Sins of the Father/Part 19

Tirien had snatched only a couple hours of sleep since their arrival on Circumtore, but he knew it would be a vain endeavor to try before the Koboskya no Jankpa, and Narasi rebuffed his last attempt to persuade her to sleep too. Half an hour before dawn they returned to the palace's main concourse, where a few smugglers and spacers sat in circles drinking the last of Runganna's ale or smoking some of her t'bac. One or two wished Narasi good luck.

"Eat something," Tirien told her.

"I'm not hungry."

"Your nerves are distracting you from it, but your body needs energy. You're going to need the Force working for you anyway; don't give it more work than you have to."

In the end he persuaded her to take a pastry and some water before they went down to the arena. Runganna's droids had policed the stands for scraps of food and other garbage, but left the bloodstains in the sand, along with the corpse of a reek that had died in the joust. Tirien doubted either Narasi or Zaella had the focus to levitate an entire reek mid-battle, but there was plenty of wide-open space for combat. It was a setting large enough to indulge any style of lightsaber combat, and ranged combat as well as melee, and Tirien understood, too late, that for all the previous day's "entertainment", Runganna's insistence on no more than two representatives of each faction had been intended for this result.

The Mandalorians appeared not long after, but they took seats on the far side of Runganna's throne dais without speaking to the Jedi. A few spacers and mercenaries had shambled their way in by the time the two Twi'lek Sith appeared. Izkara showed a muted version of the outraged expression she had worn the previous day when Runganna had ambushed them; Zaella had dark circles under her eyes, and Tirien suspected she had slept no more than Narasi had. Zaella had tied her lekku back in the same way Tirien had seen Master Cazars do, to keep them out of the way, and that gave him an idea.

"Her lekku have a lot of sensitive nerves," Tirien breathed to Narasi. "If you singe one, she may be in enough pain that you can finish her."

Narasi made a face, but nodded.

"It isn't personal," he reminded her. "There is no emotion. Do what must be done, no more, no less."

"Yes, Master."

"Trust your instincts. You have the skills you need; trust the Force to…Narasi, are you listening?"

"…no," she admitted, and she nodded in the direction of the Sith.

Frowning, Tirien sharpened his hearing with the Force.

"—not kark this up," Izkara hissed.

"I won't," Zaella muttered. She sniffed and rubbed her nose.

"If you do, you'd better hope the little slaver bitch kills you; it'll be better than what's waiting for you on Ryloth. I'll have Guldroq flay your lekku down to nerves, then wrap them around a bedpost and offer you to any spacer with two credits to rub together."

"I said I won't!" Zaella snarled. Tirien sensed her burst of anger, spiking through but failing to swallow her fear.

He turned back to Narasi, who looked sickened. When she found Tirien studying her, she said, "She doesn't want to be here."

Tirien suspected there was truth to that; certainly she did not want to be here with Izkara, for which Tirien did not blame her. But he recognized the danger in his apprentice's words. "But she will try to kill you. It's not wrong to pity our enemies; some of them are pitiable.  I'm sure some soldiers in the Sith Empire are conscripts; their choices were to die when the recruiters came to call or go to training and die fighting us instead.  But it's not about them, just as it isn't about us; the purpose of all our fighting is to bring peace with the end of war.  If we can turn our enemies, so much the better, but we aren't always allowed that luxury.  Have compassion, even for your enemies, but not compassion to the point of suicide."

Narasi sighed, but nodded, and Tirien sensed her steeling herself as she started to stretch, loosening up her muscles and rotating her sword arm. While she warmed up, Tirien looked at Zaella and watched her going through the same process. They were similar in age, he guessed, and nearly of a height, too. As he compared her to his Padawan, Tirien found he pitied her as well. She would die for Tarni Hadan's greed, and no one would mourn her; even if she prevailed over Narasi, her comrades on Ryloth would consider her nothing more than a useful tool.

She caught him watching, flinched, and turned away; Izkara hissed some further advice or threat to her, but Tirien lacked the stomach to eavesdrop again.

When the Hutts began to appear with their entourages, Tirien knew the time was near. The stands were not even half as full as they had been the previous morning, before Runganna had confronted Vigo Mar'sebbin, and even some of the Hutts who had lingered after the auction had gone; Tirien suspected they had seized the opportunity to vanish in the dead of night. When the Ganks wheeled in the bomb, Tirien gave it a look, then touched Narasi's shoulder.

He felt her jangle of nerves before she refocused. "Time?"

"Nearly. I need to give you one more piece of guidance."

She straightened up and nodded, looking at him with her big eyes soft and serious. Tirien winced inside; contemplating his Padawan's death was painful, and the wound bled all the more, for he knew, whatever she might say to the contrary, that this debacle was his fault. But, if there was a time for guilt, it was not now; he had foisted this burden upon her, and he owed it to her to counsel her through it…whatever the end might be.

He laid his hands on her shoulders. "Trust the Force and your instincts, and use your training. Fight hard; fight with conviction; fight to your last breath.  But if you reach that last breath, and only the power of the dark side can save you…it's better to die a Jedi than live a slave of the dark.  Fight to win, but remember who you are."

Narasi's eyes widened, but then tightened again as she accepted it and nodded. She reached up and squeezed his hands; before she could reply, a crash of Benwabulan gongs heralded Runganna's arrival.

Tirien could feel Runganna was in a foul mood, which darkened further when Damis Myragon announced the Mandalorian withdrawal from the contest. Izkara's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as she looked at Tirien, who raised a single eyebrow in a facsimile of interest so as not to give the Mandalorians away. When Tirien and Izkara stepped forward and bowed to the Hutt, even Darqyren Valt had taken a step away from her throne.

"You're still fighting, at least?" Runganna growled.

"Of course," Izkara replied.

Tirien nodded. "Yes."

"Hmph. Good.  Your champions ready?"

"She is," said Tirien.

Izkara glanced over her shoulder. "She'd better be."

"Well, let's get on with it. For twenty million credits and the heads of your enemies, my weapon is all yours!" Runganna waved one armored hand at the bomb. "Open the gate!"

While Runganna's agents powered down the barrier to the arena, Tirien nodded to Narasi, forcing himself to say no more than, "May the Force be with you."

She nodded, opened her mouth, closed it again, and gave him a hug, squeezing him so tightly his back cracked. He patted her back in surprise, but she let him go after a second, worked up a smile, and stepped into the arena, taking the lightsaber hilt from her belt. Tirien saw Zaella watching them, her face twisted, but after a moment she followed Narasi in, and the guards sealed the gate.

"She's going to die." Izkara Raltadus had appeared at Tirien's side. "Zaella's going to gut her."

Having so recently counseled Narasi on the need to not rise to bait, Tirien controlled his instinct for anger; whatever had led her to serving Tarni Hadan, Izkara was rather easier not to pity. "Maybe. But I think not."

"Zaella has the power of the dark side, and the will to kill."

"And she's eaten alive by fear." Tirien turned to the Twi'lek now. "And that's your doing, I suspect. When Narasi kills her and you go back to Hadan in failure, make sure you tell her it was Zaella's defeat, but your fault."

The Twi'lek bared her teeth; up close, Tirien could see she had filed them to points. Before she could reply, though, Darqyren spoke.

"The Jedi versus the Sith!" the Sakiyan vizier boomed into a microphone, his voice projected around the arena. "The Mandalorians, regrettably, have forfeited, but fear not! My lady's champion will ensure this is no simple contest of competing philosophies!"

Tirien and Izkara looked at each other, then the Twi'lek turned her sharp-toothed sneer on Darqyren instead. "What?"

"Why would Runganna need a champion?" Tirien added. Pointing to the bomb, he said, "Does she want to sell this or not?"

Covering the microphone, Darqyren said, "Recent events have convinced my lady of the wisdom of preparedness. Never fear, her champion is still only one of three."

"This isn't what we agreed!" Izkara snapped, but Darqyren looked past her into the arena.

Narasi and Zaella stood a few meters apart, apparently speaking to one another. Tirien felt more than he saw the Mandalorians approaching; he watched the sealed gate opposite Runganna's throne rise. A being emerged from the tunnel there—a being dressed in dark gray armor, though Tirien could see that even without it he would stand more than a head taller than Narasi or Zaella, and that, if the two squished their shoulders together, he would be wider than both of them too. Worse still, the being carried a gargantuan war hammer, its head as big as Narasi's torso, studded on the bludgeoning end, spiked on the back; head and shaft were made of the same dark metal as the creature's armor.

"What the hell is that?" Izkara hissed.

"Beskar…"

Damis Myragon's voice, digitized through his helmet, was torn between awe and horror. Arykr said nothing; Tirien sensed the Human was so thunderstruck he could not find words. Tirien understood, for beskar was the Mandalorian term for their peculiar iron ore—a metal that, properly refined and shaped, was impenetrable even by a lightsaber blade. Izkara obviously recognized the term too; a pulsar of dismay in the Force accompanied her next hiss.

Tirien tried to see a way through the dilemma. The armor must be heavy…if she throws him down, he'll be off balance…there are joints to strike, she can get his neck or his fingers…

Runganna's champion set his hammer business end down in the sand, pulled off his helmet, and hung it on the tip of the handle. He growled something at Narasi and Zaella, both of whom had retreated a little, but Tirien enhanced his sight first, and once he got a good look at the towering monstrosity, he recoiled in shock. "Oh no…"

"What?!" Izkara snapped.

"It's a Dashade."

"Ho ho ha ha!" Runganna crowed from her throne. "That was my biggest expense!"

"A what?" Izkara demanded. When Tirien only stared, she slapped his arm. "What is it?!"

Tirien could not even find it in himself to retaliate. "They're immune to the Force."