When they exited hyperspace, they were surrounded.
Three-pronged Mandalorian interceptors flew out like locusts from their hive, a mammoth spearhead that blocked Malastare and its sun from view. As the interceptors began their approach, streaming blue trails of light behind them, Cinder ushered HK-47 from the copilot's chair and took his place. The droid was sent to man the turret just in case.
The communicator crackled to life in a dredge of static. "Identify yourself, freighter, or we will open fire. We have you surrounded." He spoke true. Cinder heard more interceptors warp into position around them, even more still flitting overhead and underneath. Three sat in a tight, triangle formation right outside the cockpit window.
"What's our play?" Fell whispered.
She swallowed hard. Her throat was dry to the point of numbness, and the spittle that pushed back did precious little to loosen it. Damnable nerves. "I ought leave that to you, my apprentice," she said, forcing the words out low and dry. "This is your mess we're in now." She sighed and slumped back. Damnable mess. She dug her teeth into the crook of her lip and leaned forward, closer to the outbound communicator.
"Unidentified freighter, this is your last warning, we will-"
"Callsign A-S-H-N-1," she said over him. "Transmitting vessel ID as requested." She leaned over and flicked a couple levers with a gentle touch. The series of buttons on her side of the dashboard lit up in cascading runs of red, yellow, and blue. She traced her fingers around them. Fell groaned at the clacking of the keys, but looked up when the dash produced a low beep.
For a moment too long there was silence. Even more interceptors spiraling over the sprawling hull of the capital ship that split the spacefield in half before them. Other shapes caught her eyes too, fiery ones descending from the ship's underbelly in great spirals of orange and blue flame, plummeting towards Malastare's surface in freefall. Basilisks. The cruiser was the dark and bloated cloud that brought the storm; the basilisk war droids were the rain that it could contain no more.
"Callsign A-S-H-N-1, follow our trajectory." The crackling of the speaker was sudden, snapping Cinder from her thoughts. She turned her gaze back to the three interceptors before them, just outside the cockpit glass. One brought itself forward, slow and steady, like a cantering iriaz. Then, it dropped. The other two followed. "Any suspected deviation and we will open fire." So she bid Fell follow, and The Ashen One lugged its way down after the nimble fighters. The others followed close behind, the sound of their engines shearing against the silent void.
"Well," Fell said as he engaged the autopilot, "that went smoothly." He leaned back in his chair and leveled his arms against his chest.
Cinder kept her eyes forward, watching the trio of fighters before them. "Don't let the ship do the work, it won't keep up with them." She heard a series of beeps as the autopilot disengaged, then cast a sideways glance and saw Fell helming the controls again. "I'll be doing the talking this time." At last, she put her eyes on him. "Lest your tongue of lead sink us in this undertow."
"How many times do I have to beg your forgiveness?" His eyes met hers and both sets narrowed in unison.
"Forgiveness is earned, never given. When we have Mandalore's head and are free of Durgulla the Fat, with our navigator in tow, perhaps then shall I bless you with mine." She let him taste her words for a moment and then continued. "Be mindful that forgiving is not the same as forgetting."
He rolled his eyes at that. "Does saving your sorry ass twice count for nothing?" He looked away from her.
"It is, perhaps..." She paused to find the right words. She felt a smile creep across her lips, one that could not betray her as Fell was too busy sulking to see it. "It is offset somewhat by your attempts to kill me."
Fell threw himself back against the chair with a grumble, clapping his hands against his face. The autopilot switched back as he leaned all the way back, before he turned to face Cinder.
"Say what you wish to say, boy."
"You asked me to kill you." He was leaning so close to her that wayward stands of his hair pricked her skin.
"Perhaps another lesson is in order," she said. "Did you learn nothing on Ossus? Either time?"
"I would have been better off leaving you to the Ysanna." Fell pushed away from her.
"Then where would you be?" She did not take her eyes off him. When he tried to speak, she raised a finger. "Whoring on Nar Shaddaa or back to the Scraplands on Ord Mantell." She scrunched up her face; for a flickering moment, she worried an involuntary expression would betray her true feelings. "What have I taught you that you have no ambition?" She went stone-faced and returned her eyes to the field of space before her. He offered no reply.
The interceptors bounded up, leaving vivid blue slashes in their wake; too beautiful were they for the void that they vanished as quick as they came. Fell was steering the Ashen One again, gently coasting after the fighters. They ended up going around the hulking flagship's stern. The oblong shape turned the cockpit glass black as pitch. At uneven intervals, pulses from the engine repulsors would bathe them in blue light. More interceptors flew past, their engines roaring as they went by beside and overhead.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cinder got a closer look at the siege engines being loosed from the flagship's belly. One basilisk dropped right as the ship and its guides curled around the last of the engine rods. From this vantage, it was little more than an oblong shape, yet even from afar she could still make out its obscene score of ordnance. Fire soon cradled the basilisk in its arms. The descent started slow, but the speed crept and crept until it was falling fast, like a mortar barrage. Though Cinder had never seen one in action, she knew the prowess of Mandalorian basilisks well enough. It will tear through the clouds like a knife through bread, but not before the rider wrenches himself out of the hot metal shell. He will fire on all that lurks below, until it is nothing more than soot and dust. Tartha Ix never stood a chance.
The ships in front slowed their pace as they approached the glowing purple field of the hangar. Fell eased the throttle and followed the last one as it made its way inside. Cinder and her apprentice watched the interceptors as they landed vertically. With the thin lip of their knife wings, they nestled inside custom-built landing gear, like keycards slotting into readers.
The Ashen One landed clumsily in comparison, unfurling its squat landing legs and planting itself down in an empty square. Cinder watched the hangar crew as they cleared the area just enough for the freighter to fit. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Fell lower the cargo ramp. Her focus was on the troupe of soldiers assembling before it. There were six of them, each in the traditional full-body armor of the Mandalorian warriors, all of them a different color. Scarlet, violet, cerulean, copper, and viridian stood vigil at the sides, brandishing long-barreled carbines. The last stood in the center, holding a multi-barreled repeater by the foregrip in one hand. His armor was a gleaming pearlescent white. Has this one ever seen battle?
She heard the clanking of HK-47's footsteps behind her. "Query: Master, is this the part where we rush in as death come calling?" He, too, brandished his trusty carbine, hugging it closely to his chest as if it were a suckling babe.
"Not this time, HK," she spun the chair around to face him and got to her feet. Fell remained seated, a pout making his long face that much longer. "Must we go without you?"
"Always with the mocking," he said, though he stood all the same. He straightened his robes and fell in behind her.
She was only half-mocking him. Am I what keeps you from your full potential? It was a question she had pondered a long while, though now was not the time to mull it over any more. Perhaps we will see, in time.
The Mandalorian soldiers kept silent vigil as the Sith and their droid made their way down the ramp. Footsteps were the only sound.
"Hold," the one in white said, sticking out a hand. It turned into a fist and he raised it. "Aim."
The motley crew leveled their rifles at the three of them. They did not deem it necessary to raise their hands. Cinder paid no attention to the others and closed her eyes. Better this than at the hands of the Hutts.
The droid spoke up. "Dejection: Oh, master, what a trap we have walked into. Done in by sausages still in their casings. Declaration: Oh no, no. Master Revan would not have stood for this at all."
There was the clatter of arms against armor as the guns lowered at once. White stood there, his helmet belying his true expression. Cerulean came running up to him from the right, Violet from the left. The three exchanged words in Mando'a, then turned about on their heels. He ushered the two back to their posts. Cinder saw him raise his arm and heard him mutter something into it. A few more seconds and he turned back around.
"Follow me." He beckoned them forward with a grabbing motion. There was little choice but to obey. Once they started moving, the troopers flanked their new prisoners at flank and rear.
They made their way through the hangar towards a narrow hallway guarded by a flat door with thick black vents. The more she saw of the hangar, the more Cinder realized how vacant it was. Where is his army? Of the ships moored, a majority had been of the retinue that accosted them. All else in the hangar was plasteel containers and cargo, not ships, and certainly not soldiers. The hubris. She had thought they would have sent an army to greet the ship, not a squad of six. But they would not waste a display on a freighter, not unless they knew its occupants. She stole a look at HK. Or its contents.
The Mandalorians had turned to guerilla warfare following a disastrous defeat at Revan's hands some two thousand years ago. Some became mercenaries, for good, ill, or somewhere in-between. Others were hardliners, who clung to the old ways, calling themselves crusaders. But for the last thousand years, most packed their bags and returned to Mandalore. And for countless generations, they waited. The current reigning Mandal'or picked a hell of a time to return.
He had been scouring the galaxy like a fly harassing rotting meat for the better part of a decade. Even while Ruin and I were hunting for the remnants of the Sith, he was waging his little war. The Republic ignored him then just as they did now, out of fear that it would upset the delicate balance the bureaucrats had established. The Jedi had ignored him too, unless he brought the fight to them. His attacks on the estates of Jedi Lords in those days were little more than feints, the flailing arms of a raging child, easily swatted away. Five years must have made a big enough difference if now he was burning his way through the Mid Rim and putting those same baronies to fire and sword. And Tartha Ix, who governed Pixelito before she was smoked out and slaughtered, hadn't been just a nameless baroness. Ix had achieved knighthood before Cinder got her first padawan braid. By the time Cinder herself became a knight, Master Tartha Ix mediated between the Gran and Dug on Malastare. When that failed, she put the rabble-rousers among them to the sword and was granted an estate in return. She was everything I aspired to be. Cinder couldn't help but laugh.
The door at the end of the corridor let out a mournful hiss. Its whining was buried under the chanting of a hundred men and women. All were visible when Cinder stepped through the door, following close at White's heels. There's his army. It was a sea of color hundreds strong, at the very least. White led his prisoners around the throng, down a narrow path at the wall where the crowd petered out. Still smaller than I expected, though still too many to fight head on.
The troopers at their sides moved to the rear, taking up post behind HK-47. White led them past a rounded corner of soldiers, down a central path that ended before a gantry held aloft by narrow beams of gunmetal. Atop it sat a throne of molten steel, draped with limp banners of burgundy cloth and scarred with welds and fissures. Their king was in his seat, ready to hold court.
He was flanked by two polearm-wielding guardsmen, clad in inky blue plate, their massive capes rippling about like dark ocean waves. White fell to his knees as he approached his lord. The rest of the soldiers did the same, leaving Cinder, Fell, and HK-47 standing in the middle of a multicolored circle.
Mandalore barked something in Mando'a as he got to his feet. A great cloud of scarlet billowed down his back as he rose, thumping softly against the metal grating underfoot. It matched the plumes that crested down from his helmet. Red ridges stood out like open sores against the yellow paint of his helmet. From the neck down, he was clad in a grisly plate mail the color of dried blood. Wart-shaped welds, chips, and bubbles were visible in glaring seams where the armor had been composited together. The golden rondels that clasped his cape had been polished so finely they were almost miniature suns. He shrugged his arms outward and his guards armed him at once, buckling a burled shield across his left arm and passing a long, headless staff into his right hand. His fingers coiled around it and he smashed the butt into the metal floor. The chanting stopped.
There was silence for a while as Mandalore stared down at her and her alone. It was as if he were a golden god, passing judgment from on high. And like a god, he was the first to break the silence. "Who stands before Mandalore the Unassailable?"
She shot a glare at Fell before looking back up at Mandalore. Stay silent, boy. "I am Darth Cinder." She chose each word carefully. "I am the Dark Lady of the New Sith Empire, and I come seeking your hand in an alliance."
"Impossible." Mandalore's plume bounced ever-so-slightly as he shook his head. "I have met the Dark Lord of this New Sith Empire, and his name is Ruin." His booming voice dripped with condescension. "He has already sent an emissary before me." He paused long enough to make Cinder wonder if it were her turn to speak before continuing. "I needs know which of you rules." He turned sharply and barked out an order, and two more dark blue plated guardsmen scurried off down the gantry.
"He still lives?" Cinder feigned surprise. "I fled the assault on our homeworld. When he did not turn up, I thought him dead. I took the matters of rule into my own hands."
"She speaks true," Fell blurted out. Cinder cringed. "We were the only two survivors of the massacre on Korriban."
"So you thought, boy," Mandalore said. "The Dark Lord is a craven who refuses to face me himself, and the Dark Lady cannot control her thralls. What a disparate empire you claim to rule."
The echo of metal-on-metal pounded as the two guards came back towards the throne, carrying a figure draped in dark black robes between them. They bounded towards the edge, throwing it over like a sack of meat. The robes parted, revealing a Mirialan woman underneath. Her green skin had gone tepid, taking the pallor of dry vomit, and matted clumps of yellow hair split like straw as they dangled down from her skull. She rose with a series of grunts and moans, standing shaky on paper thin legs just as limp as her hair.
Cinder recognized her at once. "Lady Bestia. I see you, too, survived."
She blinked and looked at Cinder, her beady purple eyes twitching as she attempted to center her vision. "Lady Cinder?" She focused, then cast off the black shroud. Underneath, she was little more than a brittle stick. Her black tunic was stained and splotched with dried blood. It hung limp and loose against her like a sack. "Oh, it is you." She staggered forward and was about to hug Cinder before she stumbled and slumped down at her feet instead.
Cinder had not seen Bestia since before the fall of Korriban. This was a shell before her now, a shambling corpse that was a mere shadow of the girl who landed at their academy in the dark of night, clotted in blood with knives in hand.
Mandalore chuckled. "Ladies' night." The rest of the soldiers followed his lead and began to laugh. He raised his shield arm to shush them. "Two Dark Lords, two offers. The question remains: Which do I take?" He slammed the butt of his staff against the floor.
Cinder was about to speak when she heard Bestia whimper. She felt a tug as Bestia curled around her legs. The sound. "I would sooner offer you nothing and leave you be. This world is nothing to us. But-"
"But you did not come to offer me nothing," Mandalore finished. "The self-proclaimed Sith Empress visits my flagship. She wouldn't bother if she didn't have machinations of her own." He pointed the headless staff towards her. Cinder saw the glitter of a series of gun barrels within the hole. "I shall hear you, Lady Cinder. You have the courage to stand before me, where so-called "Lord" Ruin does not. Speak."
"I offer you my droid." Cinder motioned to HK-47. His head turned on a dime, the red slits of his eyes giving her a look of death.
"Refusal: Master, this is outrageous!" he roared as loud as he could. "I cannot - no, will not be given away like some pile of spare parts to your enemies."
"Hold," Mandalore raised his shield arm again, his palm held out flat. He leaned over to one of the guards and whispered something before turning back to Cinder. "A generous offer, Lady Cinder. I would like to make the droid's acquaintance first. May I see it?"
It was out of her hands. Hopefully he understands that much. "Of course, Mandal'or." The words came out half-heartedly. She winced as the two guards came down from their perch to seize HK and hauled him up to their leader. Curiously, they let him keep his gun.
"Retaliation: Unhand me, meatbags, so that I can beat you to death with your own severed limbs." He switched his language processor to Mando'a to curse at them some more. Mandalore said something back, and the guards returned to their master's side.
When HK-47 stood before him, Mandalore gave hima once over. "By the clans, it is him." He turned back to Cinder. "Where did you get Darth Revan's assassin droid?" A series of murmurs erupted among the crowd.
"I cannot give an exciting answer, I'm afraid." She nudged Bestia with the toe of her foot. With a pathetic moan, the girl rose back to her feet. "I found him buried in the dunes of Korriban, trapped under millennia of erosion and sediment in what once was a cave. It took months to excavate him and many more to restore his basic functionality." She recalled the herculean effort of restoring HK-47 to working order, all for it to result in nothing of use. She had been so angry she nearly destroyed him, before coming to her senses and stowing him away in The Ashen One's supply closet and leaving him to rot. "I am afraid he remembers little of his master, if that is what you seek from him."
HK-47's head swiveled to face Cinder. "Recollection: Master, I recall all I need to know. Statement: Engaging assassination protocol." Suddenly, he swiveled his carbine down from his chest and blasted a hole through the nearest guard. Mandalore stood still as the other guard moved to restrain the droid. HK answered with an elbow to his helmet. He went reeling backwards, falling back against the metal railing with a sharp clang. HK kicked him in the chest, snapping the railing at the center and sending the guard falling in front of Cinder. She blinked when half the rod, its end a sharp point, fell like a spear into the guard's chest. He groped and pawed at it with shaky hands before his arms slumped at his sides.
HK pointed his gun at Manadalore, the barrel making a clink against the forehead of his helmet. He looked to Cinder for a moment. "Query: Master, shall I finish what Revan started?"
The Mandalorian said nothing, but it was clear he smiled underneath his helmet. He started clapping, slowly at first, then building up to full applause. The audience of soldiers joined in, loosing a bevy of cheers and jeers and raucous celebration. With one hand, Mandalore cupped HK's shoulder. The droid pulled the trigger.
Mandalore laughed and headbutted the gun away. A new pair of guardsmen swiftly moved to restrain the failed assassin. One took the Hk-47's arms behind his back while the other fastened a series of restraining bolts around each of his joints, culminating in a large one at his collar.
"Your plan failed, your highness," Mandalore chuckled as he turned to face Cinder. The blaster bolt left a scorch mark in the center of his mask like a smudge of ash. Smoke spewed forth from it in long, spindled fingers.
Cinder let out a chuckle of her own. "I assure you, Great Mandal'or, I had no plan." She shrugged. "If you knew the tales of Revan and his droid, you would be well aware of HK-47's... fickle disposition."
"Frustration: I am not fickle!" HK-47 said. He was trying his damnedest to free himself from the restraining bolts, but only his fingers could move.
"He thinks that I am Mandalore the Ultimate, bless his corroded metal heart," Mandalore said, shooting quick glances between Cinder and his would-be assassin. "In any case I appreciate your choice of gift, Lady Cinder." He sighed. "The droid will make a fine addition to my collection."
"Your collection?"
Mandalore returned to his throne. He reclined in the seat, rearing his head back and resting his arms across his lap. "I seek to remind my people of a better time. But that is of little import.
"First, I will give credit where it is due. You are a true Sith, descended from Revan's line. Why else would the droid be in your possession?" He gave HK-47 another glance and nodded his head. "You are not a craven like your master, nor a whelp like the girl who stands beside you, scared of her own shadow.
"I respect you, Lady Cinder. I respect you a hell of a lot more than that coward Ruin. He offered to carve me a spot in the Mid Rim, a series of worlds that I could rule on my own. All I have to do is aid him in his little war." He leaned forward and looked straight at her. "Tell me, what do you bring to the table?"
"I have no desire to entangle myself in this little love affair between you and the Republic," Cinder said. "I gave you my offering. My request is that you leave the Jedi to us." She heard Fell starting to speak and raised her hand to shush him. No, not this time, boy. "Leave the Mid Rim, leave the Jedi Lords. Head to the outskirts of the Outer Rim, to Wild Space. There you will find myriad worlds ripe for the taking."
Mandalore said nothing.
Cinder sighed. "I suppose that if you must help us in this war, I will grant you and your people a substantial chunk of the Galactic Core. A joint alliance of the Mandalorian clans and the Sith Empire would assure complete control of the galaxy. None could oppose us."
He laughed at her. "You offer me the Core, after the war is won. None will oppose us you say. What purpose does that serve me or my people? We live to fight." He stomped to his feet. "I burn what I please, Dark Lady. These worlds mean nothing to me: they are arenas for my people to hone their skills in battle, to baptize themselves in the cleansing blood of our enemies, to forge themselves anew in the eternal glory of war. He laughed heartily. "'None could oppose us,' you say. We need opposition. Without war there is nothing to live for! Nothing!
"We crusade against the Republic. We fight to restore the glory of our ancestors, who were beaten back not by the strength of that bloated web of incompetence, but by the Jedi. By Revan, who would eventually become one of you. You Sith..." He slammed the butt of his staff against the ground again, so hard it brought sparks flickering forth. "You come to pick up the pieces, shoving your heads into a righteous war and calling for aid against what you think to be a common foe. You are vultures."
"We share a common enemy," she reminded him.
"The enemy of my enemy is still my enemy." He pointed the staff's empty head at Cinder. She stared into it, eyeing each of the glinting barrels within. Suddenly, he lowered it to his side. "I know how I will make my decision." He eased back into his seat, draping his arms over the sides. "A game."
"A game?" Fell said before Cinder could stop him. "We don't have time for this."
"Is someone speaking here?" Mandalore made a show of looking around. "Since Lord Ruin is not here, his whelp will represent him. Lady Cinder, you will face her."
"In combat?" Cinder began creeping her hand down towards her saber hilt.
"No," Mandalore said with a sinister laugh. "In the great hunt."