Chapter Four of 'Battlefront'...

Sorry, guys--been busy for a while. Here's the next two chapters of my old book, starting with Chapter Four. Enjoy

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BETA CHAPTER

Wayland, near the Unknown Regions.

Within the enormous stone antechamber that served as Darth Rasher's private sanctorum on this world, the ancient Sith Lord nodded approvingly as he held up the severed head of Ganji Alla Apso beneath the radiance from one of the torches that provided the chamber's overall illumination. He viewed the head at all angles and with great care, as if it were a prized ornament. "You have done well, Lord Sidious," the old one intoned as he showed his favor. "It is not every day that one succeeds in overcoming a Jedi Knight, much less a Jedi Master of considerable notoriety, as this one had been." This was said with an air of informality, as if such actions were mere happenstance for those trained in what they saw as the more potent aspects of the Force. Such was the way of the Sith, and none aware of their ways could dispute that they were not bold and forthright.

"The old one fought well, my master," came the conservative reply from the figure standing in the near-darkness a few meters beyond. There was a sizeable note of respect in his voice. "If it were not for my youth and superior tactical prowess, the advantage would have been his."

Darth Rasher's mouth tightened as he snapped towards his pupil. "And you would have been dead, ingrate--!" This was immediately followed by a paroxysm of spastic coughing that lasted for some moments.

Darth Sidious reacted with the appropriate surprise as he took a step forward. "Master--! Are you-- "

Rasher's hand came up quick. "I am well." The voice from which the statement issued was strained, indicating otherwise, and the authority it carried would brook no further attempts at sympathy. With a final clearing of his throat, the elder Sith Lord regulated his nerves before continuing with his pupil. "Be grateful that it was not you who perished instead," he admonished sternly. "Remember, student, a Sith Lord's true 'prowess', as you so call it, comes not only from his assessment of his opponent's skill in battle, but from how well he looks upon and believes in the greatness of his own abilities."

The younger Sith Lord acknowledged dutifully. "Excellently, my master." As he said this, he gently reached out with the Force to analyze Rasher's condition. What he found astonished him. It is an enigma that you are still alive if at all, old one, Sidious mused to himself. Given the extent of your condition, you will most definitely be dead the inside of a year.

"Learn all that you can, young one, for you will need the advantage when the time comes," Rasher followed, revealing his sensory acuteness. Satisfied that this latest lesson registered in his pupil's mind, the elder Dark Lord placed the head of the fallen Jedi Master upon its respective mount amidst a sea of atrophied heads that covered the entire wall. With the exception of Apso, these marked the victories of the elder Sith since the beginning of his prime. A terse grin replaced the scowl on his face as Rasher once again regarded his disciple. "I believe you have kept a souvenir for yourself?"

Without as much as a forethought, the younger man produced Ganji's lightsaber. "Would you care for this as well, Master?"

Rasher nodded through his voice. "I have more than enough trophies to fill a dozen lifetimes. Keep that as a reminder of your persistence towards your future conquests." The old one observed as the weapon was just as quickly replaced. He subsequently gestured toward the natural archway that led to the outside parapet. "Join me."

Darth Sidious flanked his master as both men strode onto the parapet. The heavily-forested landscape lay blanketed under a velvet indigo sky that was peppered with the brilliant pinpricks of distant stars, and the cawing and occasional growl from such indigenous creatures as clawbirds and garrals wafted up and merged with the cool evening wind.

The elder Dark Lord sighed as he regarded the wilderness. "I have had the satisfaction of observing your progress over the last twenty-seven years, my son. You have succeeded beyond my wildest expectations, and I am confident that you will perform most adequately when you come to power." Sidious gave a single nod at this; it would be the only expression of affection from one as restrained as Lord Darth Rasher. "If my visions of your future hold true to course," the elder continued, "you will be the one who will finally achieve the penultimate goal which has been sought since the time of Lord Bane-- the total obliteration of the Jedi Order and unequalled dominion over the entire galaxy." Rasher took notice as a twinkle of malign mirth flashed briefly into Sidious' eye. "However, there must be one final test before your status is absolute."

"What is thy bidding, My Master?" The younger Sith Lord's voice held anticipation to the upcoming challenge, eager for it.

"Arbiter-General Cyril Pyrett will be attending the world of Roonibar in continuation of the mediations between the combative factions on that world," Darth Rasher began. "It is his belief that these latest talks will come to yet another stalemate, which will continue to prove unbeneficial to certain groups, namely the Amiel Party."

"Ever since its inception by the feudal states who first colonized it, the Archon Sector has always been a cauldron of instability," Darth Sidious added. "Because of that hostility and its general disdain toward any outside political intercession, the Republic has always kept wary of involving itself too deeply with it, even on an interstitial basis."

"It is one of the few policies worthy of the Republic's name, given those circumstances," concurred Rasher. "And greater tribulations still have been undertaken to perpetuate the situation until after the exhumation of the Gai'Bu Xo'That artifact." The corners of Darth Rasher's mouth downturned keenly as the weight of his closing statement assailed him. "However, there have been some recent complications which may force a change."

It was Sidious' turn to show some attitude. "The Ardith."

"Our female brethren have been taking full advantage of the Rogites at our expense," Lord Rasher said through clenched teeth. "Since their arrival within the last standard month, they have accelerated plans without mutual consensus first. To begin with, they have set to disrupting the populace, made their presence known while doing so and killed a number of my operatives in the process. The remainder have gone into hiding or off-planet altogether, and without their confirmation of any further developments, there is no telling the extent those brazen hags will go." Rasher was forced to pause again as he stifled another cough. "I have need for you to accompany Ambassador Pyrett's entourage to Roonibar and see that things are restored to their proper equilibrium."

"All of them will want to challenge me on some level," Sidious almost smiled, seemingly to relish the thought.

"Indubitably," Darth Rasher agreed. "However, the women must be made aware of who their true superiors are."


( * * * )


The Court Of The Grand Vicar, Roonibar.

Alcalde Lorenc Roz raced through the palace halls in a dead heat, his long robes of office flailing behind him like a bridal train. His bronze face was suffused with blood as his thoughts churned with rage. I'm supposed to be the recognized authority of this world, not to mention the system itself, and I'm the one who's being most treated like some irascible mendicant. What's worse, I'm being treated that way by a group of insufferable hussies who aren't even from this part of space-! Damn them all--!

The twin sentries posted to either side of the elaborate arcatha-wood doors leading into the monarchial palais snapped to attention as Lorenc rounded the corner. Muted sounds of someone being tortured penetrated through the heavy doors. "Announce me!" he barked at one of the guardsmen as both men automatically opened the doors.

The guard to whom Lorenc ordered hurriedly preceded him into the palais as he declared in a bold voice "His Honorable The Lord Alcalde Lorenc Gantamuel Roz--!" When the sentry swiftly departed a moment later, the young nobleman reacted instantly at the sickening sight before him. Lords Emmanuel.

The haggard form of an Amiel freedom fighter writhed in agony as she tumbled through mid-air, suspended by a repulsorfield nullification grid whose reflector-plate occasionally threw off coruscating tendrils of polarized energy that bore into her body. Bloody rips and tears slashed flesh and fabric where the negative-current energy discharged; the trauma this caused was so extensive that death was a certainty in a short while. It particularly didn't help that the gigantic mutated dinko that stood at the base of the Grand Vicar's throne took the occasional chomp out of the poor vagabond whenever she hovered nearest it. A three-meter-tall creature the color of suet and built along the dimensions of a classical denizen of the Netherworld complete with long fangs and bloodshot eyes laughed heartily at this carnage, its enormous girth laden with heavy-energy weaponry. The laughter possessed an odd, unnaturally deep sub-alto quality and it reverberated, echo-like.

More laughter, shriller and more inside the moderate ranges of humanoid pitch, peeled in the air behind the dinko as it noticed Lorenc a moment later. It acknowledged him with a low, sonorous growl that penetrated through the walls and floors of the palais itself. It quickly arched onto its powerful hind legs as every muscle along its taut flank flexed and relaxed, with mucus and saliva mixed with the blood from its victim streaming from its snout as the creature's threat-response cycle went into full-overdrive.

The chartreuse-robed female who sat curled upon the throne itself unfolded her slender limbs like a chrysalis and languished back, a queen in her rightful place. The startlingly vivid, lemon-painted face underneath the frilly crown of platinum-blonde hair regarded Lorenc with a lazy air. "Always prudent with our time, aren't we, Lore' ?" Olvina Guyver crooned with pure deign. Her eyelids formed narrow slits as she continued. "And it would also appear that we're getting tired of being my footman already." On that, the High Maiden of the Ardith demurely extended an equally-painted bare foot and gently caressed the dinko's crown and back with her toes. "There, M'jo," she soothed. "At least you still enjoy that privilege, my sweet." She giggled as the dinko flicked its long, forked tongue across her sole. "I take it you have a progress report for me?"

Lorenc's eyes remained riveted to the free-spinning form of the freedom fighter as she suddenly collapsed to the floor atop the nullification grid, her skin chalky-white from shock and extreme loss of blood. He felt his jaw clench as he considered the fact that these dark-side women were quite sadistic when it came to doling out what they saw as appropriate punishment.

He was instantly startled out of his reverie a moment later by the Xim'Ich'lu-malon who had sidled close to him. "You needn't waste any disgust over that one," the beast intoned almost coquettishly. "She wasn't worth the effort in the first place."

Juvenile harridan and ersatz pet brute multiplied by two, Lorenc fumed inwardly as he schooled his repulsion into a mask of neutrality as he got on with the business at hand. "I figured you would be interested in hearing that the exhumation teams in the La'Viq Ranges have discovered something which may be of importance." He said this with an edge of detachment, a weak attempt at revealing his irritation at Guyver's callousness as well as trying to return some of the condescension the dark-side maiden had just sent his way.

The effect, however, was not lost upon the keenly-sensitive Guyver. "Juvenile harridan." She followed this with a dry laugh as she nodded in disappointment. "It's amazing how thin-of-mind some people can be." As she said this, Guyver made a casual gesture with her hand.

Lorenc Roz felt his vocal cords suddenly constrict as he felt himself being pushed backwards as if by something unseen. He staggered as he tried to keep his balance but failed, stumbling instead against a nearby stanchion. He used it for support until his head cleared. When he chanced opening his eyes a few moments later, Lorenc was surprised to discover Guyver's foot bearing down hard against his right shoulder.

"You look soo delicious from that position," Guyver sneered down at him. "Just remember, Lore', that if it wasn't for my help, you would still be stuck playing second-fiddle to your big brother." She nodded, sighing in absolute pity. "I can imagine how difficult it must be for you to be the only non-sensate born into a family of Force-wielders." Upon his pained reaction, Guyver shoved Lorenc hard onto his back. Snorting derisively, she subsequently strode over to the terrace to regard the view outside. "If we can reasonably try this again," Guyver breathed aloud as she continued with Lorenc, "what is it you have to share with us?"

M'jo the dinko slithered toward Lorenc's position as the young nobleman carefully scrambled to his feet. He had to force himself to speak, and there was a noticeable rasp to his voice. "As I was saying before," he began more cautiously this time, "the exhumation teams have found what appears to be part of a tabula near the base of Mount Me'Cohp in Tiannen Province. They're in the process of xenon-dating the object now, but the chief scientists believe it to be a navigational map segment which may somehow be connected with the Gai'Bu Xo'That artifact."

Guyver whirled back about as her eyes blazed with delight. "So," she breathlessly exhaled, "the articles of Xaniva may be correct as to their speculation on the probable division and subsequent widespread distribution of the artifact itself." She shrugged her mouth in a grudging expression, crossing her arms behind her back. "This is progress, but it also means that we have a lot more work ahead of us. A lot more." She gave Lorenc a sharp nod. "That's very expedient news, Lore'. I would appreciate you seeing to it that your people are commended."

Before Lorenc could respond, the static of an incoming transmission caught everyone's attention as the hologram of a broad-shouldered amazon two full meters in height materialized in the open space to Lorenc's immediate left. This new Ardith maiden was cloaked in a long ebon cape that was laced with bright, heavy silver chains.

"Lady Guyver," the Ardith swordsmaiden Andina Romnya bowed low in respect, her stringy mop of coal-black hair bobbing with the gesture. Her voice was possessed of an intense low-alto tone that sounded as if it came from a bottomless chasm. "Galial Province has been successfully overtaken and reoriented. There was some trivial resistance from the Amiel supporters, but it was easily dissipated."

Guyver's smile widened appreciatively. "Excellent. That should take care of any further outbursts in the region." She slid her gaze over to Lorenc to gauge his reaction. "Speaking of which, have you heard any word about the primary insurgents?"

Romnya's expression modified slightly as she related her displeasure. "Thanks to a confession from one of the local constabulary prior to his death, we found the leaders themselves bivouaced in the nearby Llandia Valley. They immediately opened up with turbolaser fire, which resulted in thirty-eight-percent casualties amongst our operational forces before Selene, Volita and myself were able to gain the upper hand and turn the tide."

Lorenc, already tensed up by the revelation of the events, blurted in Romnya's direction as his voice went shrill. "Were you able to bring them down--?"

Romnya gave Lorenc the very briefest look of unbridled disgust before continuing with Guyver. "We were able to bring down several dozen more Amiel supporters, and Selene managed to mortally wound Grand Vicar Roz himself before their untimely departure."

"Well," Guyver begrudged, not entirely unhappy with the outcome, "at least we've finally managed to make them smart. Did you pay attention to what direction they were heading when they evacuated?"

"North," Romnya promptly confirmed. "I dispatched Selene to follow them. At last report, she mentioned that she felt strong permutations in the Force near the region where the Galadorn Hinterlands are located, which makes it the most probable place they are now hiding."

Lorenc reacted with total incredulity upon hearing this. "They've gone to the Ice Wastes--? It's so frigid up there nothing exists--!"

"That just goes to show you how truly short you've been in the world, Lore'," Guyver said in a tight voice that made Lorenc shut up. "What assets are there that they may make use of?"

It took Lorenc a moment to ponder this. "Wykastya Depot. It's an automated service outpost which attends the bulk carriers that deliver the monthly import consignments." He sighed uneasily as he was overcome by an unpleasant flash of insight. "The next shuttle's due in the next few days. If that's the case, then, it's more than likely they'll get off-planet."

Guyver responded with a flat expression. "With you, it is always a lost cause." She switched back to Romnya. "Have your detachment assembled by twilight and join Selene. I want these putrid bastards mowed down before the end of the second trinary phase, understood?"

"It shall be as you wish, Eminence," Romnya intoned, bowing once again as the Ardith swordsmaiden's holo-form dissolved into nothingness.

Guyver cocked an eyebrow at Lorenc as she eased another step toward him, coyly fingering one of the buttons on his dress tunic. "If you can manage not to completely obliterate the cosmos within the next few hours, I have other more pressing matters to attend." She turned to the Xim'Ich'lu-malon who stood nearby. "Valachin, will you and M'jo keep Lore' company while I'm gone?" The raised eyebrow this time said that she particularly wanted Lorenc carefully watched, so that he wouldn't make a mess of things. "This suitable enough for you?" she followed with Lorenc as her eyes quickly shifted back just in time for her to catch the young alcalde's Adam's Apple bob in a nervous gulp.

Valachin's steady bow of his horned head revealed his tacit understanding of Guyver's request. "I will make certain of it, Your Ladyship."

"Excellent, gentlemen," the Ardith High Maiden nodded as she hustled from the monarchial palais at a rapid clip. Valachin immediately filled the space left by Guyver as he gazed at Lorenc in the fashion one studies an insect just before killing it.

Lorenc Gantamuel Roz barely had time to react as M'jo the dinko lumbered to his opposite side and forced the young nobleman to beat a hasty retreat toward the relative safety of the throne. When the creature finally settled back into a semi-alert pattern, Lorenc allowed himself to fully experience the one thought that had burned constantly inside his mind since the start of his 'ascension'-- this was one hell of a way to begin a rulership.


( * * * )


The Galadorn Hinterlands, Roonibar.

The three-legged Skerosein whinnied balefully in protest as she was forced to a halt near the edge of one of the multitude of crevasses that were strewn throughout the icy region. With a deft ease that contrasted greatly with the surrounding snowstorm that practically blinded the view and threatened to knock down the creature in the instant, the Skerosein's mount leapt off her back and quickly proceeded to execute an electro-monocular search.

When the device failed to turn up anything significant, the electro-monocular was promptly replaced as the rider's hood was removed to reveal a mop of long auburn hair that blew in the gale. The stark face that was partially shown pursed its lips together in grim line as the rider used her connection with the Force to seek out that which she knew existed out in these wastes.

The Ardith bladesmaiden Selene barely smiled as she felt the slightest fluctuation that she knew would be there, calling out like a beacon to itself in the dim haze it tried to concealed itself beneath. Its general location was marked at around 400 klicks, which was respectable but too damnably far in this storm to chance going it alone, not to mention the resistance that would surely be waiting if she managed to survive getting that far. No, it was best to wait for help and share in the bloodletting; it would be so much more enjoyable that way.

A sharp, keening wail brought Selene up short as she snapped her head back to the Skerosein. It continued braying in agony as the elements began their final claim on her, forcing her legs to give out under the strain. With a last howl of resistance, the Skerosein toppled onto its side and went straight over the edge, vanishing into the ever-present drift.

Selene simply marked its passing with an arching of her eyebrow. It was the third such mount she had used since the beginning of her trek, and its use had already been accomplished. She could already sense another pod not far away from here, and it would only be a simple act to claim yet another mindless brute to continue the task ahead.

( * * * )

Skalavar Peak.

The sentry posted near the concealed access of the basolith cave base braced herself against the biting, frigid wind as she brought up her own electro-binoculars to carry out the latest perimeter check. As she made a steady sweep of the area, a genteel sub-alto penetrated her ever-analytical thought patterns. "Anything out there of interest, Lieutenant Restc?" This was said with an undertone, as if the individual who asked the question already knew the answer to it.

The sentry lowered the 'binoculars to reveal beautifully cherubic features that were already succumbing to exposure. "Negative, milord." She regarded her companion with a dry laugh. "There isn't enough of anything out here worth squabbling about, and this storm's making sure we'll have even less than that."

The lanky form of Boyar Lemuel Roz broke into a hearty grin as he gave Restc's shoulder a hearty clasp. "You've echoed my sentiments to the letter, Miss Restc." He sighed heavily as his focus shifted and he regarded the ferocious blizzard. "Unfortunately, due to our recent past, we must continue to be ever-vigilant." His young companion nodded with whole-hearted understanding.

Far behind them, another figure clad in all-white cold-weather gear raced from the accessway and plodded through the thick snowdrifts until he came to Lemuel's opposite side. "Excellency," Lord Chamberlain Dambolla Vincrisse began, "we've just received the signal from the transport. She's in-system now on parabolic approach, just out of range of the periphery seeker drones."

"Which means she won't be downplanet for at least another day-and-a-half," Lemuel added pensively, searching the sky for some glimmer of hope. He quickly returned his gaze to Vincrisse. "Is there any word--?"

Dambolla Vincrisse's face pinched tightly in a painful wince. "Forgive me, Excellency." A short pause. "The doctor says his time is urgent."

A flash of shock passed through Lemuel Roz as he started for the cave. "You have the watch, Lieutenant." With that, Lemuel and Vincrisse raced through the snow.

Inside the darkened and much cozier space a few moments later, the two men quickly sidestepped personnel and equipment crates as they made their way to the makeshift infirmary bay, where the House doctor and his two droid nurses continued their ministrations on the immense body that lay prostrate on one of the cots that were strewn throughout the cramped space. The exposed areas were covered with the
familiar greasy black bubbly patchwork of plasma burns, and several lacerations went deep enough to reveal the ivory sheen of bone. What could be made out of the bloodied pizza pie of the man's face was unusually sunken and gaunt, the face of someone already more than half-dead. This was what remained of Lord Vichos Roz, the recently-deposed Grand Vicar of the world of Roonibar.

Stricken by the sight of his father in such a horrific condition, Lemuel stood motionless for a moment as both he and Vincrisse stopped just outside of eyeshot. The younger man's face tightened as his paternal connection to Vichos though the Force confirmed that which he most feared; it would not be much longer before he would be dead. Damn you all to the nine million hells, Lore'-Gan, Lemuel seethed with rage as he struggled to control his focus. For every instance of agony our father endures I will make you and those witches who have you possessed pay, and I will particularly relish the opportunity of slowly wrestling the last sinew and cartilage in your neck until it is completely and utterly broken.

"Lemuel." The torment-filled voice's request was transmitted both vocally and telepathically in the style of well-experienced Force users with close bonds to the ones they have summoned. Lemuel's eyes instantly filled with tears as he responded in kind. "I'm coming, Pappan."

As he started, Vincrisse tenderly restrained his master by the shoulder. "Excellency, would you--"

Lemuel returned the man's gesture with a gentle clasp over Vincrisse's hand as his eyes continued to remain focused on his father. "I'll be fine, Dambolla, as he soon will," he nodded, his voice strangled with pain as he forced himself to press onward.

Doctor Thaddeus Acaba slowly came to his feet and bowed in grave respect as he met Lemuel partway. "Thank you for coming so promptly, Your Eminence." He had to swallow in order to keep his composure. "My staff and I have done everything we can, but the hemorrhaging's too extensive." He glanced back as his voice suddenly broke. "I'm sorry, milord."

Lemuel took both the man's shoulder with great empathy. "You should not blame yourself, Doctor Acaba. Sometimes just being there is help enough." Despite his own considerable pain, the young aristocrat managed a small smile full of compassion. "If anything, I am extremely grateful for what you have done."

Completely overcome, the surgeon could only nod in appreciation as he beckoned his nurse-droids to join him and all three hurriedly departed. Strengthening his own resolve, Lemuel continued on as he knelt down alongside his father. "I'm here, Pappan."

Old Vichos Roz smiled warmly as he regarded his eldest child. "You really should work on that edge of yours and try to mend things with Lore'-Gan. Despite the present circumstances, he is still your brother and I want what is best for both of you."

Lemuel pursed his lips as he looked away, scolding himself for being so open with his previous thought. "I will try my best, Father." He said this with a tone of half-dismissal.

Vichos grinned softly. "I've always joked with Thaddeus that you and he were so much alike in your personalities-- the pair of you always wear your emotions in plain view, totally unfettered." He sighed as he drew in a deep breath, which was in itself an effort. "Such traits make for honest men, and I am particularly proud that I can count you amongst them." His eyes squinted hard against a surge of pain as the old man suddenly exploded into a paroxysm of coughing, spitting up bloody phlegm in the process.

Fighting down his revulsion at the sight of this and the old man's wounds, Lemuel dabbed his father's mouth clean with a sterile cloth. "Rest easy, elder," he smiled through the sadness that shone through his amber eyes. "You've had a lousy week."

Vichos' smile widened. "At least I won't have to worry about you losing your sense of humor." He attempted to laugh as he fell into another violent fit that brought up more fresh blood. "Lemuel," the old one forced through a stark rasp, breathless. "Listen to me. My time at this stage of the Great Light is at an end. You must see to it that our people are freed and our world's dignity restored." He stole another painful breath. "Part of the way has already been prepared for you."

Lemuel leaned in closer to hear, more out of desperation to keep his father around a little bit longer than anything else. "Yes, Pappan. What am I to do?"

Vichos fought for every word as he was beginning to fade rapidly. "When the transport lands to clear all of you away, its lead pilot has been instructed to keep you on after the drop-off point at Vladet." He swallowed hard, his Adam's Apple bobbing prominently. "You will continue on to its final destination at Coruscant and petition the Congress of the Republic for assistance. If that fails, go to the Jedi Temple and address the Masters' Council itself. They will understand."

"You want me to appeal directly to the Republic itself--?" Lemuel exclaimed in disbelief. "What about Ambassador Pyrett? Surely he can help--"

"No--!" Vichos exhaled sharply as this brought on yet another round of hacking. Those parts of him still untouched by the burns went pale and clammy as he fell into shock. When he spoke again, the death-rattle was present in his voice. "No more time, child," he barely managed to whisper. "Please… don't… fail… me…" With a last, agonizing sigh, Lord Vichos Roz passed into the Force.

Wracked with pain, Lemuel Terrocheta Roz fiercely embraced his father's corpse. "I promise you that I won't, Pappan." He went so far as to mentally vow himself to carry out Vichos' request to attempt to heal the rift between himself and Lore'-Gan, but there was no way in hell he was going to show such mercy to the dark-side loquitas. They were to be obliterated at all costs, and Lemuel would not rest until that and his home world's complete liberation was accomplished.