The Jedi And The Warrior

A Choice Unmade

"Flyra," Obi-Wan gasped, his saber hissing and flickering with the first drops of rain that splattered from the sky. "Why aren't you at the ship, you should have run!"

There was panic, and fear in his brilliant blue eyes, but also... excitement. Exhilaration. Beyond him, she could see Malco Flint watching with a face that had tightened at the sight of Obi-Wan.

She glanced to Obi-Wan again. "As I recall," she snapped, "it was your master who ordered me to calm the villagers."

Obi-Wan stared at her, then at the villagers who had fled far into the wilderness, disappearing into the grasses with screams that faded into the night. It was the first time she'd even remembered they were there since these strange companions descended from the ship.

"And a masterful job you've done of it," Obi-Wan observed, as the rain clung to his Padawan braid and made it curl around the shell of his ear.

"I don't see that you've done much better," she retorted —

But Malco Flint stepped forward. "And who, may I ask, are you?" he said, in that voice that seemed to come from right beside her, even though he stood almost twenty paces away.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened, and he shifted so that he was between the man and Flyra. "That is none of your concern," he said, his voice undaunted, his lightsaber lifting a fraction. "I suggest you withdraw from this village now, and leave its inhabitants in peace."

A flick of the man's eyebrows, and Flyra noticed the rip in Obi-Wan's tunic just above his elbow, stained almost black with blood in the light of the moonlight. Clearly there was at least something in that ship besides this group.

"And why would we do that?" challenged the man, the beginnings of a snarl forming around his mouth.

Obi-Wan flipped his lightsaber, and it hissed and murmured as it sliced through the air. "Because you don't know your own peril," he said quietly.

And the man laughed. A loud bark of a laugh, mocking and cruel. "On the contrary, boy," he roared, and this time the sound carried across the distance between them, and she could no longer hear him whispering in her ear. "You do not know your peril." He cocked his head. "But we will leave this village, and all of its inhabitants, do not concern yourself with that. All we want is the girl."

Wanted. They wanted her. She meant something to them.

"You came all this way for one girl?" was Obi-Wan's incredulous answer, as the moonlight glimmered in the countless raindrops and the ship hovered there like an overlord.

But Malco Flint just met her dearest friend's gaze, something like pity sparking in those icy eyes. "Yes," he answered. "She is essential."

Obi-Wan's grip tightened on his lightsaber, and his shoulders tensed. "She does not belong to you," he snarled, and there was indeed real anger in his voice.

And before she could lunge for him, before she could call for him, he had leapt across the space between himself and his enemy, his lightsaber raised for a killing blow. She watched him arc through the night and the rain, her heart pounding so hard she felt as if it had blocked her throat. But Malco Flint drew from the folds of his orange robes a lightsaber of his own, and it was red like Kai's, a sword already painted with blood.

When Obi-Wan fell upon him, he was ready, and the meeting of their sabers was like the grinding of metal against stone. Flyra started forward, forgetting for a moment that she was unarmed as she hurled herself into a run across the space between them.

Beneath the ship, Obi-Wan and this strange captain battled, the flash of blue and red too fast for her to track, each movement like a deadly dance. They seemed to sense the movement of the other before it was even made, parrying and slashing with unceasing intensity. Malco's lightsaber met Obi-Wan's, and he bore down, crimson cleaving into sapphire, and Obi-Wan grunted.