Zenobia nearly got
The Amalgam
. The witch’s head was rudely scraped, her face spurting white blood in a manner reminiscent of the scene with the crazed android in
Alien. But the blow didn’t incapacitate her, as Zenobia had hoped it would. Instead, it just made her angrier.
The blast of Force lightning struck Zenobia’s equine body, bringing her down with a crash. Her naginata was thrown from her human hands. She struggled to get up, her hooves scrabbling in the dirt, reaching out with the Force for her weapon, but something was blocking her.
A foot held the handle of the naginata down by stepping on it, resisting Zenobia’s attempts at retrieving it. Realizing she had a new opponent, the Chironian Jedi went on the offensive, only for her telekinetic push to be reflected back at her. Less than a minute after she had managed to get to her hooves, she was knocked down again by her own power. The pain of the blow made her cry out.
The individual who was blocking her now reached down to pick up her weapon. He examined it, turning the cortosis-infused blade over in his hands as he strode across the battlefield toward Zenobia.
“I’ve never seen a weapon like this before,” he remarked. “Very interesting. But I daresay you barely know how to use it.”
Zenobia stared at the man now towering (well, not really—had she been standing, she would’ve towered over
him) over her. He looked young, but he had incredible skill and power. Exceptionally gifted, perhaps? Or maybe just very well trained. He harbored a Dark Side aura, but didn’t look corrupted. In fact, there was something almost pure and innocent about him. A child playing with guns, not yet realizing they weren’t toys. Strangest of all, he appeared to be wearing some sort of silk-and-velvet theatrical costume instead of armor, and yet he didn’t have so much as a scratch or tear on him.
“Were you trained to use a lightsaber?” he asked. “It looks like you were. But then somebody told you using a lightsaber was bad. Too closely tied to the Dark Side. That’s silly.”
She blinked. “You know about
Mato Kejak
?”
“Who?” He shrugged. “I’m just guessing this stuff. Your training in the use of this thing was rushed. Your technique is sloppy and unrefined. You cut a lot of corners. You realize that could get you killed?”
“We go into battle hoping for a glorious death.”
“Dying because you didn’t train properly isn’t glorious, it just makes you look stupid.” He shrugged. “But suit yourself. I’ll kill you if that’s what you want.” He took a lightsaber from his belt and ignited its violet blade.
“Wait!” Zenobia exclaimed. “I don’t want to die like this! I’m unarmed!”
“Oh.” The young man tossed her the naginata. “Okay, let’s fight, then.”
Rising to her hooves, Zenobia asked, “Who are you?”
“My name’s
Val Drutin ,” he replied happily. “Just as a head’s up, I’ve been around for longer than you, and I’m probably gonna last longer, too…”
They fought. With the rest of the battle raging around them, nobody paid much attention to their little duel. No one was there to mark the glory, the bravery, or the sacrifice of Zenobia Hahn.
She made it to perhaps the third round before Val, with a flashing feint of his saber and a kick like a grasshopper, broke through her defenses. His violet blade sliced through her humanoid upper body, blood boiling, fat sizzling, flesh searing in the molten plasma’s heat. She was dead before she hit the ground. They usually are.
Val reached down and plucked up her naginata. It would make a cool addition to the collection back on the
Stardust, he thought. The fact that he was adding to the stockpile of weapons from slain enemies which had been started by his late master didn’t cross his tattered mind, and if it did it wouldn’t have mattered. No one is truly original.
He tramped across the battlefield in his ballet dancer’s costume, simultaneously too loud a sight to be ignored and too unsettlingly out of place to be bothered with. That was fine with him. He wanted to go straight back to his ship and stow the naginata away so it wouldn’t get scratched or broken out here.