The small, nondescript freighter glided through the Coruscant evening, light catching on its blocky frame and throwing it back at the source. A few patrol ships shot past it, scrutinizing the hull, making sure that this was the ship that had checked in with air traffic control just five minutes ago. Satisfied, the fighters broke off to return to the hulking Subjugator battleship that hovered over the planet.

Wearily, the old freighter in the pilot’s seat rubbed his eyes. Beside him, a Jedi sat proud and at attention. He fought an urge to swear at him; these Jedi seemed so indefatigable at times and it irked him beyond anything else. The thing that was further annoying about this fellow was that he seemed so pleased with himself. Werdraw Therk wished he could feel pleased with himself. Well, these Jedi were supposedly superhuman.

Therk was one of the numerous intrepid spacefarers who had agreed to help the Jedi begin mapping the galaxy and its hyperspace routes. After three months in unfamiliar space, with only the individual beside him for companionship, he was ready to be home. The Jedi seemed to grow worried after they had stopped by a neutral space station in the Inner Rim – with the war on, they could hardly be expected to go anywhere else – but Therk didn’t buy too heavily into that so-called Jedi premonition. The fool had seemed convinced that some threat was about, but, apparently, the feeling had abated.

Therk yawned, his jaw nearly snapping at the joints, he was so tired. The Jedi did not regard him, proud, haughty face turned perpetually forward. At times, Therk wanted to scream and rip that face off. At other times, he wanted it as close as possible for it was his only protection aside from the feeble pistol at his hip.

But, suffice to say, now was not one of those times, and Therk hated superiority. And this was exactly what emanated from the blasted man next to him.

Therk sighed roughly. It had been a long three months. He was just glad it was over.
Suddenly, he could swear he heard something. He couldn’t be sure; it was more a feeling than an actual sensory response. The Jedi sat unmoving. Therk grew even more irritated. Was he hearing things now? Maybe he was going crazy. If he was, it was the Jedi’s fault.
Equally as sudden, Therk felt a pressure on his throat. He was almost angry with the Jedi, but for the fear he felt. As he looked at the Jedi, he suddenly recognized.

It was not pride that adorned his face: it was meditation for a battle to come.

A battle that was here.

Therk heard a ring echo behind him as his throat closed even tighter on him. A red blade appeared at his neck, brandished by a lanky man with cruel eyes. “You’ll hold right there, Jedi,” he said darkly, “if you want your companion to live.”

The Jedi did nothing, merely inhaled deeply. Therk could feel the blood in his face, pounding in his head, threatening to burst his vessels. He no longer was capable of feeling anger at his Jedi for doing nothing. All he cared about right now was survival.

Another ring resonated and Therk felt a pang in his midsection. Looking down, he saw another red blade protruding from his stomach.

His head was throbbing.

He finally gasped as his throat was released, but the pressure in his head was not. He gasped as the blade was removed. The Jedi was on his feet, sword drawn and ready. The cruel-eyed man took a few vicious swings at the Jedi, who leapt away with surprising agility and counter-struck. As adroit as the Jedi had been, the cruel-eyed man was better. He dodged the Jedi’s vibrant yellow blade seemingly without effort.

Therk saw a big man enter his peripheral vision as he gasped away his life. This must be the one who had stabbed him. He groped as though blind for his pistol, but felt it yanked out of his hand as he leveled it at the man’s head. The man turned with a vicious grin and grabbed it in midair. As though snapping a twig, he crushed it in his bare fist. Broad shoulders and muscular arms were exposed on this newcomer, as opposed to the cruel-eyed man, who was dressed entirely in black.

The big man grasped Therk by the chin. It felt as though his jaw would shatter in the tight vice, and, indeed, blood did begin to leak out of his mouth. Darkness was beginning to settle over his eyes.

“See, worm, your friend as he is crushed by the power of the dark side!” the big man proclaimed.

Therk could only gaze in horror as the cruel-eyed man found his opening and lunged. In an instant, the Jedi dropped the sword from his cold hands and fell backwards over the chair.

The cruel-eyed man, weapon still clenched in his right fist, held out his free palm and the Jedi’s foil flew to him. He regarded it carefully for a moment, then without turning, he pushed back his cape to place it beside two others: trophies.

Therk’s eyes finally closed with this last image burned forever into his retinas.

“Gold is the official color of the ruling house, and scarlet is the color of the House of Zarran,” Constance said.
“Very interesting. What houses have blue, white, and black?” Jason asked as he helped Nicolas change out of his suit and Constance did the same with Nicole.
“No houses. Blue represents the unity of the Ten Houses, white represents the purity and justice of the ruling house, and black represents nobility.”
“Very interesting. What house are you from?”
“Me?” Constance all but laughed. “I’m not from one of the noble houses. There are the Ten Noble Houses, then there are the Eighteen Houses of the Matriarchs, and lastly there are the who-knows-how-many houses of the normal people. But I am from one of the Eighteen, the House of Stephenson. If I had remained in my family’s house, I would now be Lady Constance Stephenson, Matriarch of the House of Stephenson.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I am no longer part of the House because I refused to do what was required of me–becoming a Starfire warrior–and chose instead to fight for the people’s freedom. I therefore ceded any claim to Ladyship, and my mother resides as Lady of the House.”
“So the Ten houses have lords and the Eighteen have ladies?”
“The Ten have ambassadors,” Constance corrected. “Ambassador Zarran has been elected Supreme Overlord.”
“Who does the electing?”
“Who do you think?” Constance asked, surprised he did not know. “The Eighteen elect the Supreme Overlord. Each house–whether of the Ten or the Eighteen–chooses who will lead them, and the Eighteen choose who will lead the planet.”
“What do the Ten Houses get to decide?”
“Everything else,” Constance said with a contemptuous snort.
“So New Altair is not a true democracy, then?”
“Ask Zarran and he will tell you it is, but for all practical purposes, no, it is not. But it is not a bad form of government, for most of the houses, either of the Ten or the Eighteen, have the normal people in mind when they make their decisions. So ultimately, what is best for the people is done.”

Zebh looked out of the window and was amazed of the giant city. This day whould be a glorious day for the Bazkh family! Great skyscrapers, almost reaching up too the clouds and touched the sky, and ships and freighters flied in nice rows just like in the lunch line in a public school. The transport, a Spartan Class refugee shuttle, comming from the planet Mezkh in the inner core, was carrying important cargo...

Before either of them took another step closer, they circled around the edge of the ring. Raash still bore a wide smile, but Rory was much more determined. He knew what he had to do, but he was afraid to do it.

Suddenly, it all began before he was ready. Raash charged forward and swung his sword high. Without thinking, Rory ducked underneath and backed off a little. Again, the blade sailed through the air, but he managed to dodge once more.

Before he could attack again, Raash found Rory's sword clashing against his own. After a small pause, he pushed away and stabbed out.

Rory spun out of the way and smashed his own weapon into Raash's side. He stumbled a few steps back, but regained his balance quickly. Without hesitating, he charged forward again.

This time, Rory attacked him, catching him by surprise. He managed to deflect the attack, but the impact sent him back a step or two. He seemed quite surprised.

"You're a better swordsman than I expected. I must commend you on your skills," Raash said as a grin returned to his face. "However, this has gone on too long."

Rory said nothing, but instead tried once more to attack. Raash was suddenly much faster. He moved out of the way and swung from behind. Somehow, Rory saw the attack coming and threw his hands behind his head. His sword ran parellel to his body as the other blade crashed against it. Rory pulled the sword back to his front, causing Raash's to slide off the cold steel and almost out of his hands.

Rory spun around to meet his enemy and their eyes connected. Raash's eyes were bright, but something about them seemed terrifying. Time slowed as their eyes ripped apart again.

Deciding to back off, Rory waited for the next attack. Within seconds, Raash was running toward him once more. Just as he was close enough to attack, he spun to one side and disorientated the other. Before he could even find Raash, something made contact with his abdomen.

It was thin, but very powerful. He stumbled to the ground from the impact and nearly let go of his own sword.

As he tried to collect his thoughts, Raash raised his weapon over his head. Rory notived it at the last second and rolled on his back. The sword bounced off the hard stone, but Raash swung sideways again, skimming the ground. He rolled once more, feeling the blade swish past his shoulder.

He then saw his opening and stabbed his sword staight out. He felt it make contact with something and looked up to see what it was. Raash's eyes were wide and he was frozen in place. The tip of Rory's sword was pressing firmly against his chest, but did not pierce his armor.

Just as Rory pushed to send the blade through, Raash jumped back. He slowly climbed to his feet as his enemy spoke again.

"Very impressive," he admitted. "But I do grow tired of this."

Just as Rory regained his footing, another attack had begun. Like lightning, Raash was swinging in every direction he could and somehow not drop his defence for a single second. He tried to deflect some of the attacks, but he felt some of them hit his armor. Even though it didn't do much damage, it certainly weakened him.

Finally, he saw an opening. Everything seemed to freeze as Raash spun around to expose his back. Rory swung up to hit him, but the other spun too quickly and their swords smashed into each other once again.

He didn't expect the counter-attack, and his sword was sent in the opposite direction. Making sure the sword didn't come loose from his hand, Raash stumbled after it.

This time, Rory attacked. His back was exposed once more, and it appeared to be the perfect opportunity. That's when everything went wrong.

Just as he reached his enemy, he noticed Raash's sword spinning around again. He saw it at the last moment, but it far too late for him to react. The hilt made contact with his face, causing him to drop his weapon and fall back to the cold, hard ground.

Blood was running from his nostril, and he could feel a large gash on the right side of his face. There was so much pain that everything else faded away.

"I always did love this sword," Raash mocked between heavy breaths.

"Oh, how long have I been waiting for this day! Your father proved to be such a pathetic duelist. He barely put up a fight!"

"Stay away from him!" Romesh screamed out.

Without even acknowledging the outburst, Raash continued, "You were much more fun to battle. But alas, it was foolish to try. Now I'll have to give you the same fate as your father."

Raash stood directly over Rory's body. They stared at each other for a long time, but was broken when Raash raised his sword.

"I won't let you do this!" Romesh yelled again.

"In time, you'll join him," Raash answered.

"I'll kill you before you touch him," Romesh stated firmly. He drew an arrow and knocked it in his bow, pointing directly at Raash's head.

"Don't you dare fire that arrow, Romesh!" he yelled, finally turning his gaze to him. "If you do, I'll give my men the order to kill everyone here!"

That's when Rory saw his last chance. With a strong kick, he hit Raash's hand, sending the sword of Kings into the crowd. Romesh reached up and snatched it from the air, holding it tight for himself.

Rory kicked again, hitting Raash's stomach. He bent over as the air was forced from his lungs. As his enemy struggled to regain his breath, Rory hoisted himself to his feet.

Once they were standing, they turned and both of them noticed the sword lying at one side of the room Their eyes turned to meet each other, but was broken when they quickly made a mad dash toward it.

They both pushed each other back and forth as they ran. Finally, Raash gained a lead, but Rory grabbed him and tried to pull him back. Raash wouldn't let it happen and smashed his elbow against the other's face. Fortunately, he turned his head away and deflected some of the impact.

Raash bent over and grabbed the sword in one hand. He spun around, bringing the sword around with him. Rory had to think fast in order to save his life, but only one thing came to mind.

Just as Raash's face turned to meet his own, he swung his hand. Within seconds, his claws had scraped across the other's scales. A number of red gashes covered Raash's face and quickly began to bleed heavily. The sword dropped to the ground along with Raash, covering his face with his hands.

"How could you use your own claws as weapons?" he managed to say through his pain.

"You killed my father and nearly killed me. Quite frankly, I wouls say you got the better end of the deal. After all, you aren't dead."

Slowly, Rory turned to his men. He was about to begin when something grabbed him from behind. Raash had his hands around his neck, trying to kill him one last time. Rory could barely breate, but managed to get to one of the cave walls in time. He turned and smashed his attacker against the jagged rocks, which caused him to let go. Somehow, he stayed on his feet and lunged once more at Rory. He bent over, sending Raash onto his back, and then quickly straightened again. Raash rolled off his back onto the ground.

He climbed back to his feet and prepared to attack again. "I refuse to die like this! Do you hear me? I am the rightful king of these lands!"

"Rorakesh!" he heard Romesh yell. When he turned to see his brother, the sword of Kings was sailing through the air and soon landed firmly in Rory's hands.

As he spun to meet his enemy once again, the sword slashed across Raash's chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps. Rory made sure to finish the job and stabbed the blade forward.

This time, it wasn't a "close call." Raash stared at the sword, now planted deeply in his stomach. His eyes wandered back to Rory's, who swiftly yanked the sword out again.

Without another sound, his eyes drifted off and he collapsed back to thwe cave floor in a head. Everyone one of his soldiers were stunned to see that their master had been slain.

He looked over everything again and finally dropped the sword to the floor. His knees buckled and he eventually gave up, lying flat on his back. His breathing was heavy and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"You did it! I can't believe that we can finally take the Tynes Marsh back to the old ways!" Romesh yelled as he ran to help his brother.

"Anything I can get for you, King Rorakesh?" he said with a smile.

"Yeah," Rory answered quietly. "Bring me a bed."

He heard everyone laugh as they helped him back to his feet. They began to walk back down the hallway out of the room with Rory in the lead.

Their king had finally returned after all.