashla, hurled it towards him.
The table was light, only made of wood, and the shadowed figure managed to raise his hand just before it reached him. Barely a foot away, it shattered into small pieces, and the small splinters were all that crashed against him.
Not wasting a moment, Pail took hold of the Ashla and hurled it at him. Before the splinters had thrown themselves past him, Pali's attack took him full in the chest, and hurled him against the wall in turn. The blow crashed him against the back wall, and he exhaled with a grunt, dropping his disruptor rifle onto the ground, pushing against the wall to stay standing.
Pali raised her pistol, and fired rounds towards him as he tumbled away and behind cover, leaving his rifle behind. With a smile, Pali took hold of it with the Ashla, and hurled it out of the open window.
"Ha ha! Pali!" She heard from behind a long table. "This Galaxy isn't nearly large enough! Have you been hunting us exiles all this time?"
Gripping the disruptor blaster in two hands for a steadier shot, she started strafing towards the other side of the table. "You think too highly of yourself, Maras. I haven't given you a moment of thought since I left."
With a howl of rage, the table was suddenly barreling towards her, and she ducked down to let it fly overhead. Barely a heartbeat behind it was Maras, a large, thin blade whirling towards her head.
She barely caught it with her pistol, turning the blade aside. Clipped pieces of her blaster flew across the room, and she rolled away, dropping the now useless weapon. She drew her own vibroblade, and slipped into a well-remembered sword from, her blade held loosely in one hand, point set straight at her enemy's chest.
"You remember your training, at least. Old Tichondreus would be proud of you." He smiled. "I've been looking for someone interesting to fight for almost four years."
"I heard you took almost half an hour to kill Landon Amdor." Pali noted, with a grin. "Gravity a little much for you?"
"I didn't want to impress these savages too much. It wouldn't do to have a dozen of them challenge me at once."
Pali smiled, unconvinced. "Either you're getting sloppy since you left, or this planet produces the most fearsome warriors in the galaxy. When you can see the future, a swordfight with someone who can't should only take moments." As she spoke, she darted forward, her sword flickering out towards his unguarded face.
He smiled in response, and letting his body roll a little, put himself just outside her reach and used the motion to set his blade for a swing.
But her thrust was a feint, as she used the motion to bring her sword down sharply towards his leading leg.
A duel between two people with a sense for the future is a very different thing than the clumsy sword-fights of primitive worlds. Each motion was not a response to the advances of an opponent, but a move to take advantage of a movement, to make any attack an opening to exploit.
Maras pulled his leg back to his side, and using the sudden inbalance in his stance, brought his own weapon down in a vicious two handed arc towards Pali's chest.
In turn, she leaned to her right, moving just far enough to avoid the vicious arc of the sword, and used the weight shift in a vicious cut angled up towards Maras' arm.
It was a duel even a year worth of choreographing could not make so precise, as each of them dodged and wove their weapons through the open air, their motions so precise that their swords passed within a hands breadth of each other, in each pass, without finding flesh.
Their swords never touched, as each motion was a motion to set up their next swing. Their breath was well timed, and the air around them practically rippled as the Asha and the Bogan wove their fates.
But as moments passed, and a locked combat hinged on the smallest of advantages, the gravity of Mandalore began to tell, an advantage that favored Maras. On every dozen passes of the sword, a small cut would score along the light armor that Pali wore, a small rent that barely slowed the blade.
Eventually though, Maras' blade passed between the segments, and Pali stumbled backwards, her arm bleeding from a deep cut along her left arm.
Armored boots landed hard against the doorway, and Estan landed in a crouch, both hands already gripping his disruptor rifle. Pali and Maras both turned their eyes to him instantly, and both of them raised their hands.
Maras pushed Estan through the Bogan, sending him tumbling down the next flight of stairs towards the ruined rubble below. Hardly finished with the motion, he was in turn hurled across the room as Pali threw him with the Ashla.
Two other soldiers touched down on the landing, and Pali recognized the markings on the armor as part of the soldiers in the assault squad. "To the right. He only has a sword!" She shouted, pointing towards Maras.
Growling in frustration, Maras turned and ran towards an open door, dissapearing into the corridor. The first two soldiers followed, and Pali took position behind them, until one of them waved her away, pointing to her injured arm.
Two more warriors touched down, one of them Taramon. He looked at her bleeding arm and said "patch her up, quickly."
The medic began dismantling the armored plates on her arm. "Estan. Maras pushed him back through the entranceway."
"It's fine. He got up almost as soon as he hit the ground." Taramon said. "How's that wound?" he asked the soldier now prepping gauze.
"Deep. Nerve damage is almost certain." The soldier replied.
"Shit. Pali, do you see where he is?"
"About halfway across the building, running towards the other stairwell."
Taramon relayed the information by radio, then turned back to Pali.
"We have two types of treatment for the field. One is meant to fully heal the wound, and the other is to put you back in fighting condition now. Keep in mind, fighting condition will likely make the muscle and nerve damage permanent." Taramon explained.
"The quick choice. He's still alive." Pali replied, and gritted her teeth.
Taramon nodded to the other soldier, who reached into his pouch, and started pouring a small foam onto the wound.
Pali screamed in pain, and beat her free fist against the wall.
"A cauterizing jelly." Taramon explained. "It will also give your nerves artificial connections, though it may not be perfect."
"That pain is vicious." Pali exclaimed, panting. She breathed hard, and the haze in her vision eventually cleared.
She scanned with her sight, and found the dark haze of Maras, almost right on top of the two soldiers who had went after him.
"Taramon! Maras is almost on top of them!" Pali exlcaimed.
Taramon hollered into the radio, but through her sight, she watched helplessly as one, then the other solider stumbled and fell.
"Respond!" Taramon shouted.
"They're dead." Pali said, softly.
From the radio, a new voice responded. "Cauterizing jelly hurts, doesn't it Pali?" The voice asked, the laughter in every syllable.
"No." Pali said, softly. "He knew we'd do this. He waited for the pain to blind me, for his ambush." She explained to Taramon.
Taramon grinned, wolfishly. "He really is that good. Is he coming back?"
"Yep. How long until this stuff works?" Pali asked.
"It should be working." Taramon said.
She twisted her arm a little, gritting her teeth in pain. "It'll have to do."
Two grenades rolled through the open doorway, and Pali barely managed to hurl them away with the Ashla before the exploded, sending all three of them sprawling on the ground.
Maras was through the door an instant later, his first few disruptor shots taking the other solider in the chest. He whirled towards Taramon, who's disruptor rifle started squealing in a menacing, high pitched drone.
Taramon fired first, a strange streak of grey instead of a disruptor bolt, and the wall behind Maras blew apart in a shower of grey smoke.
Maras rolled, his disruptor rifle spilling across the room, and Pali drew her sword, leaping forward. Maras pointed his hand, and Taramon went sprawling as he was pushed, almost at the shoulder, and sent spinning across the ground.
His sword stroke nearly caught Pali unprepared, and her desperate guard was poorly balanced in mind stride. She went sprawling along the ground, the flat of her own blade pounding against her wounded arm.
Maras pointed his hand at the loose disruptor rifle, and it flew from the ground, whirling in the air as it flew into his hands. He caught it, and pointed it at Taramon before he could draw his own sidearm.
Two quick blasts flared from the rifle, one taking Taramon through the shoulder, the other through the leg. Taramon groaned in pain, and fell to the ground, unmoving.
Seeing it coming, he braced himself and gathered the Bogan, shielding himself from the push that Pali sent through the Bogan. Almost lazily, he pointed the disruptor at her, but didn't pull the trigger as she dove behind cover.
"You see, Pali? Do you see how hypocritical you are?" Maras asked, pointing the disruptor blaster and firing it into the table. "You fight, and kill, willingly. But you hate us for using a power that lets us do that? Didn't your master say, that if you were going to fight at all, you should make sure you win? Poor fool."
"What do you know? We won that war." Pali exclaimed.
"Only because an entire planet's worth of farmers and civilians took up your cause. For every dozen practitioners on your side, only one of them was worth fighting. Your Master was a fool, to die in that worthless little hamlet for worthless little people. I watched him die, you know."
"You didn't." Pali said, with certainty. "We were on opposite sides of a different battle when it happened."
"True. Can't blame me for trying." Maras said, with a verbal shrug. "But I do get to watch you die, at least."
On the radio, in a small, soft voice, Estan asked "Taramon, Pali, come in."
Pali answered quickly, not bothering to try to keep it from Maras. "Pali here."
"Does he have one of our rifles?" Estan asked.
Smiling, Pali said "Yes."
An explosion erupted behind her, and she turned to see Maras rolling along the ground, his armor scored with burns, and the side of his face ripped to the bone. He gripped his face, screaming in pain, and grabbed his sword with his free hand.
Not wasting a moment, Pali leapt over the table, and sword extended, pushed him through the Ashla.
Maras was thrown into the wall, and let out an exclamation of pain as his eyes leveled with Pali. His one remaining eye met hers, just as her sword punched through his chest-plate.
He exhaled sharply, almost coughing, and his eyes widened a little.
"Oh." Maras muttered, in a short, confused sigh, before his head fell slack, and his last breath seeped past his lips, and joined the air.
A grunt of pain had Pali turn away from Maras, to Taramon, who had extracted the Bespin Soda canister, and was administering it to the wound in his leg. Despite the pain, with had nearly put another warrior comatose, Taramon was grinning, if feverishly, as he took the cannister and set it against his wounded shoulder.
"I'd rather keep the limbs, you know." Taramon said.
"What happened? With that rifle?" Pali asked.
"Every warrior, in case his weapon is taken, can overload the energy cells with a single button on their wrist." Taramon explained. "It usually isn't lethal, but it can hurt a lot."
"So Estan found the soldiers Maras killed." Pali said.
"That would be the case." Taramon said. He reached into his pockets, and drew out a small communicator. "Alturion Taramon, code Draconis 810. Put me through to Barak."
He turned the communicator to it's speaker setting, so that Pali could listen.
"Barak." A voice said, crisp and concise.
"Alturion Taramon. Primary target eliminated, secondary target's status unknown. Lost too many soldiers to track secondary target without a means to locate him."
"You sure? Because I'm communicating with a few soldiers from the capital right now, on terms for surrender. They say the head of clan Amdor died in a gas attack."
"An embarassing way for a Mandalorian to die, since he must not have been wearing his armor." Taramon reflected.
"But the Primary target is dead?" Barak asked.
"Affirmative. Pali's vibroblade is sticking out of his chest right now." Taramon responded.
"Good." There was a pause, then Barak asked "How was that sorcerer?"
"By all rights, we should be dead. He survived a sword-fight with Pali, ambushed his pursuit, and had us cornered."
"Sit tight. There shouldn't be any more pursuit, but don't trust anyone you don't know. We should be there in an hour. Out." And the line went dead.
Taramon sighed and leaned back, until Estan shuffled into the room. His armor was badly scored, dented in more than a few places, and his head was un-helmeted, disruptor scoring having carved lines along his cheek, and near his left eye.
Taramon caught sight of him, and grinned. "does he have one of our rifles. Then boom! A sorcerer who could kill nine armed soldiers with a sword, and he's done in by a mistake even a child wouldn't have made."
"He was still holding it?" Estan asked.
"Yep. Would you do this for me?" Taramon asked, pointing to his wounded shoulder. "I don't think I'll be able to stay awake through the pain."
"You already did your leg?" Estan asked.
"Yeah." Taramon sad.
"Scary tough." Estan muttered, before he stared spraying the soda.
Taramon grunted, then rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. As he slipped into unconsciousness, Estan took a position near the doorway, keeping watch.
"I think I understand." Estan said, without looking away from the stairwell.
He turned back to her, and his battle-scarred face turned to regard her, with a warm, kind smile spread across the warrior's features.
"There's so much I want to say to you right now. How much you've done for us since you came here. The honour you've gained in our eyes, your skill in battle. Your willingness to pay homage to our own skill, despite how much you might hate what motivates us. But I can't say it all, and whatever I would say is a mangled imitation." Estan explained.
Pali nodded, and said "I owe you my life, you know."
Estan raised his undamaged eyebrow.
"Taramon and I were dead. He had me pinned behind some cover, a disruptor rifle in his hand. Taramon had taken those wounds, and no help was coming. You were brilliant."
Estan sat down beside her, and asked "Will you stay here?"
"No. I can't. I'm still looking for a bit of peace. I'll never find it in a world that worships the strength learned from war." Pali explained.
"You admire us, my people. But despise the way we become what we are." Estan said, more to himself.
Pali nodded, agreeing.
"Is that why you were exiled? From Tython? Because of what you had to do to become someone who could protect them?" Estan asked.
Tears welled in her eyes, and Pali turned her head away, unable to meet the searching eyes of this uncomfortably insightful soldier." Marius read, slowly.
"This is the lamest romance ever." Bug muttered, shaking his head.
"This isn't romance, Bug." Beriven said, softly.
"Is so." Tha'varr disagreed, shaking her head. "They are so going to hook up and travel together."
"They will, but it isn't romance. They've seen too much of the horror of the world for it to be simple romance. They're too scarred." Beriven explained.
"Let me finish, anyway." Marius said.
"Pali turned back to Estan, and said "You're right."
"But it wasn't because they hated me. At least, not the farmers, the merchants, the civilians who only rose up when our enemies started using them as human shields, or burning their homes for not being generous enough with their food and supplies. They loved what I did, because I did it for them.
The scholars were uncomfortable with me before the war, and even more so after. Even as they still believed that what I did for them was wrong, they knew they owed their lives to it." Pali explained.
Estan nodded. "So you left, because they loved you for the wrong reasons."
Pali shrugged, and said "That's the essence of it."
"Foolish." Estan said, blithely.
Pali rounded on him, her gaze settling into a glare that threatened bodily harm. Estan grinned in response, and explained. "It might be strange for the scholars, those who studied the Ashla and felt that using it to harm was wrong, but for the civvies, you're really overcomplicating it. As far as they're concerned, someone was trying to hurt their families, destroy their lives, and you stopped them. And asked nothing from them in return. It's pretty straight-forward."
He paused, and considered silently for a moment. "No, you already know that. Really, the only reason a hero would leave the place she rescued, is because someplace else needs her. You left because the galaxy needed you more than Tython. Simple as that."
Pali struggled, and failed, to find a response.
"Hey, if you don't believe me, we can go find the Caamasi." Estan offered.
Pali's confused look demanded an explanation. "Furry bird-like critters. Rumor has it they were the only people who ever talked the Rakatan empire from invading them."
Pali grinned, and asked "So you say we're going to find them?"
"Yeah. Figure you could use the help. Besides, you seem to find all the good battles wherever you go." Estan said, grinning.
"It won't all be glamour and glory. And you'll have to respect my ethics, or I'll toss you out an airlock."
"Not a problem." Estan agreed."
Marius sighed, and said "From here, it's all epilogue."
"Get on with it." Bug said.
"Pali and Estan left soon after, in a small Mandalorian frigate gifted to them by a grateful General Barak for their services during the war. Barely a planetary cycle passed before the Clans of Mandalore, at the behest of Alturion Taramon, left Mandalore to make their own way in the galaxy.
It is said that the Alturion called on them to leave, saying that there was little to be gained if the clans could not test themselves against the greater galaxy, and find conflicts to make their name from. Legends of the two warriors from Tython that none of their soldiers could stand against, sparked an interest in the worlds beyond that Mandalore could no longer satisfy.
As for Pali, her exile was said to have become simpler to bear. She would never find peace, but would die many years later on a nameless world, defending nameless innocents for no other reason than they deserved to be fought for. Estan was said to have died by her side, ever eager to find a fight he could not win."
There was silence as Marius closed the book, set it beside him. He picked up his tea, sipped it, and grimaced at how cold it had become.
"Woah." Mystery said, at last. Everyone burst into a fit of laughter as he spoke. Mystery, for his part, grinned sheepishly at them, until it subsided.
"That was amazing. Thanks, Merry." Tha'varr said.
"Seconded. But I'm going to bed. You kept us up way too late." Antia added.
The others stood up, eventually, and made their way to their sleeping bags, where they would curl up inside, smile contentedly, and close their eyes.
At the end, only Marius and Mystery still sat, awake, staring at the book between them.
"Do you mind if I read a little while? I wanted to start another one." Mystery asked.
Marius handed the book to him wordlessly, turned, and wandered off to his own sleeping bag.
Mystery sat in a small corner of the room, turning the light as dim as he could manage, and turned the book to a page titled "Andarist Vorpal and the Rakatan invasion.