"Vode an, kar'ta tor." - "Comrades all, one heart of justice."
From "Kar'ta Tor", a traditional Mandalorian war chant
Qihn, Pyth Prime
Cazur could not remember the last time he had been so tired.
Every day since arriving on Pyth Prime was work from sunrise to sunset. If it wasn't planning tactics and contingencies, it was preparing fighting positions. If it wasn't inspecting and cleaning weapons, it was training the militia of Qihn in code phrases and alerts, performing drills and maneuvers. On top of all this was putting out the one-thousand little fires that sprang up amid the reality of a populace being forced to sit and wait for war to come to their doorstep. Even seasoned veterans cracked under the pressure of waiting for the proverbial hammer to fall. Cazur knew that the moment he had stepped off the Kath Hound that he could not show weakness. If he was not the very image of stoic and unafraid strength, the tenuous morale of his new allies would suffer, potentially irrevocably.
But damn it all if it wasn't exhausting.
And Cazur was far from the only member of the Kath Hound's crew that was putting in work. The others were scattered hither and yon, putting their own areas of expertise into effect. Whether it was Stroyh figuring out how to get power to a newly erected support weapon emplacement or Hylt devising ways to turn Qihn's circular streets into traps, Zej marking the best spots for ambushes and Kavala constantly on the move relaying communications, everyone was dead on their feet, yet grit their teeth and kept plowing ahead. Cazur was proud of them, no matter how things were about to turn out.
The sun had gone down. It was two days before the Aruetti were predicted to return. Cazur was seated in what passed for a cantina in Qihn, nursing some kind of bitter and spicy spirit made from vegetables grown in a personal garden of one of Qihn's residents. He wanted to lay his head down on the table before him and close his eyes. One more hour, he told himself. One more hour, then he would be able to retire for rest.
No money was exchanged in the cantina. In fact, money was almost never exchanged between the citizens of Qihn at all. People seemed to share what they had freely, with money only going to the village's essentials like farming equipment and building materials. As such, Cazur hadn't had to fork over a single credit for the drinks he'd partaken in almost every night in Qihn. He just hoped all his work would pay for their generosity.
The room was bright. An ancient jukebox still dutifully churned out music that was probably a few hundred years old at this point. Laughter was a little too eager, conversation just a little too loud. The people drowning their concerns in the cantina knew the clock was about to run out. Everyone was going to find out whether or not their preparations had been anything more than a placebo effect.
"It's getting to the point where it's going to be strange that you're not occupying that seat every night, I think." A voice that had rapidly grown familiar said.
Cazur half-smiled, looking back to see Sintra approaching. They might have been the only person in Qihn that looked more worn out than Cazur felt. Sintra flopped down beside Cazur, a full drink placed in front of them by a bartending droid before they were even fully settled.
"It's a good spot. Always seems to be something to drink here." Cazur said softly.
"Just here for the drinks, then?" Sintra asked, looking sly.
"Company could be worse." Cazur said, but as Sintra inhaled to reply, he added, "could be better, though."
Sintra scoffed, lightly thumping Cazur's bicep with a fist. "And here I was starting to think people were wrong about Mandalorians", they said, shaking their head.
Both laughed. Cazur had seen much of Sintra over the previous days, but this was the first time it had been in a casual circumstance.
"Really? And what have you heard people say?" Cazur asked.
"Oh, I don't think you want me to repeat any of it. Would hate to drive you off right before the fight." Sintra said with a snicker. They drained their glass in one go and motioned for a refill.
"My imagination will fill in the gaps well enough, I'm sure." Cazur said.
They sat in silence for a little bit, each sipping their drinks. Slowly, people were filtering out of the cantina behind them.
"This town's lucky to have you, Sintra." Cazur said.
"Obviously." Sintra said. The warmth that colored their voice betrayed their false arrogance. "It's funny, but I haven't been here for most of my life. I used to be a hunter for hire. When things were good, I was being hired to take down or bait away dangerous animals near settlements. When they were bad, it was taking rich Core bastards out on expeditions, shooting stuff so they could pose in front of the bodies and feel like brave adventurers." They shook their head. "Never thought I'd settle down anywhere. I came back to Pyth Prime chasing the legend of some giant beast that didn't actually exist. I was using Qihn as my home base for the hunt and just sort of…never ended up leaving again."
"Do you regret it?" Cazur asked.
"Not yet. Maybe one day I'll want to travel again. But for now, especially after what we're about to do, my place is here." Sintra said. They looked over at Cazur. "What about you? Is there anyplace you call home?"
"The Kath Hound is my home." Cazur answered. "There is a place where some of my Clan is stationary, but it's more of a…waystation rather than a true home. It's where the Clan can gather, rest, and hopefully, return to our homeworld as one on the day a new Mandalore calls us to their banner."
"I see." Sintra said. They rolled their shoulders. "Is there anyone waiting for you out there somewhere? Anyone special, I mean."
"No. There isn't." Cazur said, wondering where this question was coming from. "Believe it or not, I had a crush on Hylt when she first joined the Kath Hound's crew, but that didn't last long. As for anyone else…never really had the time. I've always been more worried about my Clan. Especially about Kavala. I was only a couple of years older than her when she came into my care."
"I see." Sintra said again. They leaned an elbow on the bar, resting a fist against their cheek. "You know, if Qihn is lucky to have me, I think Clan Mharal is lucky to have you."
"Obviously." Cazur parroted their own response.
Several seconds ticked by. Sintra seemed to come to some kind of decision as they finished the remnants of their glass.
"Hopefully, next time we sit down like this, it will be in celebration of victory." The hunter said. They stood, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "Though, you're welcome to join me for one more drink back at my place, if you'd like."
Cazur thought about that, looking down into his empty glass. Sintra's yawn proved contagious and the one that overtook him was big enough to make his jaw pop. A novice in matters of the heart he might have been, but Cazur wasn't that oblivious. A large part of him wanted to say yes. He'd come to admire Sintra over the past week for both their courage and their cunning. Yet, in his mind's eye, he saw Zej placing her hand over his, remembered her excitement at the idea of dancing with him, and a dozen other little things from the previous months. But, most of all, he remembered Zej's song.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Cazur was clinging to the old ways just as Ixi had done. But he had found his Muse. Others shared their hearts easily with many people, and that could be a beautiful thing in and of itself. Cazur wasn't wired that way.
"I think I've hit my limit for the night. Should probably get some shut eye or I'll be snoring when the Aruetti show up." Cazur said.
Cazur saw a brief flash of disappointment in Sintra's face, but it was gone moments later.
"And that won't make for a very good story, will it?" The hunter posited, giving Cazur a nod and an agreeable smile. "Goodnight, Cazur."
"Goodnight." Cazur said as they left. Though he felt some guilt over disappointing Sintra, he knew it was the right call.
With a deep sigh, Cazur pushed himself to his feet. He wasn't sure he was even going to have the energy to get out of his armor when he got back to his cot.
The day arrived as if it didn't know what was about to happen. The sun was bright and the sky was clear. Pyth Prime proved it cared little for dramatic setting.
Cazur crouched in the window of someone's bedroom, peering out from the darkness from the second story. In the street below stood Sintra, alongside two members of the militia. On the ground before Sintra was a hefty metal case, as well as several bales of yellow-brown ganch leaves. The bales were only about two feet long, half that in height and width.
Cazur kept his breathing slow and steady. The idea of even seeing Kroeth again threatened to overcome him with anger. The test that Hylt had spoken of was coming. If it came down to it, what was more important; Qihn, or Kroeth? Cazur prayed he didn't have to decide. He hoped by killing the latter they would save the former.
There were so many variables that could go wrong here. The bandits might be bringing heavier weapons than expected. They might have recruited more than expected. No plan could cover all contingencies. Yet, this was where Cazur belonged. The uncertainties of the battle were balanced by that certainty.
Other than his pistols, Cazur held the heavy repeating blaster he had lent to Strategos Verra back on Xenophon, as well as a trio of thermal detonators. He also had one more surprise leaning against the other side of the window. The Kath Hound's armory had been practically cleaned out for this fight. They were lucky the Lauk assassination had paid so well. On top of the jobs that had followed it, replenishing the munitions that were about to be spent wasn't as daunting as it would have been otherwise.
Cazur cocked his head as he heard the distant whine of speeder engines drawing closer.
"Incoming." Cazur said over the comms to his crew. "Final checks."
One by one, Zej, Kavala, Stroyh, and Hylt informed Cazur that they were ready to go. He saw Sintra look up to the window where he was sitting. They smiled and offered a thumbs-up. Cazur returned the gesture.
The engines grew louder. They rapidly changed from a distant drone to an encompassing buzz as stars knew how many of them circled the outside of Qihn, daring anyone to try to flee. Some more of them did the same thing in the circular streets between buildings, hollering and cackling as they fired blasters into the air.
Sintra held their nerve. They waited with their hunting rifle slung across their back until a half-dozen vehicles stopped before her; three landspeeders and three swoop bikes. Two of the landspeeders were two-seaters, their rear seats sacrificed to make room for surplus E-Web blaster emplacements bolted onto the rear. The third speeder was the largest, holding four Aruetti, its back half a covered cargo bed. All told, almost a dozen gangers dismounted from the speeders stopped before Sintra. The E-Webs remained pointed at the hunter. The ganger wore bright leathers of various colors; denoting which groups they belonged to before the formation of the Aruetti, no doubt.
Fiery anger spiked in Cazur's gut as he saw Kroeth dismount from the cargo speeder. The only thing that had obviously changed about him was his helmet was almost covered in tally marks now. All it would take was tossing a thermal detonator and Ixi would be avenged. There was no way to do so without killing Sintra, of course. To be so near, yet so far, from vengeance was infuriating. Cazur reminded himself of his oath to protect Qihn. Sintra was trusting them. They were all trusting him.
"Right on time, as usual." Kroeth said with an audible sneer. He walked up slowly, hand resting casually on the grip of a hand-cannon of a pistol. Cazur recognized it. It was a plasma blaster. Even a Mando in beskar'gam had to be wary of a weapon like that.
"You don't exactly give us much choice, do you?" Sintra asked rhetorically.
"No. And yet, some of you backwater fools still try to wriggle out of it or beat around the bush. Not Qihn. Good, reliable Qihn, always pays up. Always know the way things work." Kroeth said. The circling gangers that were still mounted slowed their circuitous paths, but did not become stationary.
Kroeth gestured to his goons. The gangers started grabbing the bales of ganch and hauling them to the cargo speeder.
"Then let us pay up." Sintra snapped, kicking the metal case at their feet towards Kroeth.
The dar'manda stopped the case's slide with his boot. Slowly, and with obvious relish, he picked it up, undid the latches, and looked inside. Credit ingots looked back at him. They were low-denomination ingots, but for a settlement the size of Qihn, it was a substantial tribute.
Closing the case, Kroeth said, "Of course. Pleasure doing business as always."
The last of the bales was loaded into the cargo speeder. Kroeth turned to climb back into it. Cazur tensed. It was just about…
Kroeth stopped.
"Actually…one more thing…", the crime boss said, turning on his heel in a slow, deliberate fashion. "You see, one of my boys, he told me something crazy. Said a certain ship was circling overhead of this village about a week back. A Starstreak. Now, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
"We don't control who flies where, Reaver." Sintra retorted. "So a ship flew overhead. What of it?"
"Did it land here? Stop in to sample the local strain?" Kroeth asked further.
Sintra hesitated for an instant. They hadn't been expecting this. Cazur hadn't either. He fought down panic.
"No. They didn't land." Sintra answered.
Kroeth let out a long, theatrical sigh. "Alright. Let's try this." He cleared his throat, then spoke in a shout. "Any of you idiot farmers hiding right now, listen up! I'm going to make you a deal. Whoever stepped off that ship and offered to help you deal with us, hand them over. Alive, dead, I don't care. Do that, and not only will I give back this tribute, I'll make you exempt from the next one. Hell, you step up good enough, I'll even let you join the gang! How's that sound; no more breaking your back to pay your dues. It'll be your turn to be on top, what do you say?"
No one emerged. Cazur never doubted that. Kroeth had waited too long, done too much damage to the psyche of Qihn.
Cazur saw Kroeth twitch, his fingers going into a rictus spasm as anger boiled through him.
"Cazur!" The dar'manda cried. "I know you're fucking around here somewhere, ner vod!" He spoke the Mando'a words with venomous contempt. "Show yourself right now or we'll burn this entire fucking village to the ground, do you here me?! You followed me all the way out here so why hide, or are you still too much of a coward to face me?! Where's the four-armed freak you brought in, or that Republic bootlicker?! Let's settle thi-..."
Something hissed. The cargo speeder erupted into a great fireball. Kroeth was thrown onto his face, several of the gangers dying to flame and shrapnel.
"Damn it." Cazur snarled as he tossed aside an empty rocket tube, then leaned out the window with his repeater to gun down the Aruetti manning one of the mounted E-Webs. He shifted his aim to the other one, but Sintra's hunting rifle reported and disintegrated the gunner's head. "Stroyh! Go!" He called into the comm. "Everyone! Now!"
Cazur watched as Kroeth rose to a knee, his plasma pistol unleashing a searing azure bolt that struck one of the militia fighters square in the chest. The shot hollowed them out, burning clean through the unfortunate fighter.
"Kill them! Kill them all!" The Reaver bellowed.
Kroeth was hit by the other militiaman and Sintra, but his breastplate and helm absorbed the blaster fire and his jetpack shrieked into life. The crime boss turned his aim on the other militiaman.
The plasma bolt went wide as Cazur cannoned into his erstwhile brother, the zabrak's own jetpack flaring and carrying the two of them in an aerial tumble above Qihn. Their course sent them in an arc, until a jarring impact on the flat roof of a longhouse sent Kroeth rolling away.
The two warriors pushed themselves up.
"Caz'vod! So good to see you!" Kroeth exclaimed, lifting his plasma pistol.
Cazur fired off a three-round burst. One of the bolts struck the gun from Kroeth's hand. The crime boss was already storming forward, a beskad in his grip. He slashed at Cazur, who tried to block with his repeater. The beskar blade sheared clean through the zabrak's rifle, forcing him to fall back with and draw his own blades.
Beskad clashed with beskad. The two warriors locked blades, jockeying for advantage.
"You haven't neglected your training, I see, Caz'vod." Kroeth said.
"You don't get to call me that, dar'manda!" Cazur roared.
The zabrak shoved his opponent back, slashing out twice. Kroeth weaved and blocked, planting his feet wide and awaiting further assault.
"I cut out a cancer in the heart of our Clan before it could fester, and you dare to name me as dar'manda?!" Kroeth breathed, sounding legitimately shocked.
It was Cazur's turn to sneer. "You murdered your Clan-sister and the one that she loved in cold blood! The only cancer was you. You can still claim credit for removing it, though, since you ran away like a fucking coward, jakaar!"
Kroeth screamed in fury and attacked, his beskad scything in. Cazur blocked it with his left hand blade, then riposted with a slash from the right. A furrow appeared in Kroeth's left pauldron as Cazur's beskad scratched across it. Kroeth flared his jetpack, lifting up and back, swinging upward with a kick. It connected with Cazur's left hand and the beskad was sent spinning away, planting itself point down in the roof behind him.
The dar'manda landed, flourishing his beskad, then threw himself foward.
Cazur raised his remaining blade and moved to meet his enemy with a cry of, "Mharal, Our Mother!"
The moment the cargo speeder went up in flames, the defenders of Qihn set their plan in motion.
Bundles of ganch stems, usually used for composting or weaving hats and baskets, had been tied with cloth that had been stained with machine grease. These were set alight and thrown into the streets, creating a haze of thick smoke. More than Aruetti ran into their comrades as they tried to navigate their way out of the smoke, creating yet more fires as wrecked vehicles and a few buildings ignited.
Chief Halaine had championed the final arrangement of the defenders. Rather than spread them across the entire village, several buildings had been fortified into strongpoints near where Sintra had made the false exchange. Overlapping fields of fire and support had been created, rather than isolated small groups or individuals that could be surrounded and overwhelmed at the leisure of the enemy.
The defenders immediately started shooting at the Aruetti that were within reach. At first, the fighting was entirely one-sided as confused gangers milled about on their vehicles. Pile-ups occurred in several places, twisted masses of wrecked swoop bikes and a few speeders impeding the maneuverability of the attackers. Those who slowed and dismounted were easy prey for the Qihn militia.
The battle was well and truly on, and it was time for the Kath Hound's crew to do their part.
The Kath Hound left the hangar and floated out over the town. Stroyh had argued incessantly with Halaine, Sintra, and Lence to allow him to free fire. The town would be annihilated by the enemy if they lost, regardless, and some of it would be destroyed in the course of the fighting just from collateral damage. The volpai had been argued down every time, not just by the denizens of Qihn, but by Cazur as well. Well, it wasn't his ass that was going to be in the fire, regardless. He just hoped the more than one-hundred noncombatants crowding his ship weren't touching anything. Sure, it was technically Cazur's ship, but with how much sweat and blood Stroyh had put into it, the volpai felt he could claim joint custody. Surly as he made himself out to be, Stroyh wished he could have fit all the noncombatants. An equal number, mostly the elderly or those who couldn't fight for one reason or another, were locked down and sheltering inside Qihn's central dome.
Stroyh drifted the Kath Hound to the outside of town, where the majority of the Aruetti still were. He wasted no time strafing them with the ship's fixed front-facing blaster cannons, feeling savage glee as a pair of swoop bikes and a speeder went up in flames. Kavala was ensconced in the lower turret blister, scoring a pair of kills herself. Though she had fiercely insisted on being on the ground, she had eventually been persuaded that she'd get more kills from the air, and that was proving true as she obliterated one of the technicals. Stroyh hadn't trusted any of the locals to man the turret.
This unexpected assault from above sent the Aruetti into a temporary panic, but it wasn't long before several speeder technicals were responding with torrents of E-Web fire sent skyward. Stroyh sent the Kath Hound into evasive maneuvers. Unfortunately for the gangers, this was a perfectly acceptable set of circumstances. If the Kath Hound couldn't destroy them, holding their attention away from the people on the ground was perfectly acceptable. There wasn't much an E-Web was going to do against a moving ship with fully operational deflector shields.
Laughing triumphantly as he brought the Hound about and made another pass on the Aruetti, it took Stroyh a moment to realize that the piercing whine he was hearing wasn't the sound of the engines as he pulled out of a dive that, between himself and Kavala, left four more smoking hulks in the ship's wake.
Stroyh's four eyes darted to the console before him. A warning lamp he didn't see come on very often was blinking insistently.
"Oh, haar'chak!" Stroyh cursed. "Missile lock! Everybody hold on!"
Stroyh heard dozens of alarmed cries as he banked the Kath Hound and watched the burning streak of a missile's propellant trail whizz by the viewport. Luckily, the grav-plating in the ship's floors kept everyone from being tossed around.
"Kav, you see what fired it?" Stroyh comm'd.
"Think I saw a shoulder-fired SAM launcher." The zygerrian responded. "Give me an angle and I'll blast this thing out of the air."
Stroyh didn't voice his skepticism. It wasn't a knock against Kavala. Hitting something as small as a shoulder-fired surface-to-air missile would be difficult without advanced targeting software, which the Kath Hound did not possess. No, Stroyh would have to throw the missile off, or avoid it until it ran out of propellant. The volpai grimaced as his evasive course took him further and further away from Qihn, but the civilians he had aboard were the priority, he had been told time and again. Stroyh could only hope the others could hold on until he came back.
The Kath Hound was driving the Aruetti to either flee or enter the village proper. The smoke, in turn, was making them dismount their vehicles for fear of crashing.
It was here that Zej and Hylt made their play.
Zej dove from an open window, running up on a twi'lek Aruetti who was scanning around with a blaster rifle. Her vibroknife punched through the back of the man's skull and she kept running as Hylt's beskad opened the belly of another. By the time other gangers were shooting at the flitting wraiths in the smoke, Zej and Hylt were already across the street and concealed in the interior of another building.
Zej put her back to the wall by the window she had just dived through, pistol in one hand and knife in the other. She looked across to Hylt, who was flicking the blood from her beskad. The Mandalorian nodded at Zej.
As smoke filled the air, Zej was grateful for the rebreather mask she wore over her eyes, nose, and mouth. Killing all the gangers was a hopeless endeavor. Killing enough to break their will was much more achievable. As the disemboweled twi'lek screamed and screamed, vainly trying to stuff his guts back into his body, Zej saw shapes moving up on them through the smoke. Beyond the incoming forms, red and blue lights lit up the smog as defenders and attackers both traded shots. Every now and then a new cry of pain would add to the cacophony, or an orange-yellow bloom would indicate another vehicle destroyed.
Zej watched as Hylt pulled a thermal detonator from a mag-strip across her chest, armed it, and tossed it out the door to land among the incoming gangers. White light flashed, the air filled with a thunderous detonation, and three Aruetti were vaporized, others thrown off their feet by the blast. Dust and debris were whipped through the doorway, but the two infiltrators broke cover and got stuck in among their hunters before the gangers could recover. Both Zej and Hylt found their respective blades running red, dripping with blood as they left behind the corpses of their victims. Zej couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence. They were dismantling every group of Aruetti they encountered so far. These gangers were clearly not suited for proper combat. Had all their anxieties been for naught? Was the battle for Qihn going to be an easy victory after all?
Zej felt hands under her arms and heard Hylt grunting with the effort of holding her as the Mando's jetpack whooshed. The twi'lek's feet left the ground just in time for a flurry of blaster bolts to pass through where the two of them had been. Where a single squad of gangers had been, twice that number were now advancing, scouring the village for any resistance. Zej cursed herself for her premature thoughts of victory, firing her pistol into the incoming group of hostiles as Hylt and she landed.
"Go left. I'lll go right. Get into cover and pick off who you can. We'll split their attention. Make them think there's more of us than there really is." Hylt said, letting Zej go.
"On it. Good luck." Zej replied, moving as Hylt had suggested. She would make the Aruetti regret ever coming here.
Bucket was having the time of its life. Or whatever simulacrum of life it possessed. Such philosophical questions were for Jedi and other boring scholars to consider. Bucket had been crafted for war ever since it came off the assembly lines of Geonosis. There was a certain irony in Bucket's current service. Many Clone Troopers, especially the Commandos and ARC Troopers, had been trained by Mandalorians. Thus, Bucket had spent the first several years of its existence fighting against Mando-trained warriors. To now be serving at the behest of Mandalorians may have crossed a wire or two in the logic centers of some droids, but not Bucket. The Kath Hound's crew, especially Kavala, took good care of the droid, and had increased its killing power by an order of magnitude through countless upgrades. How, then, could Bucket be anything but a loyal killing machine in their service?
The anti-personnel rocket on Bucket's shoulder hissed into motion, bursting to shred a pair of Aruetti that were trying to find cover inside a building. Bucket's motion-sensors picked out more of the gangers moving through the smoke, its rotary blaster shifting unerringly to track, lead, and gun them down. There was blaster scoring in a few places on the droid's chassis. Durasteel was not as strong as beskar, but Bucket's armor was far thicker than that of its squishy organic compatriots.
Bucket strolled down the middle of one of Qihn's streets, metal feet thumping over and over again. Its deflector shield was deployed, flashing as blaster bolts impacted it. Bucket put down the ganger that had fired the shots before they could duck back behind the wrecked speeder that was their cover.
Several blaster bolts struck Bucket in the back. One of its victims had been playing dead and was now up on a knee. One of the shots made a lucky hit, slagging the droid's rocket launcher on its left shoulder. And that was why it didn't load a rocket until it was ready to fire.
Bucket turned, approaching its attacker with one great stride. As it did, a two-foot long blade unsheathed from its right wrist. The blade entered the ganger's belly at a steep upward angle, doing stars knew what to the weequay's slimy internals. Bucket lifted the ganger off his feet, holding him eye to ocular sensor. The Aruetti kicked and thrashed and howled in agony.
"This unit requests that, when you find yourself in hell, you inform them it was this unit that sent you there." Bucket said.
The rotary blaster fired at point-blank range. The Aruetti's essentially melted under the fusilade. Bucket was splattered with steaming blood and gobbets of half-cooked flesh.
"This unit is not looking forward to the lecture it will get from Kavala." Bucket let out a rush of static; an approximation of a sigh, as it trudged onward. It could hear the fight intensifying, with screams and maddened laughter mingling together, a great rush of sound that only happened when a new mass of combatants joined an ongoing fray.
Bucket's emotional simulation core returned joy and anticipation.
"What a day. What a lovely day." Bucket mused, tromping towards the battle.
The fighting grew more intense as a concentrated push was made by the Aruetti. Though they weren't receiving orders from their leader, the Reaver's lieutenants had managed to bully them into a push at the area where the fighting was the fiercest. The Aruetti tried to take positions in the windows of the buildings surrounding those fortified by the defenders, but found simple traps impeding them; pits dug into the floors, nailed boards swinging down to impale them, or even jets of undiluted pesticides sprayed in their faces after setting off trip wires.
Those that tried to take the strong points faired little better, initially. The entrances had been barricaded, leaving the Aruetti exposed to blaster fire from multiple angles. In those first few, frantic minutes of combat, there were already a few dozen dead gangers in the streets.
But it was quickly becoming apparent that Halaine's estimate of about one-hundred was old information.
A few of the Aruetti hurled homemade firebombs at one of the strongpoint buildings. As the flames spread, one of the defenders within lost their nerve and frantically cleared the barricade. The bandits stormed the building. A brief, merciless struggle of room to room fighting ended with the strong point in Aruetti hands. It was, ironically enough, cold comfort that the fire would keep them from using it themselves.
Seeing that only made the surviving defenders fight all the harder.
Zej heard the distinctive crack of Sintra's hunting rifle over the din of battle. An Aruetti that had been about to throw a firebomb had the makeshift ordinance shot out of her hand. It exploded, coating the ganger and her surrounding compatriots in burning fuel.
Zej let them burn, instead using that distraction to dive out of a first-story window, rolling up to her feet and finding herself between two Aruetti who were backing away from their burning, thrashing comrades. Her knife ended them both, her pistol taking a third on the other side of the immolated group. Another spotted her, but a blaster bolt between his shoulder blades sent his own planned burst of shots skyward as he fell.
The twi'lek fell back, fleeing back into the house she had emerged from. As she mantled over the window sill and decided on her next move, a four-armed besalisk Aruetti slammed into her. The ganger tried to tackle her to the ground but Zej managed to keep her feet under her. Even so she was driven back, her arms pinned by the lower pair of the besalisk's. His upper hands carried a stun stick and a blaster pistol. Zej managed to worm aside from a jab of the stun stick but saw stars explode across her vision as the besalisk pistol whipped her across the face.
"Gonna take you alive and make you dance for me, worm-head!" The besalisk guffawed as he jabbed the stunner once more. Again Zej managed to move, but not quite enough. A crackle of energy crawled across her flank, making the muscles there spasm. Zej gasped in pain, but she still had control of her body.
Which allowed the twi'lek to throw her prosthetic knee between the besalisk's legs.
The ganger let out a pathetic wheeze as he knees buckled. Now was not the time for some cutting retort, and sow Zej merely jabbed her vibroknife into the besalisk's eye, twisted the blade, then wrenched it free.
The besalisk toppled back, revealing three more gangers that had been drawn by the scuffle coming down a hallway before her.
Zej used the toe of her boot to flick the stun stick up into the air, then spun and kicked it, sending the stunner straight into the midsection of the leading Aruetti. Coils of shocking energy undulated over his torso, causing the ganger to stop in place and block the way for his fellows.
Knife in hand, Zej covered the distance. In short order, all three Aruetti in the hallway were dead. The twi'lek leaned against one wall, feeling like she couldn't breathe fully with her mask on, yet knowing it was the only thing keeping her with a clear head. The pain in her side was intense, and blood ran down her face from where her brow had been split. Zej was already feeling exhausted, yet the fight clearly wasn't over.
But that was the thing. The fight wasn't over. The others, however many of them were left, were still holding on.
Steeling herself, Zej pushed off the wall. It was time to find more gangers to kill.
For the moment, Cazur was squaring things in his mind by telling himself that by staying locked in combat with Kroeth, the Reaver wouldn't be able to command his forces, making the assault on the town disorganized and easier to fight off. The logic wasn't enough to silence the truth of things entirely. A dream of a whisper floated through the bars of reason to alight upon his consciousness like a bitisng insect about to draw blood from living flesh; this was pure, selfish vengeance.
Cazur hacked low at Kroeth's legs, with the crime boss blocked. Kroeth riposted with a flat-palmed punch to Cazur's sternum. The blow did not damage but it did shove the zabrak back a step. Kroeth slashed at the Mando, his beskad peeling away a curling sliver of metal and paint from Cazur's breastplate.
The two fighters breathed heavily, circling each other. Cazur was bleeding from a shallow wound under his left arm, while Kroeth had a minor cut between his breastplate and the armor of his right thigh. Around them, chaos reigned within Qihn. The fighting was getting more intense. Where the hell was the Kath Hound?
"All your friends are dying down there, Caz'vod." Kroeth said between gasping breaths. "Shame I won't be able to kill them myself."
"Since they'd be fighting back, I doubt you'd be able to." Cazur retorted. He should have drawn his pistol and opened up, trying to hit a weak point in Kroeth's armor, or at least distract him. It was just one more thing Cazur wasn't being rational about. He needed to end this blade to blade, to feel beskar biting into Kroeth's flesh, just as the traitor had done to Ixi and Na're.
Kroeth, it seemed, had no such compunction.
As the two duelists were about to meet again, Kroeth lifted his left bracer. A jet of fire lanced forth from the bracer, filling Cazur's visor with blinding light. The same heat dispersion that made beskar'gam resistant to blasters also worked against flames, but the padded jumpsuit he wore beneath it was another story. It was suited for extreme temperatures, but not this extreme. What was worse, Cazur could feel the heat washing up inside his helm. He could not only feel, but hear and smell his own flesh cooking. The zabrak's only saving grace was the flamethrower was a holdout weapon meant for surprise attacks just like that one. The flames cut off after a short span.
A scream of pain escaped Cazur and he stumbled back under the assault. He heard Kroeth's jetpack ignite. The dar'manda meant to use the momentum given by his jetpack to drive his beskad clean through Cazur's armor and into his heart. By some miracle, Cazur was able to parry the attack, but Kroeth still slammed into him, his redirected attack going deep into the zabrak's bicep instead. Cazur was launched backwards, the hand at the end of his wounded arm letting his remaining blade slip free. The zabrak went soaring across the roof and slammed down, his helmet bouncing off of something. He saw Kroeth running up on him, beskad raised high, and Cazur knew his could draw his pistol…
…but he realized what his helmet had struck.
Kroeth had his beskad in both hands and was about to plunge the weapon down into Cazur's gut when the zabrak raised Kroeth's plasma pistol and fired.
The miniature azure sun hit Kroeth and carried him back, causing his beskar'gam to glow orange-hot and badly deform. Kroeth shrieked and shrieked, desperately trying to cut away the armor as it cooked him alive.
Cazur was shakily getting to his feet, intent on finishing things when his comms came to life.
"Cazur! Stroyh! Anybody! We can't hold much longer! Where are you?!" Sintra was in a panic, and Cazur could hear constant gunfire through the comm transmission. "They've taken strong points One and Three, and the others are about to get broken in!"
It was as if some pernicious god had reached down and decided that nothing was going to be simple that day. Cazur saw Kroeth's jetpack ignite as the dar'manda fled, the crime boss's rapidly cooling breastplate falling away with a final jerk of his beskad. Cazur could give chase. His jetpack would have more fuel. All he had to do was go after him, and without that breastplate, Cazur could get the kill. The Clan would be avenged.
But at what cost?
With a string of furious curses, Cazur tore his attention from Kroeth's shrinking form. He'd be keeping the dar'manda's sidearm. After hurrieldy collecting up his fallen beskads, Cazur kicked his jetpack into gear. He put everything else away, using his good arm to take up one of his thermal detonators as he soared over the street. Through the haze, he could see numerous bodies strewn everywhere, some still moving and clutching injuries. Cazur flew over where the Aruetti were mostly gathered, fighting to break into the remaining strong points.
All three of his thermal detonators fell from above. It's impossible to say how many Aruetti were consumed in the explosions that followed, but it was enough. Still without orders from Kroeth, their numbers absolutely ravaged, the raiders started to flee in ones and twos.
"Reaver is dead!" Cazur bellowed as he flew above them, shooting into the fleeing foes with a blaster pistol. "Reaver is dead!" It wasn't true, of course, but the word would spread until it was proven otherwise, especially when they didn't see Kroeth anywhere.
As the Aruetti reached their vehicles, the Kath Hound returned at long last. It harried the fleeing bandits, the sounds of its blaster cannons and the explosions of their targets growing fainter and fainter in the distance. They may not have had the chance to help with much of the battle, but at least the bandit population of the Scintilo Lowlands would be at an all-time low for years to come, once Stroyh's spiteful vengeance was meted out.
Cazur landed in the street, away from the fires. His burned face and punctured arm were pulsing in freshing pain with each beat of his heart, blood streaming down the injured limb to drip from his fingers.
Unheeding of anything else, Cazur sat down among the dead and the dying that had once been the Aruetti gang. Around him, Qihm burned. He already knew without asking that most of the militia was dead, and highly doubted anyone got out unscathed.
"Hy'vod. Zej. Sound off." Cazur's voice was a hoarse croak.
"I'm here. Minimal injuries." Hylt informed him.
"I am…better off than many others." Zej said. "Are you well, Cazur?"
Cazur scanned his surroundings. The apocalypse had come to this little corner of the Galaxy. The scars it left would be felt for generations to come.
"Yeah. I'm fine." Cazur replied in a monotone. He took off his helmet, revealing eyes filled with tears that had nothing to do with the pain. "We won, didn't we?"
The battle was over, but the fight to save Qihn wasn't. As soon as things were clear, those noncombatants who were able began using hoses hooked up to the irrigation system to try to quell the fires that were consuming their town. Professional firefighters these were not, and almost a full third of the village was lost to the conflagration. Between this, the sheer number of bodies that needed to be cleared, and the injured survivors, things looked desperate.
But there was, at least, some hope in this darkness. The call went out to the other settlements of the Lowlands for aid. When word reached them of the sacrifice Qihn had endured to destroy the Aruetti, the goodwill flowed like rivers converging on the stricken village. There had even been a collection taken up of credit donations for everything the provided goods and labor could not accomplish.
Other Lowlanders arrived in speeders and in hauler shuttles. They brought building materials and the hands to use them, temporary shelters, town doctors and medicine, food, clothing, anything and everything they could spare that might help in the reconstruction.
The Kath Hound remained for some time. Cazur and Zej both needed time to heal, while the ship itself took to ferrying supplies and people from place to place. For once, Stroyh offered no complaint about "his" ship being commandeered in such a fashion.
But, eventually, there was nothing more for the Kath Hound's crew to do. It was time to let Qihn, and the rest of the Scintilo Lowlands, forge their own path.
Qihn, Pyth Prime
The Kath Hound's departure was not nearly so crowded as its arrival. Cazur had begun to feel it over the past couple of days. All the Lowlanders, not just those of Qihn, could not help but see Mandalorian armor and be filled with one kind of negative emotion or another. While it was true that, by a law of averages, they had encountered more helpful Mandos than cruel ones, to see beskar'gam and the distinctive visors was to be reminded of the darkest hour of the Scintilo Lowlands.
Other goodbyes had already been offered. Halaine was still in intensive care up on Halcyon Station, having fought like a cornered boma beast when her strongpoint had been set alight and stormed. Countless wounds and severe burns somehow hadn't killed the old war hound that was Chief Halaine, but she had conveyed her gratitude. Lence, on the other hand, didn't acknowledge the existence of the Mandos.
And so it was a small group of Qihn's villagers, mostly militia survivors, that were there to see the Hound off. Toc was there, as were both of his sons, and they had scarcely removed their armor since the battle. Toz had an eyepatch over his left eye. Tol's right arm ended in a stump at the elbow, a prosthetic replacement having been ordered from the planetary capital.
Cazur stood at the bottom of the boarding ramp. Sintra was there, leaning on a cane, their left leg trussed up in a brace. A few bales of ganch had just been carried aboard by the other members of the crew. The engines were spooling up. The left side of the zabrak's face was still raw and pink, bacta treatments unable to prevent an uneven burn scar from forming on his neck and jaw. It reached to his mouth, causing a slight, permanent snarl.
"I know you haven't exactly been given a hero's treatment like you deserve", Sintra began, "but everyone in the Lowlands owes you their lives. Or their livelihoods, at the very least."
"We fought for the right thing. That's all that really matters." Cazur said. "I'm just…sorry the cost was so high."
"We've been over that, Cazur. Pay some now, or pay all later. One village, or all of them." Sintra cut him off. "It needed to be done. It's not pretty, but it's just simple reality. And, as you've seen over the past week, we aren't alone. We have help. We'll recover. I've even been in talks about forming one collective militia to keep this from happening again."
Cazur nodded. "That's a good idea. I'm glad to hear it. For what it's worth, I think Halaine would make for a good commander of that, if she wants it when she returns.
Sintra smiled. "Oh, trust me. I've already made the suggestion." Their smile turned bittersweet. "I'm only sorry that you didn't get what you wanted out of all this."
They were, of course, referring to the fact that Reaver got away. It was true that Kroeth's escape ate at Cazur even still. However, the zabrak had seen the new unity being forged among the Scintilo farmers, the new fire of purpose that had been lit under all of them. Yes, much had been destroyed, and casualties had been heartrending. But Qihn still stood. The bandit presence of the Lowlands had been culled to the point that it would take years to become even a minor threat again.
"Maybe not. But we got something just as good out of it, I think." Cazur said, looking down at her.
Sintra closed their eyes, that smile of theirs losing the wan edge and becoming genuine once more. "Stars above, you're something else, Cazur. I think the Galaxy needs more mercs like those on the Kath Hound."
Cazur wasn't sure how to take such a compliment, so he chuckled somewhat awkwardly, an action Sintra mirrored. Once the laughter died down they met each others eyes one final time.
"Caz'vod! We're lifting off!" Kavala shouted down the ramp.
"Well. Off to find more trouble elsewhere, it seems." Cazur said. "Goodbye, Sintra. I'm honored to have met you." He held out his hand.
Sintra grasped it. "I can assure you, Cazur Mharal, that the honor was almost entirely mine." They clasped their other hand on top of Cazur's. "Goodbye, Cazur. No matter what happens, you'll always have a friend here in Qihn."
Cazur reached out and placed a hand on Sintra's shoulder. "And you'll always have one aboard the Kath Hound, if I have anything to say about it."
They separated. Cazur began heading up the boarding ramp.
"And message me on the HoloNet from time to time, eh?" Sintra called after him as the engines grew louder.
"You'll be the first to hear about any new adventures, I promise!" Cazur replied. He pressed the button that closed the ramp, waving to Sintra one last time. The hunter returned the wave, and in spite of everything, Cazur felt buoyed by that fact that, if nothing else, he was leaving Pyth Prime with one more friend than when he had arrived.
Hyperspace
Cazur found his way up to the cockpit. Stroyh was there, performing all the necessary checks for the ship's transition into hyperspace. For all his lackadaisical and flippant nature, Stroyh could be relied upon where the Kath Hound was concerned.
Cazur leaned against the doorway of the cockpit, watching his volpai Clan-brother as Stroyh inspection of the console before him. Stroyh made notations in the ship's maintenance log on a datapad, muttering to himself as he went. Cazur could see the extra attentiveness, though; a level of focus that not even Stroyh could give the Kath Hound.
"How are you doing, ner vod?" Cazur asked him.
Stroyh glanced over his shoulder for only an instant, then continued performing his checks.
"I think you can guess pretty well, can't you?" The volpai asked.
"Try me." Cazur said.
"Well, lets see; over half our crew is banged up protecting an ungrateful dust pile of a backwater against a dar'manda that we didn't even manage to kill in the process. Then I got to play taxi service for no compensation for a week while everyone I helped looked like they smelled something bad when they saw a T-visor. Now, here we are, having wasted time, munitions, and blood we didn't get paid to replace, without a lead on another job." He looked back again, this time holding Cazur in his four-eyed gaze. "In short, Caz'vod, I'm absolutely fucking peachy."
"Didn't hear you complain about helping while we were on Pyth." Cazur pointed out.
"Yeah, well, maybe Jod'buir brainwashed me into good manners better than want to admit." Stroyh grunted, going back to his work.
In spite of the angry rant, Cazur knew Stroyh well enough to know he was as fine as could be hoped. It was when the volpai wasn't bitching about every little thing that things were really bad. So, Cazur left the cockpit without another word.
He didn't have to go far. Zej was already in the training room, which was her favorite place aboard the Kath Hound, it seemed. The twi'lek had her legs hooked over one of the pull-up bars and was doing inverted crunches.
"Doing alright, Zej?" Cazur asked her.
The twi'lek stopped, hanging upside down and looking at him, her lekku dangling almost to the floor.
"My injuries are healing as well as I could hope. You don't need to worry about me." She assured him.
"I was more referring to being…emotionally alright." Cazur clarified.
"Oh, yes." Zej said. "What happened at Qihn was unfortunate but it could have gone a lot worse. We did everything we could and everyone on the crew survived. Can't really ask for more than that."
"Oh. Well. Good." Cazur said.
"And you? Are you alright?" Zej asked.
"Yeah. Fine. I'll leave you to your workout." Cazur said, retreating from the room before he had to think too hard about his own answer to that question.
The common room was where he found Kavala. The zygerrian was laid out on the couch before the vid-screen, some documentary playing quietly, a datapad on her chest open to something that was only tertiarily related to what Kavala was watching. The short amount of time between leaving atmosphere and reaching minimum safe distance for a hyperspace jump had been enough for Kavala to pass right out, still wearing her armor.
Rather than wake her, Cazur took a folded blanket from the back of the couch, opened it up, and laid it across his Clan-sister. Her breathing was a steady half-snore, half-purr. Cazur hoped that whatever she was seeing, her dreams were peaceful. Such things were a rare luxury for those who lived the warrior's way.
Knowing he did not need to check in on Bucket, for the droid had repeatedly explained to anyone who would listen just how much fun it had during the fight for Qihn, Cazur sought out Hylt. He found his human Clan-sister within the armory in the workshop, taking stock of what was left in the armory after so much had been expended in Qihn's defense.
"Caz'vod." She said without looking. Hylt knew everyone by their particular tread upon the deck.
"Going to need to hit Nar Shaddaa for new ordinance, I take it?" Cazur asked as he went and stood beside her.
"If we want to go into battle with anything other than our fists, yes." Hylt concurred.
"Still haven't heard back from back from Ollobei. She wasn't joking about lying low." Cazur sighed. "We'll have to look elsewhere."
"I think a few more days of downtime wouldn't go amiss." Hylt said pointedly. "We all need it, Caz. Even you. Especially you."
"Me? I'm just fine." Cazur assured her.
Hylt snorted. "I could use the bags under your eyes for ammo netting. We all pushed ourselves hard on Pyth Prime, physically and emotionally. Some time where we don't have to worry about anything but convalescing would do everyone good. I heard you making the rounds. I know you don't do that if you think everything is alright."
"Just making sure everybody has their head on straight, is all." Cazur deflected.
"Right." Hylt murmured, not buying it. Leave it to the former secret agent to be able to read people.
"Well, get me a list of what we need when you can. You're right, though. Some R&R wouldn't be the worst thing. The Kath Hound needs some dry dock work, anyway." Cazur decided to excuse himself.
"Will do." Hylt said.
Cazur left the workshop. He paused briefly in the spinal hall, like he was trying to find an excuse to do…something. Anything, really. But nothing came to mind.
Cazur took the ladder down to the lower deck, then walked to the back of the ship. There, in the Kath Hound's modest cargo hold, were containers of various sizes that held the things that had no place anywhere else, everything from spare bed linens to replacement drill bits for the workshop. It had also been Kavala's favorite spot for hide and seek when she was younger; a memory that always struck Cazur when he entered there. Normally it brought a smile to his face. Not this day. He didn't bother turning on the lights. Enough ambient illumination reached in from the ladder well.
Walking around a bin that held extreme weather gear, Cazur found himself in a narrow space between said bin and the rearmost bulkhead of the Kath Hound. He put his back against the container and slid down to the floor, facing the wall.
Cazur sat there, eyes blank and focused on nothing, his only companion the gentle creaks and groans of the ship as it tunneled through hyperspace.
Hylt had been right to point it out. Cazur was tired. It was the sort of tired that sleep never chased off. The weight of it wasn't in the eyelids. It rested in the gut like a weight. It was a ball and chain dragging in the dirt, making every step forward feel like walking underwater. And deep underwater it was, deep enough to mask the light above, enough weight to make swimming up in search of it not even feel worth the effort.
Cazur hugged his legs, resting his forehead upon his knees. It was all too much. Cazur wept, a hand over his mouth to stifle his sobs as his body shook.
Sometime later, Cazur came to the sudden he realized that he wasn't alone. A shadow had appeared on his left. In the dim light, Cazur could see the profile of a twi'lek standing over him.
The zabrak sniffed, scrubbing a hand across his face, shame burning hot in his face. He hadn't wanted anyone on the crew to see him like this, especially Zej.
"I'm sorry." He said in a tight voice, not even dreaming of attempting to lie or cover up what he was doing. At this point, that would have just looked silly.
Zej's head tilted slightly to one side. Then she knelt down beside him, a hand going to his shoulder.
"Cuyir'ni duumi…gar kar'ta…beskar'gam." She said slowly. Let me be your soul's armor. An old expression of solidarity between warriors, an offer of lending one's strength when another is weak; whether it was offering an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, or a stalwart presence of silent companionship.
Cazur sniffed again, so taken aback to hear those words from Zej that the spell of his grief was, at least temporarily, broken. He wiped his eyes. Cazur had known of Kavala teaching Zej Mando'a, of course, and he really should not have been shocked that she was proving a quick study.
"Your…accent is already better than Stroyh's." Cazur said with a reluctant laugh.
And he was pleasantly surprised to hear Zej let out a soft laugh of her own.
"I've had a very good teacher." Zej said.
No words for several moments.
"Two straight weeks of maintaining a mask", Cazur said quietly. "Keeping emotion in check, presenting the veneer that everything was fine, that the battle against the Aruetti was something to be easily handled. Then, at the end of it, I had to fight a man I once called my brother. I tried to kill him. I wanted to kill him, more than anything in the Galaxy." Cazur clenched his fists. "But he escaped. And even a sector's worth of rescued villages wouldn't be enough to balance it out."
"I know." Zej said. "And you aren't wrong for feeling that way in there." She pointed at his chest. "But you also know you made the right choice in the end up here." The finger shifted to his temple.
Cazur nodded. "You're right. I know." He said, looking over at her. His eyes had adjusted to the shade around him and he could see the concern writ plainly on Zej's face. As much as he hated being the one to put that look there, another part of Cazur couldn't help but feel a certain upswing of spirit that she would care so much.
Cazur almost spilled it right there about hearing her sing, officially asking her to be his Muse. He stopped himself. Though emotion was what a Muse usually inspired, the correct ones were not present. It was a raw, vulnerable moment. Such things shouldn't be overshadowed or carelessly tacked onto others. Cazur latched onto this new purpose. He would find the right moment, and until then, he would ensure that he was a Mharin worthy of making such a request.
"Ner beskad nyir gar aru'i." He told her by way of thanks. My blade strikes your enemies.
Judging by the slight intake of breath Cazur heard from Zej, the twi'lek was aware that was not a statement lightly given to someone that was not Mando'ade.
"For the moment", she said carefully, "I'd be happy if you didn't have to draw it for a while. But when…if the time does come…"
"Then it would be my honor." Cazur insisted in a way to make it clear that the matter was settled in his mind. "I told you we would protect you back on that train, didn't I?"
Zej hesitated. She stood up slowly.
"Maybe you're scared one of us will get hurt on your behalf." Cazur rose to his feet as well. "Maybe you think what you've done in your previous life means you don't deserve it, whatever that life might have been. It doesn't matter. I've made my choice."
Zej looked at her feet.
"You don't believe me?" Cazur asked.
"I do. And that's the problem." Zej said, looking back up at him. "Because people like you aren't supposed to exist in this Galaxy."
"And we were supposed to die in Qihn, outnumbered and surrounded by bloodthirsty bandits." Cazur countered. "We were supposed to fail at killing Lauk and freeing Xenophon." He shrugged his shoulders, his palms up.
A breath left Zej's nose. She crossed her arms, looking like she was trying in earnest to come up with a counterpoint.
"We could talk in circles about this for hours." Cazur said, motioning toward the door of the cargo hold. "Let's get something to eat. We can talk more later, if you'd like."
After a moment, Zej nodded slowly. "Alright." She said. "You're never going to make things easy for me, are you?"
"Not if I can help it." Cazur said.
They left the cargo hold behind. Cazur felt a great deal lighter as he climbed the ladder up.