Jedi Artisan 027

After surviving the assassination attempt, and applying a quick salve of medi-gel to Satine's leg, the group of Jedi & one girl entered the palace belonging to the Kryze family. 

The large building was made of white stone and black iron, crossed by ancient beams upon which the sigils of conquered clans had been carved. Braziers burned beneath tall banners, and armored Mandalorians stood along the walls with their rifles across their chests. Deeper into the main hall clan chiefs, war captains, ministers, and hereditary nobles crowded inside of a throne room. 

At the far end, Duke Kryze sat beneath the silver falcon symbol of his house. He did not rise when the Jedi entered, although he did glance at them. His gaze landed on his daughter's injured ankle for a second, yet he could say nothing. To act in concern for his daughter at this, a most critical moment for Mandalore, would only display weakness. 

“The Skirata compounds have been abandoned. Their warriors have joined Clan Bralor in the western territories. Three foundries declared for Clan Saxon before dawn, and our couriers reported fighting on the road to Sundari.” The Duke said, highlighting several key developments in the war. 

Qui-Gon strode into the chamber with the measured calm of a Jedi Master, with Zayne following half a pace behind him, his robes still powdered with dust from the shattered bridge. Obi-Wan and Satine came last.

Obi-Wan remained close to her, watching every armored figure in the throne room as if expecting another bomb to be thrown from the galleries.

Some of the courtiers began addressing one another, and Kryze gestured towards the Jedi to approach. 

“Your arrival was delayed.” Duke Kryze said.

“There was an explosion on the eastern bridge, Father.” Satine bowed. 

“So I have been informed.” Kryze rebuffed, then turned back to his ministers. 

Satine’s expression did not change, though Obi-Wan saw her fingers twitch, nearly forming fists before going flat; simple and harmless. 

His earlier assumptions about Mandalorians indeed seemed correct: proud, severe, obsessed with war and reputation. He had expected Satine to embody them. Instead, she was a shining exception amongst this wartorn world. Obi-Wan found that far more admirable than he wished to admit.

“The eastern districts will be reinforced.” Duke Kryze continued. “Clan Wren will provide two companies.”

A woman in blue armor stepped forward, and slapped an armored fist upon her chest. “Clan Wren has already committed troops to protect the northern power stations.”

“Then withdraw them.” Kryze lightly replied. 

“And leave half the capital without power?” Lady Wren questioned. 

“Better darkness than Saxon banners over the palace.” Another clan leader stated. 

Arguments broke out across the chamber at that, as everyone began to discuss the merits, risk & reward of such a maneuver. 

One chieftain demanded the immediate execution of suspected traitors. Another insisted that the old warrior clans be offered concessions. A third claimed that the Republic had intentionally allowed Mandalore to descend into chaos so that foreign troops could later occupy it in the name of peace.

At that, several helmeted faces turned toward the Jedi.

Zayne surveyed the court with open curiosity. Flipping a coin, and scanning the surface thoughts of those attending the meeting, he learned about a few juicy nuggets of information. How interesting. 

There were perhaps forty people within the central chamber. Some wore ceremonial armor polished to a mirror sheen. Others displayed dents and carbon scoring as marks of pride. Clan Wren’s delegation stood beneath blue banners. Clan Saxon had sent no official representative, though several courtiers wore its colors discreetly. Ministers whispered behind gloved hands, and armed retainers watched one another with fingers mere inches from their triggers. 

Near the duke stood his younger brother, Lord Rokan Kryze.

Rokan was a broad man with gray beginning to creep into his dark beard. His armor was bone-white, edged with gold, and a heavy fur mantle hung from one shoulder. He had spoken little, and had also watched Satine enter with far greater attention than her father had shown.

Zayne leaned down between the two teenagers. “Of those present, who do you think tried to kill us?”

Satine turned her head slowly.

Obi-Wan stared at him. “Knight Zayne.”

“Yes?”

“This is hardly the place or time.” Obi-Wan said in a hushed whisper as some of those Mandalorians were still staring at them. 

Zayne glanced around the throne room. “I cannot imagine a better one. Nearly all the suspects have gathered for our convenience.”

“But we have only just arrived. Who could it possibly be?” Obi-Wan asked with a furrowed brow. 

“And already someone has tried to explode us. Mandalorian hospitality at its finest.” Zayne grinned, bowing towards the dais. 

Satine looked over the court, taking his question more seriously than Obi-Wan expected.

“How would we possibly know?” Obi-Wan whispered.

Zayne lifted one hand and wiggled his fingers mysteriously. 

Obi-Wan’s brow tightened. “That explains nothing.”

“The Force.” Satine murmured. She then studied the nobles. “Not Clan Wren.” She said quietly. “They would gain little from my death, and Lady Wren opposed using explosives within Sundari. Not Minister Almec, he is ambitious, but Father’s government is the source of his influence.”

A faint smile appeared at the edge of Zayne’s mouth, she had indeed crossed out those who were innocent. 

Obi-Wan looked between them. “Are we truly doing this?”

“Clan Saxon would gladly kill me, but if Saxon ordered the attack, their people would have used rockets or a sniper. They would want everyone to know that they had struck House Kryze.” Satine continued on, ignoring Obi-Wan. Her gaze then moved toward her uncle.

Rokan stood beside the throne, speaking softly with one of the Duke’s generals, yet everything pointed to this man. 

“My uncle.” She said with certainty, then turned to face Zayne. 

Zayne nodded. “Your uncle.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Rokan and immediately looked away before the man could notice. “Why?”

“If I died in an attack blamed upon Clan Saxon, Father would have no choice but to declare an all hands attack to save face. The neutral clans would rally behind House Kryze, and my uncle would command the palace whilst my father took to the front in the name of vengeance. Thus far, father has rarely taken to the field.” 

“And if your father later died in that war?” Zayne asked.

“Rokan would become Duke.” Satine said, narrowing her eyes. 

“That is a credible motive, but motive is not evidence.” Obi-Wan said in an uneasy tone. 

“Very good, Obi-Wan, at least you've learnt something useful from those old courses back at the Order.” Zayne said, patting him on the shoulder. 

Obi-Wan did not appreciate his meaning. “If we accuse a member of the ruling family without proof, every clan in this hall will assume the Jedi are taking sides.”

Qui-Gon-who hadn't said a word until now-decided to offer his wisdom to their discussion. 

“Obi-Wan is correct. Revealing treachery within House Kryze before so many rival leaders could shatter what remains of the Duke’s authority. Even a truthful accusation may cause more harm than good if delivered without care.”

Zayne nodded gravely. “Wise words, from a wise man. But I say bullocks to that.”

Having said his piece, Qui-Gon closed his eyes, yet the ghost of a smile spread across his face. 

Satine looked startled, whilst Obi-Wan looked scandalized.

Zayne straightened his robes, and stood tall, adopting a solemn air. “Someone attempted to murder three Jedi and the Duke’s daughter before we had even reached the palace. If we respond by whispering nervously in a corner, every ambitious fool in this room will conclude that we may be attacked without consequence.”

“We require evidence…” Obi-Wan insisted.

“Then we shall acquire some.”

“How?”

Zayne stepped away from them, to which Obi-Wan widened his eyes, and grabbed at his sleeve, but his hand closed on empty air.

“Master Qui-Gon.” Duke Kryze called over the growing dispute. “The Republic assured me that the Jedi came with proposals to achieve a resolution. If you have something useful to contribute, speak.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head. “We came first to listen, Your Grace.”

“Then you have already heard enough to understand our position. The Great Clan War has begun in all but name. Villages are being fortified, foundries have ceased civilian production, and every road beyond Sundari is controlled by armed men demanding that their neighbor answers to an ancient blood debt.”

“That would be a convincing speech, Kryze, if your brother had not attempted to murder your daughter less than an hour ago.” Zayne loudly & rudely addressed him. 

The throne room fell silent, so much so, that the sound of Obi-Wan slapping himself across the forehead was heard by everyone present. 

Qui-Gon, meanwhile, wore an expression of supreme composure, as if Zayne's act did not ruffle him in the least. 

Lord Rokan Kryze turned toward Zayne. His face showed disbelief first, followed by the kind of outrage only a die-hard politician could fake. “What did you say?” 

Zayne walked into the center of the chamber.

“I said you tried to kill me dishonorably with a bomb and gunners in the towers, you coward.” Zayne lazily drawled. “Or perhaps your armor is so polished, you don't know a real warrior even when he stands right in front of you.” 

Several Mandalorians reached for their weapons, while others stepped away from Rokan, eager to see which way the moment broke.

“You stand in my court, Jedi-” Kryze said in a deep voice, rising thunderously from his throne. 

“I had noticed. Lovely banners.” Zayne waved a hand up high, blowing a breeze through them, forcing them to flutter with a casual display of his power. 

“Offer proof immediately, or you will leave Mandalore in chains.” Kryze threatened. 

Zayne reached inside his robe, and every rifle in the room snapped toward him. He slowly withdrew a blackened metal cylinder no longer than his thumb.

“This was part of the receiver placed beneath the eastern bridge. Made up of a crude casing, it has excellent internal components. It received an encrypted detonation order less than one second before the blast.” Zayne slowly explained. 

Rokan gave a scornful laugh. “Half the clans on Mandalore possess such devices.”

“Correct. Which is why accusing you based on the receiver alone would be terribly irresponsible.” Zayne clucked his tongue, shaking his head. 

Zayne tossed the cylinder into the air, where it froze in place. The casing rotated as invisible pressure peeled back the burned metal. Screws unwound themselves, and a warped shell split apart, exposing a nest of fine circuits and a small crystal memory wafer.

The courtiers watched in uneasy fascination, whilst the brother to the Duke slowly began to grow uncomfortable at this impressive display. 

Zayne turned his hand, and the wafer drifted free.

“The bomber used a rotating clan cipher, and as a result, the receiver erased most of the transmission after detonation. Most.”

“Enough with these magic tricks. The Jedi did not fool us with their sophistry hundreds of years ago, nor shall they today. Guards, arrest this interloper.” Rokan disparaged. 

Qui-Gon ignited his lightsaber, and was swiftly followed by Obi-Wan. 

“Are you so certain you wish to make an enemy of the Order when standing so precariously upon the edge of defeat? Allow my companion five minutes to complete his demonstration. If, after this time has passed, and there is no resolution, then we shall depart in good faith.” 

Kryze frowned, yet held up a hand, halting the guards in place. 

Zayne shared a knowing glance with Qui-Gon, appreciative of the trust. 

Then the wafer floated toward a communication console beside the throne, and entered a data port. The console flickered, and a string of Mandalorian glyphs crawled across the screen.

“The remaining fragment contains no name, voice recording, etc. It does, however, retain the challenge code sent by the detonator before the receiver accepted the command.”

Duke Kryze’s eyes narrowed. “A challenge code identifies a paired device.”

“The Duke isn't as foolish as he looks, look at the brains on Kryze. Are you prepared for the finale? Therefore, every Mandalorian in this room will place their weapons and gauntlets upon the floor.”

Angry murmurs erupted across the hall, and Lady Wren removed her helmet. “You presume much, Jedi.”

“If the responsible device is present, this will resolve the matter without bloodshed.” Qui-Gon said, staring Rokan in the eyes. 

“And if it is not?” Rokan demanded.

“Then we fight here and now. You and me. Jedi versus Mandalorian in a Taung Blood Duel. To prove who is truly right.” Zayne confidently stated. 

Sharing a look, and not wanting to have their honor called into question, the various Mandalorians got to work. One by one, they removed their vambraces and placed them upon the ground. Pistols, knives, dart launchers, encrypted communicators, and more soon formed neat collections before each delegation.

Rokan was among the last to move. He unfastened his left gauntlet and allowed it to fall.

“Satisfied?”

“Nearly.”

Zayne entered a command into the console, then the recovered receiver sent out its broken challenge code.

For a moment, nothing happened, then a sharp electronic chirp sounded from the floor before Lord Rokan Kryze.

The throne room exploded into motion.

Rokan seized the pistol of the man beside him, swung it toward the throne, and fired.

Zayne’s hand rose, and the blaster bolt froze in midair.

It hung between Rokan and his brother, a burning red lance suspended within the throne room. Reflections of it shimmered across a hundred visors.

Zayne looked at Obi-Wan, and bowed. “Your evidence, my young friend.” 

With a twitch of his fingers, he sent the bolt into the ceiling. Rokan threw the pistol aside and activated a blade hidden beneath his remaining vambrace, then he lunged toward Satine.

Obi-Wan was already moving.

His blue lightsaber was already lit, and like the future hand decapitator extraordinaire that he would evolve into in the future, the young teen disarmed Rokan's unprotected hand, forcing the noble to fall to the ground, screaming in pain. 

“Jedi. You. Are. Dead!” Rokan snarled. 

“Give it up, loser.” Zayne yawned back. 

“You will not leave Manda-” 

Rokan was only halfway through his threat when Duke Kryze had approached him from behind, and blew his brains out. 

Zayne frowned at the stench, but decided to go along with it. 

“Now then, who else has designs on my life? Please step forward, I am happy to duel all challengers.”