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“How much more can Yammka endure?” Nas Choka asked of the vessel’s shaper.

“Six of our principal dovin basals are dead,” the shaper was quick to say, “and many of our plasma launchers have been destroyed. Perhaps, Warmaster, if you would consider withdrawing Yammka from the vanguard array—”

“No. I want the attention of the enemy focused on us. We must remain a primary target.”

“We could be destroyed, Warmaster,” the tactician said carefully.

Nas Choka nodded. “An acceptable risk. For today we serve our species as no Yuuzhan Vong have. We prove our worth to the gods who fashioned us. If we are to die, we do so discharging a transcendent obligation.”

The command chamber’s lock dilated and the vessel’s Supreme Commander entered, snapping his fists to his opposite shoulders in salute. “Warmaster, from our scouts: Ralroost and forty other warships have just reverted from darkspace.”

Nas Choka faced forward, his gaze directed toward the imperceptible enemy fleet. “That would be Traest Kre’fey.” He grinned faintly. “All this is as it should be. The gods look out for us.”

The Supreme Commander genuflected. “Warmaster, there isn’t a commander who wouldn’t gladly substitute his vessel for yours—or die in your stead.”

Nas Choka betrayed no emotion. “Return to your duties, Supreme Commander.”

The warrior rose and saluted again. When he had exited, the tactician moved to Nas Choka’s left side.

“You have the unconditional fealty of your warriors, Fearsome One. They would follow your every order—even those orders that might countermand their faith.”

Nas Choka’s gaze remained fixed on the battle. “Tell me of Yuuzhan’tar, tactician.”

“Enemy fighter craft have broken through our dovin basal shields, and war parties are on the surface. Some one thousand ground warriors battle ours in the sacred precinct. Others have gone to the aid of the heretics. Fortunately, the dhuryam has taken steps to confuse matters.”

“How so?”

“With fires, and by loosing some of our beasts. Nevertheless, the territory surrounding the Citadel is in great turmoil.”

Nas Choka waved his hand in unconcern. “Structures can be remade. Where is Shimrra?”

“The Supreme Overlord is in his coffer.”

“Then that, too, is as it should be.”

“He wishes it relayed to you, Warmaster, that you do honor to your elite rank. The Supreme Overlord proclaims that your name will live on as an inspiration to others. You will be the zenith all those who follow you will seek to attain.”

“That means little unless we are successful at Zonama Sekot.”

The tactician nodded. “Hapan warships are still arrayed in a blockade, preventing our vessels from escorting the poisoned one to the surface.”

Nas Choka frowned. “I thought the Hapans had settled their score with us at Obroa-skai. But, no matter. It is the nature of vendettas that they continue to escalate, until one or the other party is wiped out.”

He gave the tactician a sideways glance. “Divert to Zonama Sekot the vessels of Domains Tivvik, Tsun, Karsh, and Vorrik. Caution the commanders not to make their intentions too obvious—even if this requires their taking additional time to reach the living world. We will make the Hapans suffer as they did at Fondor. Then our barb will find its mark, and, with the gods at our backs, we will rid this galaxy of vendetta and warfare.”

Mara heard Tahiri call that she had found Nom Anor. Buried in the ferocious tangle of heretics and warriors, and even while dodging amphistaffs and coufees, Mara had had to stand on the crumpled body of a warrior to see him. The look hadn’t lasted long—just long enough for her to see the fear in his eye—then he was gone, slithering his way through the crowd. Unable to track him through the Force, she did the next best thing, which was to Force-leap to the edge of the embattled crowd, then to the top of a flight of stairs, and there watch for some sign of him.

True to their nature, Shamed Ones and warriors alike were running toward the melee rather than fleeing from it, no matter how bloodied they were or who was winning, as the outcome kept changing