The feel of the place made her nape bristle in the way that battlefields did, but many times mag-nified. It wasn't actually a feeling of dread; just a sense that terrible things had happened but that it had somehow been triumphant, even oddly content in the end. Across the ex-panse of short spongy gra.s.s was an avenue of trees. She couldn't see what it led to, but it led to something. She felt it.

"Sacred site?" she asked. Beviin bent over and took a few swings at the turf with his beskad. He looked as if he was digging for something.

"I can feel something happened here, a battle maybe."

"Vongese. But no prizes for guessing that." He walked off to another patch of gra.s.s, scouting around for some-thing. "Ah, look. They turn up all the time. Come over here."

A skull seemed to have worked its way out of the soil. It wasn't Mandalorian-Jaina could tell from the odd ridges that ran from brow to crown on its one clean side that it had been a Yuuzhan Vong soldier-but it still looked quite human: far more human than the Yuuzhan Vong had been in life, when they were so proud of the ritual facial mutila-tions that made them look utterly alien. Beviin squatted to pull the skull free. When he poked a finger into an empty eye socket, a pale yellow worm tumbled from the clinging soil and made a frantic, squirming bid for safety on the ground.

"I think there were a few thousand of them, "Beviin said. "And this was a poor place to defend, but we took them on. You fought the vongese, didn't you? You understand." He tilted the skull and picked off the soil still cling-ing to the right side, revealing a huge split over the orbital ridge. "Ah, ner vod, we've already met. How have you been?

Rotting, I hope."

Beviin drew his saber and lined the blade up carefully with the split in the bone. It slotted into it neatly. Once Jaina had proved her worth in the workshop and worked until she dropped, Beviin had been the most gracious host imaginable, and she found it hard to square that avuncular charm with the man he could become when he picked up that beskad.

"And that, "he said, pointing to the avenue of trees, "is Fenn Shysa's memorial. Your mother knew him, and your uncle Luke, too. Pay your respects and we can get on with your lessons."

It was a battered red-and-green helmet on a plinth; no inscription, no railings, nothing that indicated its owner had been a head of state or even who was commemorated. Jaina was struck less now by the intimidating face that Mandalorians presented than by their apparently anarchic society and-despite the credits flooding in now from their beskar mining and sales of the Bes'uliik-grim rural pov-erty. Then she remembered little Briila, able to handle a tiny blaster at five years old, and old man Fett nearly taking her spleen apart with a gut-punch, and decided that caution was still the best option.

It was hard to know how to be reverent toward a helmet. She did what she would do at a state funeral, and simply bowed her head for a moment, as Jedi did.

"Shysa led us to kick out the Empire, "Beviin said. "Didn't you, fen'ika?" He walked up to the helmet and patted it fondly. "A great Mand'alor. But he always wanted Fett as the front man, and Fett wasn't having it. Shysa got his way in the end, though. Hey, do you want to record a holo-image for your mother?"

"Some cultures would find that disrespectful."

"Ah, we don't. Shysa would have loved it, if it was for Princess Leia. You could even have been a Mando if your mama had said the word-and if she hadn't met the s.p.a.ce b.u.m, of course."

Beviin said it with a big grin, and it didn't sound like the insult it would have been in Fett's mouth. "Why did Shysa think Fett should be Mandalore? Because his father was?" Jaina didn't add that Fett didn't strike her as the community-minded kind. "Bloodlines don't matter to you."

"True, but Jango had a fearsomely good fighting reputation, and he was Jaster Mereel's chosen heir, so the Fett name has some power. When things were as rough as they were when the Republic fell-well, even we needed icons. You know that Shysa even got a clone deserter to pose as Jango Fett's heir, just to give the ametuse the idea that we were solid again? n.o.body really knew who or what was under the armor. Worked.... for a while."

"And then Fett ruined all their national solidarity by showing up as my grandfather's right-hand thug." Jaina knew her own dynastic moral high ground wasn't all that farther above the waterline than Fett's.

"What happened to him?"

"Shysa?" Beviin winked. "Or Vader?"

"The deserter."

"Spar? Oh, Fett's daughter killed him. He was a good Fett double, all right... too good, may he find peace in the manda. Ailyn hated her papa."

"That's tragic." Was Beviin joking? No, he wasn't; but why would any man put himself in harm's way for Fett? "So, there's Shysa..."

"You'll have to ask Fett about that yourself."

"I'll put it on the list after I ask him about his not-dead wife."

Jaina fought down a bitter anger that Sintas Vel was alive and Mara wasn't. "I think Uncle Luke might advise him to seize that blessing."

"If his granddaughter tried to kill him, and his daughter even killed a man who looked like him, what do you think his ex-wife's going to do if she remembers who he is?"

Jaina didn't know what to say, but she thought of Jag, and her parents, and knew she had plenty that Fett didn't. He was too old and isolated to even hope to have it. But it gave her no sense of satisfied vengeance that her father's old enemy was so damaged; all she could feel was pity.

"Let's get on with it, then, "she said, wanting to forget a miserable story. She had enough of her own; there were surely more to come. "Call me a Twi'lek dancing girl one more time, and I'll show you how mean they make us at the academy."

Beviin grinned and slipped on his helmet. "Talk's cheap, Jedi. Get your plates on."

The training armor wasn't custom-fitted and the helmet was just a head guard, but it was beskar. The worst injury she could get while sparring was bruising from impact. Beviin took out two metal sabers and handed her one, hilt first.

"Durasteel, "he said, "and so is this one, because we both want to see our grandchildren grow up. Come on."

"So you think I should try to face down my brother with a real saber, "Jaina said, hefting it and testing the weight.

"No, I think you should learn a different technique, be-cause you're predictable."

"Because Jedi all learn the same basic moves?"

Beviin demonstrated a few mock lightsaber pa.s.ses. "It's all long sweeps. Every part of the blade cuts, so you don't have to think about the angle, and it's light, so you don't put much weight into the blow.

And you spend a lot of en-ergy leaping around opponents, just trying to get past their defense. See what happens if you get used to a beskad.

It'll change how you handle that shiny stick."

Jaina examined her beskad; a blade forty-five centime-ters long, maybe five or six centimeters wide, with a single cutting edge curving to a point-and much heavier than it looked, perhaps more than two kilos. The leather-bound grip with its plain guard and weighty pommel made it feel like a well-balanced hammer-no, more like an agricul-tural tool, meant for hacking down grain or undergrowth. She could see how easily it could embed itself in a Yuuzhan Vong's skull.

Jaina tested her balance to allow for the extra weight. Immediately she missed the reach of the lightsaber-two-thirds of it, in fact-and she also found that she couldn't grip the saber two-handed. It made her feel suddenly exposed. Beviin just stood relaxed, tapping his blade against his thigh plate. If he'd been a Jedi.... both of them would have adopted opening stances and begun the careful ma-neuvering to find the optimum moment and angle for the first strike.

Beviin stood still for so long that Jaina found herself un-able to stay back, and began sidling up to him, not sure what to do with her left hand other than extend it for balance. As she swung the beskad around in a horizontal arc into his chest, she felt the tip hit his plates-she was too far back, still thinking with a longer weapon-and he simply smashed his saber arm down on top of hers, brought his left fist up into her sternum and punched her back a few paces. He followed through and flattened her simply by jumping on her. It was over in two seconds, and he hadn't even used his blade.

"Great start, Solo, "she said. It was the first time she had been taken down in a saber fight of any kind for years. Beviin jumped to his feet and pulled her up. "I can't be that stupid.... can I?"

"The only point I'm making, "Beviin said kindly, "is that you know none of my moves-yet. I made you come to me, and that led to a few mistakes. Next time, anything goes as long as we don't hit unarmored body parts. Ready?"

"Ready."

This time she just took a couple of steps back and slashed diagonally without squaring up. The blade rang on impact, painfully loud, and suddenly his beskad was in his other hand, she couldn't get past his blocking move, and he ducked low to ram her with helmet and shoulder.

Every time she got up, she ended up flat on her back again after a few thrusts and slashes, and yes, he used that left hand a lot; a follow-on punch, a one-two maneuver after a bone-shaking saber blow, kilos of dead metal slamming into her. The blade didn't even have to cut her. She was being ham-mered every time she was. .h.i.t. All she could do was Force-leap out of the way.

Beviin was heavy, confident, and used his greater body weight as another weapon, as a battering ram. She couldn't find a way to get inside his reach that wasn't blocked by his free arm-armor changed the game, making any limb both a shield and a weapon-and didn't leave her wrong-footed. Eventually the only way she got in two consecutive blows and still stayed standing was to Force-push him to compen-sate for her lack of weight and momentum. She knocked him down and pinned him with the Force, panting.

"I wondered.... when you'd do... that, "he said, equally breathless.

"You're taller.... and heavier than me."

"Not saying.... you cheated."

"What have I learned?" She knelt to one side, and he sat up. "This is like nothing I've ever seen. You break every rule of close combat."

"Exactly." Beviin gripped the beskad by hilt and tip, holding it up to the light as he lay on his back. "I use it like a hammer that also cuts when you pull it back, and you're expecting conventional blade techniques. And you're ham-pered by muscle memory. You've been so well trained that your body responds instantly without consulting your brain, every time."

"Oh, we're even trained not to think, just to feel intu-itively in the Force." Jaina felt a little robbed. "Hey, I'm teaching you how to kill Jedi. Smart guy."

"I already know. A Jedi taught me."

"Well, aren't you Master Useful..."

"Don't tell the galaxy, but Fett and me, we fought along-side a Jedi Master plenty of times in the vongese war."

"My enemy's enemy is my friend, right?"

"My enemy's always my enemy but we can both get smart and put that aside while we deal with a common threat."

Jaina had to know. She kept thinking of the old man in armor, strong in the Force, and whether anyone knew what he was. "And am I your enemy, Goran?"

Beviin sat up, saber across his lap. "I'm not Fett. First, I'll ask who you're fighting for. It's not the Mando way to judge someone on their genetics."

"Fett's not like the rest of your people. I can see that even after a few days."

"No. He's a Fett. He's his own species." He stood up and changed the subject. "So, here you are, a master at a very demanding martial art, and you've had your shebs kicked by an old scruff-bag of a Mando mere.

Because you had no idea what I was likely to do. Because you never fight that close in and I was right up in your face, inside your reach, so all your parrying skills didn't help. Because I don't use a saber like a saber. In a week, though, you'd end up killing me, because you'd get good at this, you're young, and you'd use the Force."

And she wasn't likely to take a beskad to hunt Jacen. She tried to filter the welter of impressions from that morning and leave only the lessons that brought her up short, "If you met me in a real battle, would you kill me?"

"Yes." Beviin didn't even pause. "Sorry. And you'd better be able to look me in the eye and kill me, too."

Jaina eased off her helmet and wiped her face on her sleeve.

"You're a nice man. I'd have to really think you were going to kill me before I went that far."

"So, how the shab are you going to tackle your brother? Because it's going to be even harder to capture him than kill me. It always is.

There's plenty of ways to kill someone without even going near them."

Jaina didn't need a translation. "Ah.... well, he doesn't draw the line at hurting his own. Ask my cousin Ben."

"But could you look into his face, and then cut his legs from under him with that lightsaber of yours? Because if you want to grab him, you're going to have to lure him into a trap, or injure him so badly that you can get beskar man-acles on him." Beviin stood up and prodded her leg with his boot. "And then what are you going to do with him?" He kicked her casually again, this time in the base of the spine, just under the edge of the back plate. "Put him in a beskar cage for the rest of his life?"

"I don't know, "she said, getting annoyed with the kicks. He was trying to get some reaction, and she found herself automatically suppressing anger. "Ow, cut it out."

"You think Jacen will cut it out?"

"Okay, point made-oww!"

This time, the kick really hurt. She was on her feet in a heartbeat and ready to put the beskad hilt-deep in him. She shut the anger down right away.

"Sorry, I seldom lose my temper in a fight."

"You lot think that anger leads to the dark side, don't you?"

"Yes."

"So how come you're taught to feel a fight and not think it?"

"That's how we use the Force. It guides us if we surren-der to it."

Beviin mimicked a Twi'lek dancer's circling hips. "That's dancing talk, Jedi."

"We still win a lot."

"Okay, try it my way. Visualize your actions before you even draw the blade, start to finish. Then just go at it and don't stop short, not for anything." He took the blade from her and rummaged in the pannier of the speeder, pulling out two short wooden sticks. "These won't hurt, so you can really, really go crazy with them. Okay? Learn to let go, and not to the shabla Force. To wanting to finish off your enemy."

"Hate, "Jaina said, taking the club. It felt like a feather after the beskad.

"No, not hate. Me or him. Total war."

It sounded rote; it sounded like what she'd been warned to avoid from the time she first held a lightsaber. About Briila's age. Yes, I was. It was just another way of saying that you didn't give up when you got knocked down. It was resilience. Jaina stood a couple of meters back from Beviin, less self-conscious now and ready to give him a pounding.

She couldn't kill him with this.

Jaina lunged first, smashing Beviin as hard as she could Force-unaided across shoulders, forearms, even his head when he dropped his guard. It was such a light stick. She drove him back, grunting with the sheer effort of putting all her weight into the blows and not feeling that they were making any impression. He didn't fight back. She ground to a halt, pulse pounding.

"Good try." Beviin sounded a little different. "Now feel this."

He came straight at her, stick raised, with an animal ex-plosion of breath. Instantly she felt him change in the Force into complete lack of all emotion except a single... word, yes, almost a word: end. He closed in and rained blows on her like a machine, no style, no grace, no pause, until she fell back and he still kept hammering her while she lay in a ball and instinctively shielded her head. She wondered for a terrifying irrational moment if he really was going to beat her to death with this small stick. Was he ever going to stop? There was no hatred in there, just a terrible focus, the rest of the world shut out. Then something flipped a switch in her and she threw him back with the Force, scared for both of them.

When she finally uncoiled and looked up at him, he had his helmet in one hand and his face was red. He felt embar-ra.s.sed. She could sense it.

"There, "he said, getting his breath back. "Just as well you did that. I'm not getting any younger. If I dropped dead after a Jedi hit me with a shabla twig, I'd never live it down."

"You'd be dead anyway." Jaina laughed, not finding it funny but on that edge between giggling and tears.

"So... I wouldn't stop in battle until I saw you were dead or completely out of action. Did that feel different to you? I lost it."

"If you'd had a saber.... yes, I can feel the difference."

"Can you get yourself into a state of mind where nothing, but nothing will stop you? Not even your opponent screaming at you to stop?

When all you can see is blood and stuff that'll give you nightmares?"

The silence that followed was the lesson, and she learned it.

Beviin seemed quite disoriented by it.

"Food, "he said, packing away the weapons and hauling her upright to take off her plates. "Medrit hates it when I keep the kids waiting for lunch."

Jaina swung onto the saddle behind him and couldn't pin down what she felt. They skimmed over fences and hedges, catching strong scents of cut wood, manure, and wood smoke. Nerfs seemed to be watching suspiciously in every other field. "Can we talk about what just happened?"