Lord Mind Estoor

2002 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Thirty-eight years after Episode IV – A New Hope

PART 1

The hills of Chinngard rose and fell for as far as could be seen, an almost perpetual fog covering the landscape as if a blanket of cloud moved with its own mind across the trees.

Rivers and tributaries criss-crossed the feet of the hills and as a result there were an abundance of wood and stone bridges. A walker or rider could not go for more than an hour without having to cross one of these bridges and as a result the visitors to these parts named the hills the Many Crossings, leaving their mark as carvings in the wood or as etchings on the stone. The bridges, therefore, were covered in great detail; birds and animals and the faces of the very artists who had made their presence known were interwoven with one another as space became sparse. In many cases, logs had been driven into the ground next to the bridges so that carvings could be made.

Trees were as thick as ten beings in these parts and they were heavy with leaves, a shade of blue-green dominating the light browns and bright colours of the flower-covered undergrowth. The trees and plants alike shook gently in the rain, stooping as if surrendering to the weather.

Two riders on riddabeast crossed a wooden bridge with two tree-sized carvings at either end of great creatures unkown, facing each other across the river with wings outspread as if trying to cross. The riddabeasts clip-clopped across the bridge at a steady pace and the first rider turned slightly in his saddle to answer the question of the larger second rider.

“He stays here because he is doomed,” The guide from the town said in a low voice.

Vasquid shook his head with confusion. “Doomed?”

The guide from the town looked at the man he was guiding through the Chinngard foothills and shook his head with an expression of sadness. His grey riddabeast had its head lowered in the rain, as did the guide from the town, and his brown cloak hung damply across him and his steed as if it tried to cover them both. He stroked his thick grey beard in thought and cleared his throat.

“We do not know why. He came here years ago and has not left. He sometimes comes into the village to trade things but as soon as the weather turns sour he is away. I have seen him drop all he has gathered and run from the village as thunder rumbled over the hills. The strangest thing.”

A chill wind swept over them both and Vasquid pulled his heavy environment cloak closer. His pointed wide-brimmed hat weighed heavily on his head but he was loath to remove it. He regarded the other man with a confused expression and opened his mouth to speak. “Why is he doomed?”

The guide from the town sighed heavily. “He has mentioned over the years that he is here to claim something but he has never hinted as to what it is. He says he can never leave until he has taken it back but knows he will never possess it. Can you imagine such a thing?”

“What would keep a man…” Vasquid began but was interrupted.

“He’s the only one I know of in these parts who fits the description of the man you seek. If it was not for the stark baldness and the gold-trimmed clothes you speak of, I would never have thought of him. None have ever sought him out; I hope he is not the unwelcoming sort.”

“And the name Estoor has no meaning to you?”

“None. We do not know his name. He is the One Who Waits For Nothing to the town . We tell the children never to venture into the hills hereabouts, especially in storms like now.”

Vasquid patted the neck of his huge black riddabeast as it clucked and snorted with agitation at the far-off rumblings of the passing storm. The huge riddabeast was nervous and Vasquid could feel the tension as he pulled on the reins. “Is he dangerous?” he asked.

The guide from the town shrugged. “I do not know. He has never threatened us. His darkness is what scares us.”

The conversation ceased as the words of the guide were drowned out by a crash of thunder that rattled their teeth.

“All above!” The guide from the town cried out to imaginary deities and grabbed his own riddabeasts reins as it bucked wildly, the sudden flash and noise startling it. Vasquid’s own riddabeast turned its head with concern but conditioning kept it from reacting too violently. It neighed loudly and came up short.

Another heaving thump and lightning slammed down into the trees next to them. A hill nearby was illuminated.

“Look!” Vasquid cried out, and he pointed at what was occurring at the top of the next hill.

He could see that she felt the grass between her toes and smiled to herself.

The rain was hard on her face and she laughed deep within her chest.

The wind caressed her lightly-clad body and she lifted her arms so the breath of the land could sweep over her. Her cry of joy as the crash of thunder made her very bones tremble and she was illuminated by the brief glare of the lightning. Dressed in a simple white gown, the daughter of House Familee let the storm roar all around her, allowed the fury of the grey skies to permeate her very being.

Estoor watched with narrowed eyes. His gloved hand gripped his battered blaster tightly.

She began to turn as the storm washed over the place she stood. The clearing atop the hill was wide and rimmed with tall thick trees, the branches heaving blue-green. They spread down and away from the hill as if they poured from it’s very top, filling the low valleys below and covering all the other hills that stretched away into the distance.

The daughter of House Familee was laughing loudly now and Estoor could just about hear her over the voice of the thunder. The sound was as he remembered it, rich and filled with joy, but with a hint of sadness.

The eight shadows began to form within the trees.

He had been waiting for these shadows. This time, he hoped to surprise them.

The riddabeast of the guide from the town twisted its head with wild eyes as if trying to break free of its rider’s hold on the reins. It lifted its forelegs further from the ground but the weight and skill of the rider held it down.

“Easy girl, easy!” The guide from the town tried to placate the mount as best he could but his own fear had already engulfed him.

Vasquid looked at the shadows as they seemed to bleed from the darkness of the trees. He watched as the shimmering, almost holographic image woman in the centre of the field on the hill laughed at the rain and the lightning. He could also sense that this was a mere mental projection, one which his own powers could detect.

“The daughter of House Familee,” he hissed.

As the first Prime Warrior stepped from the treeline Estoor sprang forward, his blaster slipping from his belt. The thick blade on the barrel was raised into the air as he ran, towards where the daughter of House Familee stood and laughed, her hair pressed against her face as the water cascaded down her body and causing the white gown to cling to her form. His black leather glistened in the rain, black from both age and neglect, hung heavy from his shoulders as he ran as fast as he could towards where she stood and laughed, oblivious of the danger.

The Prime Warrior moved forward as if unsure and then leaped almost impossibly high to cover the distance between itself and the woman in the field. As Estoor came closer it landed between him and the daughter of House Familee, its own vibrosword ringing loudly as it came free of its sheath. The Prime Warrior’s grey ragged cloak billowed as it reared up to its full seven foot height, its features masked under swathes of bandages that covered its entire body. Gauntleted hands stretched out either side, the huge sword held lightly as if it weighed nothing.

The shrill piercing scream it produced caused Estoor to waver, as it always had, and he shifted his blaster/blade so that he held it in both hands. Returning the scream with a roar of rage and desire, he hefted his blade up and over his head in an arc of almost certain death.

The Prime Warrior shifted its own sword and intercepted the blow, the connection of both lengths of steel coinciding with a crash of thunder and the brightness of a flash of lightning as if both weapons had been forged by the skies themselves. Estoor swung his blade back and again sent a killing blow towards the creature before him but once again it was deflected. The Prime Warrior’s shrill laugh sent a momentary shiver down his spine but Estoor pushed the fear aside.

After all, he knew he was mad. And that this was a hallucination.

“What are these things!” Vasquid cried. His riddabeast was snorting as it felt the very presence of the shadows that were not there and it was all Vasquid could do to stop it from riding full speed into the midst of them. It was a war-riddabeast, after all, and it had been trained to ride down what it feared.

“Madness!” The guide from the town almost screamed. “He fights thin air! Let’s get out of here!”

The Prime Warrior stepped forward but did not press an attack as others of its kind started to emerge from the trees. Estoor looked past the creature and saw that the daughter of House Familee still stood in the thickening rain, oblivious to the battle mere yards from where she stood. He called her as he stepped forward to engage the Prime Warrior again but she did not hear him.

He lashed out with his blaster/blade but the creature countered the blow, stepping sideways to absorb the impact of the savage thrust and Estoor took advantage of its movement. He dived to the side of the creature and tried to roll past it. All he had to do was touch her…

But another Prime Warrior landed in front of him. Through the thick rain he could see the creature rear up with sword in hand, taller than the previous one he had faced. Other Prime Warriors seemed to drop from the sky as they leaped the distance from the trees to the where the woman stood and landed all about him with weapons ready. He stretched out his hand but the daughter of House Familee was too far away, and he was forced to snap his hand back as a Prime Warrior’s sword arced down, almost severing his fingers. He stepped back, the creatures relaxing their defensive stances as if expecting him to retire from the melee, but with a sudden turn he leaped at the first creature he had crossed swords with. His blade made it past the defensive angle of the defender’s sword and cleaved into its body.

He had, once again, acted without thinking, allowing his passion to cloud his judgement. His desire to touch the woman had blurred his sense and as the blade bit into the lower body of the Prime Warrior he felt the price of that folly. The creature screamed, its voice more piercing than before, and it seemed to billow outwards with yellow light, throwing him back and sending waves of piercing cold coursing through his body.

Estoor screamed in imagined pain and mad frustration.

Vasquid’s eyes fell onto the form that fought the non-creatures and he saw the features of who wielded it. The lightning flashed from the blade and it appeared as a length of silver light for the briefest of moments.

“Estoor!” he roared. “Lordmind Estoor!”

But the guide from the town had turned his mount and let the riddabeast run scared into the darkening foothills, forgetting any skill at controlling the beast and allowing himself to be carried from the sight.

He landed on the damp soft ground hard, the wind leaving his breast and his blaster/blade tumbling through the air to land point-first into the ground, sticking firmly and wavering with the impact. The Prime Warrior had vanished in the light.

Curled into a ball of pain, he watched with tearing eyes as one of the Prime Warriors stepped slowly towards the woman who was still standing with arms outstretched, welcoming the storm. He tried to move an arm but his limbs would not respond. He tried to cry out to her but his voice was a whisper. He wanted to look away but was captivated by the closeness of her.

The Prime Warrior’s fingers stretched out and it touched her lightly on the shoulder.

The cold left his limbs as the daughter of House Familee and the Prime Warriors vanished. His body began to warm as wisps of thick blue mist curled where they had once stood.

Now there was nothing in the middle of the field on the hill but a crude moss-covered stone where the daughter of House Familee had been standing, surrounded by eight other stones of larger proportions which seemed to lean over the central one. The storm raged on.

The roar of the thunder was joined by Estoor’s wail of defeat. His heart seemed to burst from his throat as his anguish threatened to consume him

He had lost her again.

Vasquid dismounted from his riddabeast, which was stomping with agitation and snorting loudly, and drew his blaster. He patted the neck of the huge beast absent-mindedly and the animal pulled its head away, clucking as it did so and moving towards the illusion of safety within the trees.

Slowly but with gathering speed, Vasquid walked through the trees that encircled the field on top of the hill. He pushed aside branch and twig and came to stand at the edge of the circle.

Here he could feel an unnatural coldness that caused a violent shiver from the base of his neck right down his back so that he was forced to stand as still as the nine stones in the field. He swallowed his fear and forced himself forward as he saw Estoor struggle to his feet. His arm hung limply at his side as he moved with faltering steps towards his weapon which stood upright, driven into the ground.

The steps turned into a run as Vasquid saw that Estoor was in danger of falling, dropping to one knee and trying to force himself on his knees to the blaster/blade, the limp arm shaking violently as he tried to stretch out the hand to take the handgrip.

As Estoor grasped the weapon Vasquid arrived at full speed, his blaster dropping from his grasp, dropping to his own knees and sliding the last meter to join the ragged-looking man who had now, finally, taken hold of the weapon. He grasped him by the shoulder and supported the frail-looking form.

Estoor slowly lifted his eyes and looked deep into the gaze of Vasquid whose face was a mask of concern and confusion. He reached out with his other hand and gripped the shoulder of the man he had not seen in years.

“Vasquid.” The word was a whisper.

“Estoor,” Vasquid said in a low voice. There was much he wanted to ask the man, there was much he wanted to know but his questions failed him. “Estoor, what…?”

“I’ve lost her again, Vasquid,” Estoor let a sob burst forth and then fell forward into Vasquid’s arms, encircling him with his own and crying heavily into his sodden cloak.

“I’ve lost her!”

PART 2

The rain was lighter than before as the storm rumbled ominously in the distance, travelling further and further away. Vasquid poked the fire with a thick branch as he watched Estoor’s sunken eyes gaze away into the distance where the storm was heading.

The carved stone bridge was a huge collection of statues and sculptures, the greatest being an armoured Jedi Knight with his hand raised into the air grasping a lightsabre, the blade having broken away at the very top. It seemed the stone Jedi was regarding his broken blade with sadness. Moss and vines covered the grey form like a green cloak.

Estoor had made a home under the solid structure, the stream it covered having dried up partially and allowing him to shelter under the bridge on a large bank. A fire pit burned brightly, the clothes of the two men hanging from thick branches stuck into the ground. Other logs laid out made for makeshift seats and they both sat wrapped in dry cloaks Vasquid had produced from his heavy saddlebags. The riddabeast stood in the light rain and ate at the side of the overgrown road that led up to the bridge.

Vasquid cast an eye over Estoor’s holed clothes and shook his head with a stifled sigh. His own thick armour had been placed carefully in the driest place of the shelter and appeared as bright as when it had been made. Estoor had stripped himself of the clothes as if it had offended him and cast it unceremoniously into a small pit where he kept his other belongings covered from scavengers.

As the last sounds of the distant thunder echoed through the trees Estoor turned his gaze back to the large yellow fire. The flames brightened his face but his eyes remained sunken and dark. Vasquid was appalled to see the state of the man, thin and dirty with barely half of the stature he remembered. He allowed the silence to linger before he spoke.

“Estoor, what happened?”

The silence lingered on further as Estoor continued to stare into the fire, as if he had not heard the question. He pulled his cloak tighter about him and hunched his shoulders.

“I found her, Vasquid.” Estoor’s voice was a whisper, harsh and low. “Then I lost her. And I keep losing her. Again and again and again.”

“I saw her. The daughter of House Familee. She was on the hill, and now there are stones. What is this? What have you created for yourself here?”

“What are you doing here?” Estoor suddenly asked, his voice firmer and louder. He looked at Vasquid with hard eyes, the lids lowered as if trying to stare into the mind of the man.

Which, Vasquid thought, he probably is.

“I have been searching for you for the last few months,” Vasquid said with an air of anger, the sharpness of the question taking him by surprise. “I knew you had fled back into Ki-Ki space when the Mind/Janos Pact crumbled but when I reached the outer planets you became difficult to track. After I had entered the surrounding systems your name was not known so I asked after the only thing I knew you would always carry with you.” He motioned with a flick of his hand to the clothes, which now lay discarded next to Estoor, the dirt and grime of the sodden earth creating veins of black down the cloth.

Estoor huffed a smile. “The clothes of office.”

Leaning forward and taking the sword Vasquid nodded. “The clothes. Your clothes, that show your status as Lordmind…”

“’…and shines its purity across all those who would defy it’. I remember.” Estoor stared at the clothes and twisted his mouth in disgust. “A poetic description of a uniform useless against the very things I need purified. You never answered my question, Vasquid. What are you doing here? Why have you sought me? You are my Chiefmind. Why you?”

“The mission is an important one. Your people need you…”

Estoor growled and stood quickly, casting off his cloak and heading to his clothes which were drying by the fire pit. “My people?”

“Estoor, your people…”

“My people lied to me and betrayed me, abandoned me! I do not wish you to speak of this further!”

“Betrayed you? You left them to die! Estoor, what has happened here? What has become of her? Of you?”

Another silence ensued as Estoor stared long and hard at the clothing he now gripped with anger, the sodden cloth still cold to the touch. He took several deep breaths and then turned slowly to Vasquid.

“Do you remember that day on the Mindmoon when I learned of the birth of the daughter of House Familee?”

Vasquid appeared confused for a few moments but then seemed to remember. “I remember you storming from the halls, and making deals with the Janites to seize her.” He smiled at other memories but then let the thoughts drop as he saw the seriousness on Estoor’s face.

“What could I do? How could I let a sour House Baron take her from me? So I stormed from the Hall and boarded the Silverlight, and I burst the ship’s heart trying to chase down the men who had taken her from me.

“I chased them to the Setnin Sector, and made a pact with a man who was nothing less than the leader of the Janites. A man of great power, or, at least, he was. As I arrived I had plans to wipe away the threat to me and the girl. The Ki-Ki. The Setnin Sector. We helped to start the war!”

Estoor stopped and swallowed hard, fighting back his emotion. He sighed deeply to focus his thought and then continued.

“I killed, in my anger, in my rage, everyone who stood in my way. I came here to escape, to the very planet where it all started. But the Prime Warriors will not let her go. And if I do not bring her back she will become like them, dark and twisted and bitter towards all those who have life. How can I picture her as a creature of black blood, Vasquid? How can I not be with her again?”

Vasquid had sat still, listening to Estoor’s words intently. His eyes narrowed at the mention of Estoor’s inappropriate behaviour on the Mindmoon. He took in a deep breath as he heard of the fate of his Lormind, how he had driven himself to the edge of insanity with his desire to possess this girl, this enigma who seemed to hold power unimaginable. He closed his eyes and shook his head as he listened to the man.

“I did not know of your intentions, Estoor…”

“You could have done little if you did.”

“…but the death of the Prime Lord’s daughter. Parleying with the enemy. The most awful crimes, Estoor, most awful. Why did you do it?”

Estoor’s face took on the expression of exaggerated helplessness. “What else could I do, Vasquid?” he said loudly with his hands spread wide.

“You betrayed the Ki-Ki Sector, Estoor!” Vasquid shouted back, standing to his full height. “You killed men to empower yourself!”

“You killed,” Vasquid murmured in disbelief. “You killed and you have been here trying to achieve the impossible for years… in your mind.”

“Years?” Estoor’s face changed abruptly from anger to shock. His eyes widened and he looked at the ground as the words flooded through him. “I’ve been here for years?” he whispered. His eyes glazed over and he dropped clumsily to the ground. He continued to look around him but he could not focus on any one thing, his mind whirling with the information and his chest heaving as if he had forgotten how to breath.

“I’m old,” he whispered, the words bringing a strange calm to his actions and he placed his hands to his face and breathed deeply several times.

Vasquid stepped forward and knelt down in front of Estoor, placing a hand on his shoulder and gripping it tightly. He looked at him with pity. Estoor looked up at him and his face twisted into sadness. “Then I may have already lost her,” he said.

“She stood beautiful in the storm, Estoor, you have not lost her yet,” Vasquid replied. “But you must return with me to the Mindmoon. The Minds are weak. We need you.”

“They betrayed me. I am no longer their father.”

“You must come. They did not betray you. You must come.”

Estoor cocked his head to one side. “And your word is my command, is that it. Vasquid?” He shook off the hand on his shoulder and got to his feet. “I will not simply gather my things and follow you to the Mindmoon because you command it.”

“The Mindmoon is dying, Estoor,” Vasquid snapped, standing also. “And you are the only one who can stop it. What, would you have more civil war? Would you have the Assembly argue over who is to take up the stewardship, or which bloodline is strong enough to take the Lordmind’s seat? Would you have them pay for it? War for it? The Ki-Ki Sector has won over the Setnin Sector! You can return! Are you a coward?”

Estoor visibly reached for his hip but then snapped his hand back when he realised his blaster/blade was not there. “Cowardice!” he shouted back. “You do not see what is happening to me!”

“Oh, I see it, Estoor! I see a man who believes that his passion will bring back the one he wants, a killer who is so terrified of the Prime Lord he uses false madness to avoid that responsibility! You have stayed here for so long you do not even know what is going on outside Chinngard’s borders. You do not know the back biting and recriminations within the Assembly now that the war is over! The increased need for money and personell to control the Setnin Sector, the very foundations of the Ki-Ki Mindmoon itself crumbling because the people have no sure leader to turn to!”

There was a slight pause and Vasquid, seeing that Estoor was staring at him in shock, smiled slightly although there was no humour behind it. “Or perhaps you do know,” he added. “Perhaps you do know and you do not wish the burden of the Lormind seat. I am right, am I not? You are a coward.”

“They betrayed me…”

“Noone betrayed you, Estoor, and you can hate us for the rest of your life if you so wish, that will make no odds to the running of the Ki-Ki Sector. But letting your hatred turn you from your heritage and betraying us… which is the greater crime? That of one man against one man, or one man against a sector?”

There were no more words between the two men as they both retreated to either side of the fire pit. The orange flames flickered and the wood crackled and snapped. Each man stared into the flames and thought of what they had said, each with some regret, each with much conviction in their words.

Then the rumble began. Far away in the distance the clouds once again gathered to form a black smear across the horizon and flashes of light, followed by rolling thunder, permeated the sky.

Vasquid did not look up as Estoor stood and headed for his partially dry clothes as the storm came closer. He threw on his undergarments and dropped his leather shirt over his body, buckling his belt on and retrieving the blaster/blade from the ground. Quickly and with hurried steps he moved to the road of the bridge and out of sight of Vasquid.

Vasquid sighed heavily and shook his head. Short of physically binding Estoor to his riddabeast and carrying him back to the starport against his will there was little he could do to stop the man. He heard the first drops as the rain began, which then turned into a torrent of falling water.

He knew that he would not be here when Estoor returned.

Standing slowly and throwing off his warm cloak he dressed himself, placing the armoured shirt back over his body and taking the environmental cloak from the branches where it had been drying. He cast the cloak about his shoulders and donned his large pointed hat. With a last look about the rough home, and the fate, Estoor had made for himself, he walked back to the road.

His steps faltered as he emerged from under the bridge. Estoor was stood at the roadside, the heavy rain washing down him. He looked in the direction of the hill where the daughter of House Familee was trapped in his mind and watched as the storm raged violently in the sky.

Vasquid moved to stand beside him and they watched the lightning in silence before Estoor turned to him and said, “A long way to the Mindmoon. And I have no riddabeast.”

Vasquid could not tell if the moisture that ran down his face was the rain from the sky or the rain from his heart.

PART 3

Vasquid watched as Estoor squirmed uncomfortably in the saddle of the riddabeast they had obtained in a nearby town.

“It has been a while since you rode a riddabeast, Estoor?” he asked with a smile. Estoor did not return the smile and harrumphed the remark. He straightened his back, grimaced, and then relaxed again.

“I have not sat astride a riddabeast since I came to these parts,” he groaned. “We should be heading north.”

Vasquid shook his head. “It will be faster this way.”

The two riders crossed over another of the many wooden bridges and noticed the carvings were becoming fewer and far between on the decorated bridges. Crude scratchings of names and pictures of simple creation were replacing the grandeur of the sculptures they had witnessed further into the hills of Chinngard. The bridges themselves were less common and at times the riddabeasts easily crossed the shallow streams and brooks they came across. The hills themselves became lower but the trees thicker.

“Not far to go now, Estoor.”

“Tell me more of what is happening in the Sector,” Estoor asked in a low voice. Vasquid looked at him and wondered what he should tell him first, a little suprised at the question as Estoor had avoided any conversation about the Ki-Ki Sector.

“The Assembly, all the Lords and Barons of the systems, have had several meetings on Fedarn since the victory over Setnin.” Vasquid paused for a moment, but saw that Estoor gave no reaction to the information imparted. He continued.

“At first they were worried. The Prime Lord had no heir to speak of and they despaired at what that meant. The Ki-Ki Sector without a Prime Lord was a daunting prospect. Only the beings of the Free Systems never attended those meetings. They have spent the last five years ignoring the talk of the Assembly. The more wary of the Assembly think they are preparing to strike once the Throne is vacated and the quarreling begins.”

“The Free Systems would not attack,” Estoor said with certainty. “They built the great cities of the Ki-Ki Sector and vowed never to raise their hand against them. It was part of the treaty which gave them their Free Systems Treaty.”

“The previous bloodline Kings vowed that,” Vasquid said, “but that bloodline died heirless two years ago. The Assembly are worried the Free Systems will not honour the treaty now that the bloodline that made the pact is gone.”

“And the Mindmoon?”

“The Mindmoon, or at least that which is permitted to exist, has sent messages of support for the Prime Lord but little else. Their ambassador attends the meetings but does not interfere. Just listens with interest.”

Estoor snorted derisively. “Never trust a Mind. They are probably scheming a way to take back the power. I cannot believe they have not blustered about taking back their birthland if the Prime Lord dies heirless.”

With a shake of his head Vasquid sighed deeply. “I think I trust the intentions of the Minds more than I do the Free Systems.”

“And the people of the Ki-Ki Sector?” Estoor asked with an apparent lack of real interest.

“They live their lives and wonder at the fate of the Sector with the victory over Setnin. They bicker at the borders of their systems and bow to the faces of their System Barons whilst spitting behind their backs.”

“Ha!” Estoor’s burst of laughter startled his old brown riddabeast momentarily. “That much has not change, at least! So concerned with what they can take from the Ki-Ki Sector they forget…” he stopped suddenly.

Vasquid turned at the sudden cessation of words and saw that Estoor was standing in his stirrups, staring down the slope ahead of them to a small clearing in the trees.

“What is it?” Vasquid enquired, moving his riddabeast so that he could get a better view of the clearing. “What is it you see?”

“A group of dark figures, but one appears to be bound and wearing the uniform of a Prime Warrior.”

Vasquid narrowed his eyes and saw what Estoor described. Six figures all dressed in dark clothing that, from this distance, appeared to hang from their bodies like shreds of torn cloth surrounded a seventh figure that walked with a stumbling gait, as if drunk. The seventh figure wore shining yellow armour that, in the bright clear day, sparkled like evening sun off water. His wrists were bound and a rope trailed from a noose around his neck to the figure who led them.

As Vasquid watched the captive faltered and collapsed. The others stopped and started waving their weapons, the dark one with the rope in hand walked back to the fallen man and kicked him twice, bawling and cackling, a sound which reached the ears of the two riders.

“Zobian slavers!” Vasquid hissed and drew his blaster, Estoor doing the same as they both spurred their riddabeasts and began to gallop down the slope.

As they burst from the trees, Vasquid cried out, “Prime Lord! Prime Lord!” Estoor brandished his own weapon and roared, “Minds! Minds!”

For a moment the Zobian slavers were stunned in place, their mouths wide with fear, the black dots they had for pupils bouncing from side to side in their pale eyes as they regarded their situation. They were on foot and their assailants were on riddabeastback. Under orders from the figure who lead them they stood their ground.

Estoor’s riddabeast was terrified and it neighed loudly but it continued to gallop, whilst Vasquid’s own riddabeast snorted as if it hated the creatures before it and pushed on with vigour, churning up great clods of earth with it’s huge feet. As the riders bore down on the group the lead slaver cried, “Run! Back to the ship!”

But it was too late. Vasquid’s blaster flashed and blew the head of the leader from his shoulders. Estoor fired and the weak energy shield his enemy held up was shattered, the shot continuing and cleaving his skull.

As Vasquid kicked out at another attacker, Estoor rode around the back of the group, his riddabeast barely heeding to his pull on the reins. Seeing that his steed would not do as he wished, and not feeling comfortable in the saddle, Estoor leaped from his riddabeast and landed with a mentally produced push of force that knocked down another slaver.

Vasquid fired left and right, another two falling under his vicious onslaught, then looked up to see the last slaver running for the trees. He kicked at his steed’s flanks and gave chase.

Estoor ran to where the man in yellow lay and stood over him, his blade ready. He did not fully trust the strange group he and Vasquid had found, as he had not heard of Zobian slavers operating in years, and he rolled the man over with his foot and tensed for action.

The Prime Warrior looked up at Estoor and lifted his binded hands in submission. “I surrender myself to your mercy, Mind,” he gasped. “I am a prisoner here.”

Estoor saw the red-stained armour and the haggard features of the man and nodded, slipping the end of his blaster/blade under the bindings and cutting the ropes away from his hands.

“What is this?” Estoor demanded.

“I am General Waldun of Udjein Major, sir, and I was captive,” Waldun answered. He tried to get to his feet but could not, and Estoor, his battle fever waning, stuck his weapon into the ground and helped him up. With an arm under his shoulders he helped him away from the scene of the fight.

Vasquid appeared from the trees on his riddabeast, riding at a canter back to where Estoor and Waldun had stopped and now sat on the ground. He stopped the riddabeast by them and dismounted.

“The sixth?” Estoor enquired.

“Escaped into the thickness of the trees. Who is this?”

“He says he is General Waldun of Udjein Major,” Estoor did not sound as if he had been convinced by the man’s words.

“I am he,” Waldun croaked and coughed violently. “Stationed on Chinngard to watch for slavers. Please…”

Vasquid handed him a water flask and Waldun pulled long draughts from the neck. After a moment he caught his breath and tried to compose himself. “The Zobian slavers have breached the our security. I must get to the my garrison, or at least the Baron of Chinngard.”

“The Baron is a long way north, Waldun, if that is who you truly are,” Vasquid said with an air of distrust. “What has happened? Why did the Zobian slavers have you?”

“I am thankful for your aid and will make sure you are rewarded.”

“I am Chiefmind Vasquid of the Mindmoon, General.” With these words Vasquid extended his left hand and fisted it, showing Waldun the shaped signet ring he had upon his finger. “Let us begone from here; the stench of slaver dead makes me squirm. A fire and food, that is what you need, General Waldun.”

The Zobian slavers were buried out of sight in a shallow pit Estoor hastily dug as Vasquid prepared a small camp. Waldun did not help under orders from Vasquid and rested wrapped in a spare cloak, staring into the fire as Vasquid prepared a broth.

As he poured the soup into bowls Estoor returned, grimacing and wiping his hands on his clothes. “They smell worse when they are dead. It’s been many years since any Zobian slavers have creaped past security, Waldun. What has happened?”

Waldun accepted the bowl from Vasquid with a nod and settled against the huge tree they had camped at the base of. The day was slowly bleeding into night and they had decided to sleep here so that Waldun could rest.

“A great number, greater than any we have seen before,” Waldun said. “The Zobian slavers had combined their forces and swept down. With all able men in the Setnin Sector, security is lacking.”

Both Estoor and Vasquid held each other’s gaze for a moment and then Vasquid turned back to Waldun. “No disrespect, General, but why do you live? Where were they taking you?”

“I was badly hurt but spared, enslaved. They were talking of killing me. Thank Fate I ran into you.”

“Thank Fate,” Vasquid agreed.

“Fate be damned,” Estoor said with a lop-sided smile. “The trees are thick and difficult to traverse to the south, this route being the clearest and easiest to set a ship down.”

“And this man, this cloaked man…” Waldun shuddered and sipped at his broth.

“What man?” Estoor prompted.

“A figure dressed in dark robes, with silver lettering on the trim. A hood covered his face and even when he came close there was just blackness within. Safe to say he commanded through fear the Zobian slavers. He talked of taking over the whole Ki-Ki Underworld.”

Estoor mused. “I do not understand.”

There was silence for a while as each man considered the words. Finally, Waldun said, “The slaver army is vast and fight with forethought and direction. This man controls them and controls them well. They drew us out with a small force, as if they were but a raiding party, but then the full might of their army fell on us. We could not hold them, even with all the men from the garrison.”

“You were hurt,” Vasquid said. “Let me see your wounds and clean them. I cannot imagine the slaver filth caring for your injuries…”

Then the attack came.

PART 4

The blaster/blade was heavy in his hand as he bought it over his head for another strike. Waldun knew the fight was lost but he was determined he would die in battle and not in some dank slaver chamber somewhere in the galaxy.

Around him the battle raged with the fury of a storm. The slaver army had barely crossed the mountains before the warriors from the garrison had descended upon the very place the three men had camped upon, apparently in the hopes of saving their General. With armour and helm glinting in the bright spring sun, Waldun had lifted his stolen blaster and roared his defiance at the Zobian slavers, leading the charge as a hundred men had joined him in his cry. They ran swiftly through the trees with weapons ready and fell upon the black-armoured creatures, smothering them and cutting down their weak defences.

The Ki-Ki soldiers were outnumbered by the Zobian slavers but they were skilled through years of conflict. It was their duty to hold back any assault.

But as the blood of the creatures had flowed, Waldun had noticed that the numbers of the enemy did not seem to diminish. He had seen, as he had fought his way to the centre of the mass of the slavers that the path leading up into the mountains was choked with the enemy. They flooded down like a river of destruction, sheer numbers overwhelming his men.

Waldun hacked down and another body joined the pile that surrounded him. The Zobian slavers had to clamber over their own dead to reach him and he stood atop their bodies with his vibrosword and armour covered in blood.

“Go to hell!” Walduns voice rang clear over the din of battle, overwhelmed now by the screaming of the Zobian slavers as their numbers and the Ki-Ki soldiers numbers evened. His blade bit deep again and this time the enemy gripped the steel in its death, falling back and wrenching the weapon from Waldun’s grasp.

A black-armoured slaver sprang from the mass and fell upon Waldun, almost knocking him from his feet. He scrabbled for a weapon and his hand found the barrel of a broken rifle which he lifted with ease to deflect the blow of the slaver who now threatened him. The slaver, a Rodian, laughed maniacally, the heat of the conflict sending it into a berserk rage, and it swung its blaster at him again. Waldun lifted the rifle and caught the swing as the slaver fired. The power of the blow sent him to his knees.

Waldun looked up with hatred at the enemy, the helm it wore a mocking parody of the plumed helms of his own men; instead of riddabeast hair sweeping from the top of the helm it had matted vines and moss. Instead of the delicate chinstraps it had knotted rope tied under its pointed chin. He gritted his teeth and tried to lift the axe but his strength had left him.

The next blaster shot sheared into his shoulder. The pain sent him into a backward fall that knocked the wind from him, the battle whirled from view and then all he could see was cloud and blue sky.

The slaver flung itself at Estoor and he lifted the blaster/blade weakly, blade facing upwards so that the being landed on it directly, screaming warmly into Waldun’s face before expiring and weighing heavy on his body.

He could feel the warm blood of his own wound covering the right side of his body and the cold blood of the dead slaver chief pouring over his chest. He then felt the agony and he had to stifle a cry of pain.

He tried to lift the body from him as he heard the cries and calls of his men but it was huge, the slaver at least a full head higher than him and dressed in black armour crudely pounded from thin sheets of metal. He did not want to die here, like this, trapped under the body of his foe. He also didn’t want to survive this way, trapped under the corpse whilst his men fought on. To be found alive under this body whilst all around him were killed? They would think him a coward, hiding under the dead to preserve his own life.

A rain of red blaster bolts shot through the battle and fell into the Ki-Ki Soldiers, the shots cutting into armour and flesh, sending the retreating men into rout, their cries of defeat piercing Estoor’s heart and bringing tears to his eyes. If only he could stand! If only he could get out from under the body of the chief he could rally the men in one final attempt to stem the flow!

He saw the roughly shod feet of the enemy running past him to chase the fleeing men, the laughter of the enemy making his blood rise. With gritted teeth he gathered all the strength he had and heaved at the body with his mind.

The slaver corpse flopped over and rolled down the pile of bodies. Estoor sat up and then tried to stand but the pain of his deep wound threatened to overwhelm him. With slow, deliberate movements he got to one knee, then to both feet, then he stood tall and defiant in the face of his enemy. He took up his bloodied weapon and held it above his head, his face contorted into a mask of pain and anger.

“Ki-Ki! Ki-Ki!” he cried. Zobian slavers who were running past him slowed and regarded him with confusion then mockery, laughing and pointing at the wounded man who stood before them with no hope of survival, his words of battle hollow and useless as the Ki-Ki Warriors continued to run from the field.

“You filth!” Estoor cried. “I am the Lordmind Estoor, the master of the Mindmoon! You have chosen a bad day to anger me! I will rule this Sector and you will be the first to die! We are defiant in the face of your…”

A blaster shot slammed into his chest and he gasped, the shock evident on his face. He staggered back but did not fall, the laughter of the Zobian slavers seemed muted in his ears as his blood pumped fiercely through his veins.

“Stupid idiot!” a slaver cried. “See how the great Ki-Ki soldiers run before a few slavers!”

Estoor grinned, his blood stained teeth a strange contrast to his dirt-streaked face. “Kill me and a hundred will take my place!” He saw a slaver begin to raise his blaster and he sent out a mental missile with the last of his strength. It landed squarely in its chest, the slaver gurgling and flying backward with the impact, the half-raised blaster launching the shot into the mass of his fellows. A scream punctured the laughter but none of the Zobian slavers took any notice of it as they cackled at the man.

With his eyes blurring Estoor reached down and grabbed another weapon from the dead, his hand encircling the hilt of a vibrosword which protruded from the body of slain foe. With a great effort he pulled the weapon free and held it aloft, his knees buckling slightly and his stance of defiance failing.

“See the weakness!” another slaver cried, his broken weapon lifted above his head so that all eyes regarded him. He lowered the weapon so that the point was aimed at Waldun. “What is the strength of the Ki-Ki now? This is no battle, this is simple butchery!”

Slowly the slaver walked toward Waldun with narrowed eyes and pointed teeth grinning, cracked and stained. He stood at the base of the pile of dead that Waldun stood atop and spat at him.

The last action sent a great cheer throughout the ranks of the Zobian slavers, their laughter joining into a great rumble.

Estoor sank to his knees, the pain and the grief finally overcoming him. The vibrosword sank point-first into the bodies and he held onto it for support, resting his forehead on the pommel and letting his anguish flood from his heart. He lowered his shoulders and allowed great sobs to burst from his chest.

The slaver approached, slowly, his blaster raised and his eyes burning with rage. There was no pity on his twisted, pointed face. There was no emotion carved into his features, no sign of remorse or compassion as he lifted his weapon to finish the man.

“Wait!”

The chief had tensed on the trigger but the thunderclap voice snapped him from his intent. He staggered forward and then backwards, the evil on his face changing to one of barely-suppressed suprise. He stepped back and, as the slaver army parted to allow a figure through their ranks, he bowed deeply, as did all the slavers who the figure passed.

The tall figure approached but Estoor, through the tears and dirt that stung his eyes, saw that it didn’t walk like any of the other Zobian slavers but carried itself with an almost proud bearing, the strides long and measured, the hooded head higher than even the tallest slaver present.

“Do not kill him, yet,” the figure said, the deep male voice calm yet incredibly commanding. The slaver stepped back with a deep bow, turning the weapon so that it pointed away from the approaching man.

“He is the last of the Minds. We were to wipe them out.” Estoor could hear the anger in the slaver’s words, could almost feel the confusion that was emanating from him and the other Zobian slavers close to the scene. He turned and looked intently at the tall cloaked figure.

The robes the newcomer wore were dark blue, almost black, and the edges were trimmed with silver lettering that were one day, perhaps, beautiful to look at but now the cloth was ragged and torn, hanging limply from the wide shoulders as if damp.

It was Vasquid.

“Va… Vasquid?” Estoor croaked. He tried to probe with his mind but he was too weak. Vasquid knelt down in front of the man.

“I’m not an illusion, Lordmind,” Vasquid said. “I’m not a result of your twisted mind.”

“But… but… I don’t…”

“Understand? Well, let me explain. When the Mind/Janite Treaty collapsed, we, the Minds, looked to you for help. And what did you do? Gibbered about the daughter of Familee, expended all the resources we had left. All you could talk about was unlocking the riddle of her power and taking that power for yourself. You couldn’t even see what was happening to your own people. We died. Leaderless and without cause, we died out.”

“The Mindmoon…”

“Is wiped out. There is nothing left of our home.”

“But you said…”

Vasquid shrugged. “I had to ascertain your intentions. See what you had done. What you knew. Obviously you know nothing, hiding here. I had to know whether you were a threat, or if you had passed on what you knew of the daughter of Familee. All I found was crazy man creating visions for himself. You let her existence consume you.”

Estoor looked around at the slavers. “All this…”

“The slavers were supplied to me by contacts I have made in the Setnin Sector. They’re not slavers, actually, they’re Zobian Contract Soldiers but the cover of slavers served a purpose in covering their movements. It was just rotten luck that the battle happened here, now. I was hoping to get you to my ship and to my contacts before the Ki-Ki garrison attacked. Still, we have weakened the Chinngard defences and it will make taking the world back easier for my friends in the future.”

“Your, friends?” Estoor bawled, barely able to contain his rage. “Vasquid! What have you done to me?”

Vasquid stood and looked over his shoulder, watching the Zobians begin to re-assemble into ordered ranks. They had dropped their cackling ‘slaver’ act and had returned to their professional soldierism, head counting and policing the casualties.

As they manoeuvred and ordered themselves, two figures approached through the mass.

Estoor watched closely, the blood roaring in his ears, his limbs and eyes weakening every second. His vision blurred but he could see that the two figures were men, standing tall, in uniforms he recognised. System House uniforms. Uniforms of the House Familee.

Corri and Yedda came to a stop in front of the stricken man and gazed down upon him with unfathomable eyes. Although Yedda stared down at him with anger in his visage, Corri looked with an image of almost-pity, his deep breaths as he stood amid the carnage betraying his cool exterior.

Strangely, Estoor found himself laughing.

“A clever d… deception,” he wheezed. “Finding me to lead the M… Mindmoon once again, to see my reaction to the possibility of p… power. Why?”

“You are my Lordmind,” Vasquid said in a low voice. “I had to be sure you were still the same man who had led his kind to destruction. I owed you that much, at least.”

“I could n… not read you. See your thoughts…”

“I have become powerful now that I do not have your influence to limit me, Lordmi... Estoor.”

“So this is where the sons of Familee shall have their revenge,” Estoor said to the two uniformed men. “They will destroy the man who helped bring ruin to their family. When I am dead, will your parents, your friends, magically appear? I think not! What will you have gained? Nothing! Your parents are still dead! Your world still subjugated! What will killing me gain? You will never have peace. You will always be in this situation, with no bloodline, nothing. What… will… you… gain?”

Yedda’s faced twisted from anger to surprise, but it was Corri who knelt down in front of Estoor and whispered into his face;

“We will gain the knowledge that you will never, ever, do this to anyone ever again.”

Estoor swallowed hard and smiled.

“I apologise for… n… nothing. I regret… nothing…”

And then he died.

EPILOGUE

Bessa Cipple stood on the landing platform of the Fortress as the small vessel touched down. She watched as the landing gases dispersed and three figures descended the ramp.

All about her landing personnel hurried to and fro. Their faces were grave. It was not often they had traffic on Amagad since the victorious Ki-Ki Sector had imposed strict movement restrictions throughout the most powerful worlds within Setnin. They moved quickly to secure the ship before any questions were asked by the Commander who sat in his warship in orbit.

“All done?” Bessa asked with a half-smile to the Familee brothers. They simply nodded and walked by with expressionless faces.

Bessa let the smile drop as they walked past and turned her attention to the first figure.

“All done?” she asked again.

“All is done, ma’am,” Vasquid answered and bowed his head.

“When you first came to me,” Bessa said with arms crossed as they started to slowly walk to the rooftop access turbolift, “I thought you were a spy for the Minds, for the Ki-Ki.”

“I understand,” Vasquid said. “But I hope I proved my intentions.”

“Leading us to and bringing down Lordmind Estoor?” Bessa said with a small laugh, stopping in her walking and regarding Vasquid’s baldhead with interest. “You did more than prove intentions.”

She held out her hand and shook Vasquid’s firmly.

“Your request to join my organisation is granted. A Mind will be a valuable asset. Welcome to the team.”

Corri turned to Yedda as their sister flung herself into their arms, her golden hair billowing out. She was obviously glad to see them.

They both forced smiles for their sister’s benefit and laughed as she ran off ahead.

Yedda’s smile faded and he looked at his brother with intent.

“That just leaves the Emperor Priest of Janos,” he whispered.

Lord Mind Estoor

2002 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Thirty-eight years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Histories – After the dramatic Fall of Chancai the politics of the Ki-Ki Sector become strangely more complicated in this Jonathan Hicks tale. As the weight of controlling the enormous Setnin Sector falls on their shoulders, the Ki-Ki begin to bicker and pick apart old alliances, leading to confrontation and strife.

Cast of Characters

Lordmind Estoor

Chiefmind Vasquid

Prime Warrior General Waldun

Corri Familee

Yedda Familee

Bessa Cipple