The rain slashed down from the darkened sky, an obscuring curtain of stinging drops. As the trio crossed the clearing at a run, heading toward the house and adjoining workshop, a white-clad figure loomed out of the murk, blaster levelled. Mereel’s pistols cracked simultaneously, and the stormtrooper flopped onto his back in the mud.
Quickly, they dashed across the remaining open space, sheltering against the side of the house. At a signal from Cardan, they moved single-file to the shop, with Cardan in the lead and Mereel guarding the rear. The elder warrior and his charge slipped into the building, while the younger commando continued around to the other side.
The last sentry was still at his post. Holstering both blasters, Mereel moved in closer, stealthily approaching until he could reach out and seize the trooper by the neck with his crushgaunted right hand. Bone crackled bitterly as it shattered, the sentry going limp in Mereel’s grip. As he tossed the corpse casually aside, Cardan’s voice informed him, “You’re about to have company. A signal just went out to the main camp. Expect at least company-strength enemy reinforcements, ETA eight minutes or less. Advise that you extract
immediately.”
“My orders stand,” Mereel shot back. “Get out of here, and don’t come for me until you’ve seen to the girl.”
“Aye, Commander. See you in a few.”
Mereel grimaced. For Cardan to use his old Alliance rank meant that he was worried, and irritated with his friend's stubbornness. Regardless, it was too late to change the plan now, even if he wanted to. Shaking off his friend's concerns, he ran lightly up the house's back steps, pausing on the small porch at the top to draw his weapons. The door was a plain wooden affair, built with hinges that swung inward and required no power to operate. Bracing one foot on the wet planks of the porch, Mereel delivered a savage kick to the door with the other. It burst open, smashing into a trooper who had the misfortune to be standing close by.
Blaster fire echoed in the small kitchen as Mereel entered, pumping rounds into the staggering Imperial. Another stormtrooper sat at a small table; he leaped up as his comrade fell, clawing for the carbine that hung from his belt. Faster than thought, Mereel closed in, kicking the table up into the trooper’s face and gunning him down as he brought his arms up to ward off the attack.
More soldiers pushed their way in from the next room. The quarters were far too close for effective blaster fighting, so Mereel resorted to using his pistols as clubs, battering the Imperial troops into unconsciousness with the heavy, metal-capped butts. As the last one fell, his face a bloody mask, the Mandalorian re-holstered his blasters, resorting to his suit’s built-in weaponry. Gauntlets extended, he advanced deeper into the house.
The living room was empty, as was the remainder of the first floor. Carefully, Mereel climbed the stairs, scanning continually for enemies. As he reached the top stair, his helmet's proximity alarm pinged loudly, seconds before another Imperial burst out of a hall closet, vibroblade in hand.
With a loud
shunk, Mereel’s own vibroblade extended from his right knuckleplate, humming bitterly. He leaned back, avoiding the stormtrooper’s slashing blow by centimetres, and as his opponent reeled off-balance, darted forward and plunged his blade into the man’s throat.
The distraction nearly cost him his life. All that saved him was his body's trained reflexes, pulling him into an evasive side-roll as a crimson lightsaber spun overhead, decapitating the dying trooper. He let the roll continue as the energy blade returned to the hand of its master, the cloaked man that was his target. Jumping to his feet, the Mandalorian did the only thing he could: charged headlong at the Dark Jedi.
Taken aback by the unexpected assault, the cloaked man hesitated for a fraction of a second. In that time, Mereel closed in to melee range. The Dark Jedi recovered quickly; his lightsaber flashed in a complex series of slashes and thrusts that would have felled the commando on the spot save for a sudden, inhuman burst of speed on Mereel’s part. With surprising grace and ease, he evaded what strikes he could, deflected others with his beskar crushgaunt and allowed the solid Mandalorian iron of his armour to protect him from the few blows that landed. Even so, he knew that he could not last long. His opponent was a skilled swordsman, and if he was to prevail, he needed to end the battle immediately and decisively.
As the scarlet energy blade descended in a vertical chop, Mereel swatted it aside with his crushgaunt. In the instant that it took the Dark Jedi to recover, he seized the sword arm by the wrist and elbow, and using its own downward momentum smashed it across one upraised knee. The limb bent awkwardly below the elbow with a meaty crunch. Its owner shrieked in agony, a horrible sound that cut off abruptly as Mereel backhanded him across the face, sending him sprawling. The lightsaber flew from his hand and spun through the air, landing with a thwack squarely in Mereel’s palm. Re-igniting the weapon, the Mandalorian planted a boot in the centre of the Dark Jedi’s chest as he tried to rise. The defeated Force-wielder suddenly found himself staring at a shaft of fiery light that hovered directly between his eyes, and decided on the spot that his life depended on staying perfectly still.
"You know," Mereel remarked as he examined the scorched paint on his otherwise undamaged armour, "I just re-did this paint job. It takes awhile to finish, even for a simple touch-up." Without altering his mild tone, he asked the Dark Jedi, "Have you ever seen a being’s eyes gouged out?”
The newly captured Imperial blinked as Mereel continued, “It’s not a pleasant sight, and I’m sure it feels worse than it looks. They say that if the optic nerve remains intact, you can actually see through the eye as they pull it out of your head. The sound is the worst part, of course, that gristly tearing as the muscles and tendons give way. Sickening.” He gestured slightly with the tip of the lightsaber, watching the Dark Jedi flinch. “You don’t need to worry about that, though. An energy blade makes the whole process so much simpler. All I need to do is insert the tip through your pupil, into the vitreous body. The heat will make the fluid flash-boil, and your eye will...”
“Stop,” the prisoner groaned through white lips. His skin had gone pale and waxy, and sweat beaded on his forehead.
Mereel pulled off his helmet and hung it on his belt, closely scrutinizing the Dark Jedi all the while. The man was young by
aruetii standards, probably about twenty, and his short stature robbed him of any real presence. He was likely strong in the Force (he would never wear the colours of Vayne’s elite Crimson Fist otherwise, Mereel knew), but his swordsmanship was unpolished and slightly panicky, suggesting an apprentice, probably on his first solo assignment. What interested the Mandalorian most, though, was the ill-concealed fear that played across his face. "Perhaps you'd like to tell me your name, and who you work for," he prompted.
The prisoner was silent for some time. Finally, as Mereel became convinced that he would not answer, he said, "I am Apprentice Inquisitor Forlan Ar'dai.” Defiance crept into his voice as he added, “My Master is High Inquisitor Acastus Vayne, commander of the Crimson Fist and chief advisor to General Kas Droman.”
Mereel raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Acastus’ apprentice, eh? I must say, I expected better from him.” Ar’dai’s face reddened. “Well, Forlan, I have a proposition for you. Why don’t you tell me everything you know about where Acastus is hiding? In exchange, you walk out of here without further harm, free and clear. What say you?”
Ar’dai glared up at him, hatred and fear warring in his obstinate gaze. The young mercenary shook his head sadly, brushing shaggy white hair back from his face. “I’d truly hoped that we could do this the easy way,” he said wearily as he placed one foot on his prisoner’s broken arm, leaning his full weight squarely on the break. The Dark Jedi screamed, in surprise as much as pain, and clawed ineffectually at Mereel’s boot with his good hand. Unmoved, the Mandalorian simply ground down harder, feeling the grate of bone on bone. Finally, just as Ar’dai was about to pass out from the pain, Mereel eased up, shifting his weight to his other foot.
“Now, why don’t we try this again,” he said. "Give me the information that I need, and you're free to go. Refuse, and..." The Mandalorian pondered for a moment. "Well, I'm sure I can come up with something," he finished smoothly, a faint, disquieting smile playing across his features. Ar’dai flinched under his captor's gaze, his good hand twitching reflexively toward his belt.
Noting the movement, Mereel flicked the tip of the lightsaber against Ar'dai's eyebrow warningly. As the smell of scorched hair filled the narrow hall, he leaned down, meaning to check for hidden weapons. The only item that the Dark Jedi carried was a small leather pouch, which, as Mereel opened it, spilled out a comlink and datapad. A genuinely pleased smile spread across the Mandalorian’s features. Picking up the datapad, he turned it on, keeping a careful eye on his prisoner as he investigated the contents.
Comm codes. Account numbers. Passwords. The final strands of a dragnet two years in the weaving, a trap that even Vayne would find it difficult to escape. “You have no idea how long I've waited for this," Mereel told his prisoner. Although his voice was still cheerful, his blue eyes were alight with a dangerous, almost fanatic gleam. "All this time I’ve spent tracking that murdering
shabuir, and his own apprentice gives me the key to finding him. Who would have thought it?”
Abruptly he switched to a more businesslike tone, taking a step back. "Willing or not, you gave me the information that I asked for, so you're free to leave. I'll be keeping this, though." He shut down the lightsaber and bounced the hilt on his palm. As he did, a thought seemed to strike him; crouching next to Ar'dai, he peered down into the Dark Jedi’s face. “One more thing,” he said. “Who were the people you executed earlier?”
The remaining colour drained out of Ar’dai’s face. His mouth worked soundlessly, and his eyes darted back and forth wildly. Mereel watched him with an air of satisfaction, one that was short-lived as the Dark Jedi’s comlink crackled suddenly.
“Third platoon, Typhoon Company en route, ETA your position three-zero seconds. Awaiting your orders, my lord. Over.” Mereel was distracted from his prisoner for only an instant, but it was enough. Glancing back, he saw Ar’dai’s teeth bared in a broad, triumphant smirk a split second before his feet left the floor. He rocketed straight upward, smashing into the ceiling with enough force to crack one of the rafters. Lightsaber, comlink and datapad flew from his grasp, skittering away down the hall.
Ar’dai crawled a short distance away and released his Force hold on Mereel. The Mandalorian crashed to the floor, apparently stunned by the consecutive impacts. Cradling his broken arm to his chest, the Dark Jedi stood and Force-pulled his weapon into his hand. The blade ignited, once again bathing the hall in its sinister crimson glow. As he stood over his fallen foe, Ar’dai snarled, “Mereel Ma’viin. You see, my Master remembers your name. He knew that it was only a matter of time before your own arrogance delivered you into his hand.” He smirked again, a hard, mirthless expression. “I swore that I would be the one to bring him your head. I just never expected it to be so easy.”
He cocked his head to one side as an odd sound reached his ear. With narrowed eyes, he listened as the sound increased in volume, swelling into full-blow laughter. Mereel rose to his elbows, still laughing, and Ar’dai took an involuntary step back.
The Mandalorian mercenary’s eyes blazed with a feral joy. A maniacal grin appeared on his face as he rose lightly to his feet. From a plain leather sheath on his back, he drew a short, broad-bladed sabre that gleamed with a bronze lustre. Its mirror polish reflected the lightsaber's glow, making it appear bloodstained.
“Now
that’s what I expected from Acastus Vayne’s apprentice!” he exclaimed, still laughing. “I have to admit, whimpering and writhing in pain on the floor was an excellent ploy. No one would expect that kind of thing from a Dark Jedi, even one who's only in training." He deliberately emphasized his slight accent into a mocking drawl, goading Ar'dai even as he fell into a fighting crouch, sword held ready. “It does make one wonder, though. Such a realistic act...was it really just that, an act? Or are you, in truth, every bit the gutless, snivelling worm that you appeared to be?”
Ar’dai’s face went dark with rage. Reaching behind himself, he Force-pulled the still-squawking comlink into his grasp. “Set up a perimeter around my position and stand by.
Do not enter the main house. I will personally execute any man who disobeys.” Without waiting for a reply, the Dark Jedi threw the comlink aside, adopting a one-handed fencing stance, lightsaber held high and level at arm‘s length. “I’m going to enjoy this, Mandalorian,” he hissed.
Mereel nodded sagely, still wearing his ferocious grin. "Of course. Wouldn't want you to die unhappy.” Without further warning, he attacked.
*********
From the beginning, the fight was a surprisingly even match. Despite his injured arm, Ardai's bladework was practiced and unnaturally quick. He tended to be slightly overeager, and consequently to make amateur mistakes, but his skill allowed him to recover well. Mereel, by comparison, fought with a raw savagery that made up for his slower, less refined style, battering at his opponent’s guard with such focused brutality that Ar’dai was hard-pressed to defend himself, much less turn the tide against the Mandalorian.
Flashes of crimson light glared blindingly in the enclosed space. Ar’dai locked his blade against Mereel's, straining to hold him with only one arm. Using the lightsaber as a pivot, Mereel swung his
beskad’s ring pommel around Ar’dai’s guard, smashing it into the other man’s nose. Blood sprayed as the Dark Jedi staggered back; Mereel followed close behind, sword whistling in a disembowelling slash that a quick twist of the crimson lightsaber barely deflected in time. Recovering, Ar’dai flicked a backhand slice at Mereel’s unprotected throat, the tip of the energy blade passing close enough as the Mandalorian twisted aside that it scorched a hole in his bodysuit.
Pressing his momentary advantage, the dark apprentice executed a rapid-fire series of thrust attacks, each intended to skewer his opponent through one of the gaps in his armour. Parrying furiously, Mereel back-pedalled, his short, heavy sabre barely matching the speed of the onslaught. One strike burned a shallow groove in his side; another pierced his thigh, leaving a centimetre-deep wound that hampered his movement.
Red light flared as the two blades engaged again. The Mandalorian mercenary whirled his sword in a tight corkscrew, knocking the lightsaber aside, and slipped in under Ar'dai's guard. To his shock, his killing stroke stopped dead as the trainee Inquisitor’s damaged arm rose, the hand seizing Mereel’s wrist. Dark energy crackled in the air like lightning, and Mereel felt his vitality draining away, into his enemy. He was rooted to the spot, unable to move, able only to watch as the limb straightened and the broken bones mended themselves.
As his injuries finished healing, Ar’dai shoved Mereel away. The young warrior stumbled, nearly falling as his suddenly leaden legs threatened to give way. Smiling broadly, Ar'dai flexed his fingers, testing the strength of his newly healed arm. “Who were they?” he sneered. Mereel swung his sabre, a sluggish attack that the Dark Jedi deflected almost indifferently. “They were
no one,” he said, planting a solid kick in the Mandalorian’s ribs. “Insects to be crushed at my whim, sentenced to death by their own defiance. They were insignificant, just like you.”
Sabre still at guard position, Mereel fought to regain his equilibrium, willpower alone keeping him on his feet. Ar’dai moved in again, his weapon now held in a powerful two-handed grip. He came at the mercenary with a new self-confidence, launching quick, almost casual attacks designed to wear his opponent down even further. Mereel stumbled again; instantly the Inquisitor pounced, landing a slash to the Mandalorian's unprotected arm and another to his already injured leg. Blade met blade once more in a spray of sparks, but Mereel loosed his grip, allowing Ar’dai’s blade to slide over his. He slashed at the Dark Jedi’s suddenly unguarded midsection; Ar’dai leaped back cat-quick, but not before the
beskad’s tip sliced across his belly.
Even as he riposted, one of the Inquisitor’s hands dropped to the shallow wound. His fingers came away bloody, and his face twisted with heightened rage. He crossed blades with the Mandalorian once, twice, thrice, locking weapons again on the third strike. Mereel strained to hold against his enemy’s anger-fuelled strength, sweat pouring down his face. Ar'dai shoved against him, breaking the lock, and, as Mereel gave ground, slapped his hand flat against the Mandalorian’s breastplates and Force-pushed.
Mereel flew down the length of the hall, striking the far wall so hard that the entire structure bulged outwards. Three of his ribs cracked with a bitter
snap, sending a bright flare of pain through his body. Rebounding, he fell to the floor again, limbs askew, struggling for breath.
Ar’dai laughed, his face creased by a broad smile. “So, Ma‘viin, have you had enough yet? I doubt you can even stand, much less swing a sword. Wouldn't it be easier by far just to let it end? Join your wife in the
manda-is that not what you call it?-and give over this foolish quest for vengeance. I can end all of your pain and reunite you with her. All you need do is to ask me to finish it.”
In that moment, Mereel was tempted to accept the Inquisitor's offer. Drained both physically and mentally, his endurance was nearing its limits, and to his disbelief, he found himself unprepared to battle a full-fledged disciple of the dark side. In mentioning Mirdala, however, Forlan Ar’dai made a grave error. The memory of his wife’s death, and the treachery that led to it, rekindled Mereel’s wrath, fanning the flame into a raging inferno.
As Ar’dai approached with slow, measured tread, assured of victory, the Mandalorian gathered hidden reserves of strength. Exploding suddenly into action, he launched himself to his feet. His hands flashed with unnatural speed, whirling the sabre that, until now, he had never released from his grip. The weapon gleamed, blood red in the dim light, as he flung it in an overhand throw at his hated enemy.
Ar’dai smiled. Mereel had telegraphed his throw, turning it into a long, looping motion that gave the Dark Jedi adequate time to defend. With supreme confidence, he executed an elaborate sword salute before deflecting the
beskad into the ceiling, where it stuck point-first, the metallic ring of its impact almost drowning out the flat
twang of a blaster discharge.
The triumphant expression slid from Ar’dai’s face, replaced by horror. His gaze dropped uncomprehendingly from the levelled blaster in Mereel’s hand to the smoking wound in his own chest. The lightsaber fell from nerveless fingers, its blade shrinking away, as the Inquisitor's knees came unhinged. Almost gracefully, Ar'dai collapsed, falling to his knees before toppling over onto his back.
Mereel re-holstered his blaster. Carefully, mindful of his bruises and cracked ribs, he moved to stand above Ar’dai. He reached up and pulled his sabre from the ceiling, wincing at the bolt of pain in his back as he sheathed the blade, then knelt next to his fallen foe.
His father, Tor Ma’viin, had always told Mereel that to face his own death revealed the strength of a man’s character. As he watched the mortally wounded Inquisitor, he reflected on the truth of his father’s statement. Ar’dai’s face was blank with shock, but his eyes were full of the same fear that Mereel had seen earlier. Stripped of the power that he wielded as a bludgeon, face to face with his own mortality, he grasped at fragile straws in hopes of saving himself. “Please,” he whispered through a mouthful of blood. “I have...valuable...knowledge. I’ll give you...everything I know. Just...let me live...and I’ll tell you...everything.”
The Mandalorian didn’t need to consider the offer. Even if he had wanted it, nothing was going to save the Dark Jedi’s life, short of a full operating theatre and immediate surgery. The most merciful thing that he could do was to give his opponent a quick, clean death. He picked up the fallen lightsaber, pressing the emitter up under Ar’dai’s chin. The apprentice Inquisitor’s eyes widened in horrified disbelief. “You can’t...I have...!”
“Sorry,” Mereel cut him off. “By my reckoning, you’re just too...
insignificant.”
As understanding dawned on Ar’dai’s face, Mereel thumbed the ignition switch.
)