Chapter Nine: A Little Help

It was mid-afternoon in Kaas City, and Vette was performing yet another domestic duty: folding laundry.

She wasn't terribly skilled at it, as 2V-R8 seemed to take great pleasure in observing. When she asked why the droid didn't take over, he smugly replied that "The Master" had designated laundry as one of her tasks.

My fault for telling him I don't do domestic work, she reflected. Since arriving on Kaas City, all of her work had fallen under that category, which was doubtless the Sith's way of making a point.

She was roused from her inept folding by the sound of the door. To her shock, Arkarix Krell came into the apartment – not so much walking as staggering.

"What happened?" she gasped.

His red face showed the start of a welt, and his robes were in tatters. She spotted blood mixed in with the cloth.

He waved her away, moving straight to the hololink. He paused a moment, drawing himself up to full height, before activating the device.

The holographic form of Darth Baras appeared. "Report," he said brusquely.

"Master." Krell forced a bow. It must have taken all his will to avoid showing discomfort. "The Revanites are dead."

"They discovered you, then." Baras sounded unsurprised. "Did any escape?"

"No. That entire cell of Revanites is no more."

"An acceptable result," Baras said. "The annihilation of this cell should send a message to the Revanites. They won't perform any further overt actions, at least for the foreseeable future. I am pleased."

Baras moved to end the link, but Krell stopped him. "There's more, my Lord."

Baras's gaze grew more intense. "Tell me."

"The Revanites indicated that something was being planned," Krell said. "The group has clearly had a presence there for some time – There was a cave, with a giant statue of Revan in the center. Lord Grathan has to have been protecting them."

"You believe Grathan is involved in whatever the Revanites were planning." It wasn't a question, and Baras didn't wait for Krell to respond. "If so, he might yet move ahead, even without his accomplices. I will observe him closely from here on out. If he acts, I will be ready."

Krell inclined his head.

"Take tomorrow as a rest day, apprentice, but keep your comm link open. If anything happens, I may have need of you."

"Understood, Master."

Darth Baras ended the call without another word. As soon as the link closed, Krell fell into the chair.

2V-R8 moved toward him, scanning. "I detect several injuries, Master. I will notify Kaas City's Medical Center at once – "

Krell shook his head but was too out of breath to speak.

"Don't you dare!" Vette snapped.

"I do not take orders from slaves." If he had been organic, 2V-R8 would have sniffed. "It is standard protocol – "

"Were you even paying attention?" Vette shouted. "If you report to the Medical Center, Darth Baras will know he's injured."

2V-R8 ignored her. "Calling now."

"Stop." Krell had found his voice. He spoke in a low tone, one that carried a threat of destruction. "If you make that call, droid, I will disassemble you and melt down each and every piece until not an atom remains. Do you understand?"

"Master?" The droid's posture was of a pet that had just been unexpectedly scolded.

"Do… you… understand?"

The droid seemed to shrink back. "Yes, Master. I will make no call."

"Good." Krell sunk back into the chair again. "And from now on, you will obey Vette's commands without question, unless they conflict with my own. Is that also understood?"

"Yes, Master." Vette would have sworn that the droid was pouting.

"Now, leave us."

2V-R8 shuffled out of the room, leaving Vette and Krell alone.

Vette began moving immediately. First to the kitchen, to retrieve the First Aid Kit. Then to Krell, who – freed of the need to feign strength – was breathing raggedly.

"Let's get these robes off," Vette said.

He gasped as she pulled the torn cloth away from his skin. She cleaned away the blood to look at his injuries.

A few scorch marks were visible where the Revanites' lightsabers had nicked him - those blows that had just barely penetrated his defenses. These weren't a concern – the very energy that made lightsabers so deadly also resulted in them cauterizing the wounds they created.

"Good thing they didn't have blasters," Vette said.

"One of them did," Krell replied.

He recalled the cave. As he had pushed back the lightsaber armed Sith, the Mandalorian woman had hung to the back, firing her blaster directly at his head. A full volley, with unerring aim. That had proved her undoing. Krell had deflected the blaster bolts with ease, sending them straight back at her. Her armor had absorbed the first few hits, but it could not take the full volley. She had been dead in seconds, crying out in frustration and despair as she had realized her error.

Unfortunately, while he had dispatched her, he had left himself open to other attackers.

He shouted in pain as Vette pulled the strips he had torn from his robe - an improvised bandage he had used to cover a deep gash.

"Steel?" Vette's voice showed her surprise.

"Most of the Sith among them used lightsabers," Krell gasped. "But one preferred steel. He called himself 'Lord of the Beasts.' "

"Lord of the Beasts?" Vette couldn't help laughing.

"He earned the title."

He thought again of the confrontation in the cave. Even as the Mandalorian woman had fallen, the others pressed in with their blades. Krell had been fast enough to deflect most of the attacks, taking only glancing blows or nicks from the lightsabers.

Morrun, however, had aimed a blow at Krell's midsection. His curved steel blade slashed in concert with the Revanites' lightsabers. Krell saw the arc, but he had no option. Blocking Morrun's swing would mean leaving himself open to the lightsabers. Taking the injury had been the only way to keep himself alive for a few more precious seconds.

"This is going to sting." Vette's voice brought him back to the present.

Krell saw the needle in her hand. A bacta spray, which she used to cover the slash. It simultaneously burned and froze. His body shivered, an involuntary response.

"I have to seal it." Vette held up a micro-laser. "This is going to hurt."

He gave a tight nod, channeled his will into holding himself still. The laser was like fire on his abdomen. Had he not spent his life learning discipline, he would almost certainly have thrown Vette back from him out of instinct. As it was, he was able to endure the agony. Barely.

Vette went back to cleaning him, stripping the ruined robes from him as she worked. She gasped as she found a new injury.

"Bite and claw marks?"

"I told you," he gasped. "Morrun was the 'Lord of the Beasts.' "

After Krell had taken that first blow, he had used a push to throw the others back. He had focused his attention on Morrun, using his Sith warblade to shatter the weak metal in the enemy's hand.

Morrun had responded instantly. He ducked behind the other Revanites, using the cultists as a shield. While Krell had been left to dispatch these less skilled assailants, Morrun had raised a hand in the air, summoning his creatures. Scrabbing at the cave mouth was the only other prelude to the arrival of a horde of gundarks.

The creatures had been imprecise attackers. They had gored the surviving Revanites as eagerly as they lunged at Krell. Even so, Krell had received several bites and scratches as he worked his way through them.

Morrun could see the battle was lost. He had moved to flee, counting on his beasts to buy him time to reach the mouth of the cave. Krell refused to allow him that time. As he tossed the creatures back with his mind, he threw his lightsaber - as he had done on the path. The Beast Lord was a mere two steps from safety. Two steps too far, as the black lightsaber cut him in two. Krell had taken satisfaction in knowing that Morrun had survived just long enough to realize that he had failed completely.

The burning/freezing of the bacta spray jerked his consciousness back to the apartment. Vette was methodically disinfecting each of the bites and gashes left by the gundarks. Whenever she encountered a deeper slash, she reached again for the micro-laser.

Krell clenched his fists, enduring the torment. By the time she had finished, he only barely clung to consciousness.

"Stay awake," Vette said. "We need to talk."

"I'm the one who gives orders." He couldn't put much force into the words, though. To his own ears, his words sounded not commanding, but petulant.

"I'm a thief," Vette said flatly. "A damn good one. I can get in and out of places most people can't, and I can hold my own in a fight."

"What's your point?" Krell's mind was sluggish. He knew that he should already be grasping the direction of her words, but it eluded him.

"You need someone to watch your back."

"And I should trust you?"

"I'm the only one you should trust." She pointed to her collar. "If you die, this explodes, remember? There's literally no one else in the galaxy with as much reason to keep you alive as me."

Krell grunted. "I could hardly have taken company with me today."

"Why not? Would it have been so bizarre for the mighty Pure Blood to have brought a slave along?" Her lips curled on the word 'slave.' "It's not like I'm safer here. If Mr. Beast Lord had moved just a little bit faster or cut just a little bit deeper, my head would have been blown off in the middle of doing your laundry. I'd rather at least be able to try to stay alive."

Krell could feel his mind shutting down. His body ached for sleep. "I'll think about it," he said. "Tomorrow."

Vette started to retort, stopped herself. She wasn't going to get a better answer than that, not now. If she pushed harder, she'd probably just irritate him into setting off her shock collar.

"Do you need help getting to bed?" she asked.

Krell's eyes narrowed with wounded pride. "Of course not!" To prove the point, he rose to his feet in a single, rapid motion.

…And immediately fell back into the chair, his head swimming. The wounds Vette had patched screamed in protest, and he felt as if he might throw up.

He sighed, letting go of his pride this one time.

"On second thought, a little help might be a good thing."

For the second time that day, Bela Kiwiks waited at a speeder port to collect a prisoner from Canlyn and her friends. This time, she was accompanied by a complement of both Jedi and Republic troops, as she took the captured Sith into custody.

The prisoner looked back at Canlyn as he was led away. He grinned maliciously, as if repeating his earlier taunt:

"How many can you shield? One? Two? Even if it's a hundred, you'll ultimately collapse. I only wish I could be there with my Master to watch you wither."

Canlyn pushed the words away. The future would attend to itself. What mattered now was saving Master Yuon.

Attros Finn waited at the entrance to the Medical Center. His expression was grave.

"She lost consciousness two hours ago. We're barely detecting a pulse."

He led them straight to Yuon's room. The Jedi Master looked as old as any of her artifacts as she lay in the bed, surrounded by Jedi healers. A pulse monitor sounded out her heart rate: slow and weak, and becoming visibly more so with each second.

"To be honest," Attros said, "I'm surprised she's lasted this long."

"Yuon is fighter," Qyzen replied. "Will not fall without fierce battle."

His voice was dull, however, his eyes sad as he stared at his old friend. Ashara reached out to touch his shoulder. He started at her touch, then wordlessly accepted the gesture.

He looked to Canlyn. "Herald?" It sounded almost like a plea.

Canlyn nodded. Yuon's life was in her hands. It was time for her to test what she had learned from the Masters.

As she stepped forward, the ritual seemed to reach out to take control of her. She did not actually will herself to do anything. But her hands first clasped together, and then moved of their own volition over the old woman's body. She felt the energy rise, as if from her very soul, and then pass through her, transferring itself into Yuon.

Her Master's body contorted, jumping as if an electric current was passing through her. Once, twice, three times.

Canlyn felt a second's despair as the pulse monitor stopped. Had Yuon been too weak? Had the ritual killed her instead of saving her?

Then the monitor began beeping again. The rhythm was no longer weak. Her heart was beating steadily, with strength.

Yuon's eyes opened. There was no hint of madness in them. She was herself again.

"Padawan?" Yuon glanced around, confused. "No, not a padawan – You're a full Jedi now. What happened? Where am I?"

Canlyn felt a wave of pure relief. Tears pricked her eyes as she reached out to touch her Master's cheek. "There's time enough for that, Master. How do you feel?"

Yuon frowned, concentrating inward. "I feel… better." She sounded surprised. "What happened?"

Canlyn glanced back at Qyzen and Ashara. Ashara was grinning. Qyzen just stared.

"You saved Yuon," he said. "Truly, you are Herald of Scorekeeper."

Canlyn almost reflexively started to argue.

Then she stumbled, had to catch herself on the edge of Yuon's bed.

Her Master gasped. "Pada- Canlyn! Are you all right?"

"Fine," Canlyn said. "Just dizzy."

It was more than dizziness, though. She was weak. More than that – depleted. As if a part of herself was gone.

"I'll be fine," she gasped, as much to herself as Yuon.

As if to prove her words, she let go of the bed, forcing herself to stand on her own two feet.

A mistake. Darkness intruded on the edge of her sight, and her knees buckled. Had Qyzen not rushed to catch her, she would have collapsed to the hard floor.

"That's the second time you've saved me today," she whispered.

Then the darkness filled her vision, and she was aware of nothing else.