The Mark of the Crown

by Jude Watson

  The higher whine of a new engine came to his ears. As his lightsaber flew to his grip, Qui-Gon saw another vehicle zoom into the tight spaces among the standing stones. He recognized it as a swoop, a speeder bike with a powerful engine. The controls were located on the handlebars and on the saddle. Only the most daring riders could master such a vehicle. Just a slight touch could send it careening out of control.

  He'd thought the first bandit was daring. The swoop driver bordered on reckless. But Qui-Gon read confidence and control in the way the vehicle moved, so fast it was almost a blur, banking right and left, hovering in midair and then reversing, zooming high and low to maneuver underneath the larger speeder.

  Qui-Gon pushed himself to his feet. The pain hit him, red and searing, and he realized he'd been hit by a chunk of boulder in the leg as well. He called on the Force to help his body to respond, his mind to clear. The speeder was bearing down on him again. He leaped to avoid cannon fire and somersaulted over the low-flying speeder, striking down as he did so at the control panel. He heard the engine sputter and die, and the speeder crashed.

  Qui-Gon hit the ground and dodged blaster fire from a pilot hurrying to help his comrade in the standing stones. But this driver was not so adept. He attempted to turn into the small gap and missed, hitting the stone and sending his craft wobbling as he struggled to right it.

  Qui-Gon got a good look at the driver of the swoop. He wore a black cloth headdress that wrapped around his face. Only his eyes were visible. His gloved hands gripped the handlebars of the swoop as he expertly twisted and turned through the stones, running the speeder down relentlessly. Yet Qui-Gon could tell that the swoop driver was careful to allow the speeder enough maneuverability so that it wouldn't crash amid the stones.

  Qui-Gon wondered what would happen to him once the swoop driver took care of the bandit on the speeder. The driver was surely a bandit, too. Qui-Gon would probably have his hands full again.

  The remaining speeders hovered, reluctant to help their comrade in the maze of standing stones, distracted from Qui-Gon for the moment. Qui-Gon stood, his lightsaber activated and at his side. He was ready.

  At last the speeder made it through the standing stones, the swoop now so close that it was almost touching the speeder's tailpipe. Suddenly, the swoop turned and flanked the speeder, driving it toward Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon was surprised by the maneuver but not unprepared. He leaped aside as ion cannons began to fire. He could feel that his leg wound made him clumsy. He stumbled slightly, then twisted to keep the speeder in view.

  The driver of the swoop kept one hand on the controls and picked up a bowcaster with the other. Effortlessly keeping the swoop on track flanking the speeder, he aimed and shot at the driver. The laser hit the driver in the wrist. Qui-Gon saw his mouth open in a howl that turned into a snarl.

  The distraction was all he needed. Qui-Gon summoned the Force. He needed one last burst. The Force propelled him in a flying leap to the top of one of the standing stones. He delivered a stunning blow to the surprised speeder driver as he zoomed past. The speeder crashed into the canyon floor.

  Qui-Gon leaped down from the exposed position. He heard the high whine of other swoops. He looked up and saw them like black insects against the gray sky, heading straight for him. There were at least twenty, and more were heading down the pass from the opposite direction. He would not be able to fight so many. Qui-Gon watched as the speeder bandits took off. Some of the swoops gave chase. Had he landed in the middle of a bandit war?

  The lead swoop flew toward him. Its repulsorlift engines kept it airborne a few inches off the ground as the driver leaped off, his bow-caster pointed straight at Qui-Gon. There was no use fighting. Qui-Gon deactivated his lightsaber and waited.

  "Who are you?" The voice was gruff. Qui-Gon was surprised at how young the bandit sounded.

  "Qui-Gon Jinn. I am a Jedi Knight sent to contact someone."

  The bowcaster was now pointed at his heart. "Who?" the bandit demanded.

  Qui-Gon decided that it would do no harm to let the bandits know his mission. Perhaps they could be bargained with. "The leader of the hill people," he said. "Elan."

  Slowly, the bandit unraveled the black headdress. A shower of silvery hair spilled over slender shoulders. A young woman stood before him. Her eyes were dark, the color of an evening sky, unusual for a Galacian. Her impatient gaze flicked over him, taking in everything about him and making it clear she was not impressed a bit.

  "Well, at least you did something right," she said. "You've found me."

  Elan tossed the headdress and bowcaster into the side compartment of her swoop. She dusted off her hands on her trousers. "The standing stones are sacred to the hill people," she told Qui-Gon. "You almost destroyed them."

  "I did not mean to."

  "You chose the field of battle," Elan said crisply.

  "I needed cover," Qui-Gon said.

  Snowflakes began to twinkle down from the sky. Elan cocked an eyebrow at him. "Ever hear of boulders? Trees?"

  Qui-Gon resisted the temptation to argue. She was deliberately putting him on the defensive. "Do you know the attackers?" he asked instead.

  She shrugged. "Bandits from the city outskirts. They make raids up here occasionally. There are always rumors in Galu that the hill people hoard gold. The greedy fools think it's true. I wish they'd leave us alone. We don't bother them." She gazed at him stonily. "Who sent you to find me, and why?"

  "Queen Veda sent me," Qui-Gon said.

  She waved a dismissive hand. "Then go back to Galu. I don't recognize her authority."

  "Don't you want to know what she wants?"

  Elan crossed to the swoop and swung a leg over the saddle. "Something about the election, I'm sure. It's no concern of mine." She pointed back the way Qui-Gon had come. "The way back is that way. Don't stay in the hills. You'll be sorry if you do."

  He didn't know if she was threatening him, or warning him against other bandit attacks. Another swoop flew toward them and stopped, hovering in the air. A tall young man with bluish skin gave Qui-Gon a quick glance, then turned to Elan. "Bad storm coming."

  "I know, Dana," Elan said, casting a worried eye at the sky. "When they come in, they come in hard."

  As if to illustrate her words, the snowfall suddenly began. The flakes were like hard crystals, peppering Qui-Gon's exposed skin. He leaned over to retrieve the survival pack he'd dropped when the fight began. The pain cut him to the quick, and he let out an involuntary hiss.

  "He's wounded," Dana said.

  Elan frowned, annoyed. "I can't send you back, I suppose. Wounded, with this storm. You'd never survive. And night falls quickly in the mountains."

  Qui-Gon waited. His wounds hurt him. But they would heal. Now it appeared that he was lucky to have them. Elan's conscience wouldn't allow her to send him on alone.

  "One night," she warned him. "That's all. Now climb up behind me. And don't fall off. I don't want to have to rescue you again."

  The hill people weren't overly friendly, but they were kind. Their encampment was made up of white domes of various sizes constructed out of a flexible material that was bolted to struts. Inside his small dome, Qui-Gon found every comfort and convenience - thick carpets and quilts, a glowing heater, a small kitchen and bath, even a datapad for his personal use.

  Dana told him that a healer would come to dress his wounds. Qui-Gon did the best he could himself, but he could not reach the gash he'd received on his back when he fell. He slipped out of his tunic and waited for the healer to arrive. Even though the storm howled outside, the dome felt solid and warm.

  There was a knock on the dome door, and he called out for the person to enter. Elan ducked through the doorway, carrying a small bag. She shut it quickly behind her to keep out the wind and snow. "Good, you're ready," she said.

  "You're the healer?" Qui-Gon asked, surprised.

  She nodded as she set out vials of ointment and rolls of bandages. When she looked at him, her blunt gaze was challen
ging. "Surprised? I'm not the healing type, is that it?"

  "No, that's not it," Qui-Gon answered. "I have just never known a healer who could pilot a swoop like that."

  A reluctant grin tugged at her mouth. "All right, let's see what we have here." She inspected his wounds and dabbed more ointment on one, then dressed it. "You did a good job."

  "Jedi are trained as healers, too," Qui-Gon said. "I can't reach the one on my back."

  "Turn around."

  Qui-Gon felt the coolness as she dabbed salve on his wound. The salve soothed the burning. "Thank you for such comfortable quarters," he said.

  "We do not live like barbarians, no matter what the city people think," Elan answered. She unrolled a bandage.

  "I didn't think you did," Qui-Gon said. "And it has been my experience on many worlds that ignorance breeds fear. The fearful make up stories about what they fear."

  "Yes," Elan said coolly. "The city people are ignorant and fearful. I agree. So why would I want to live among them?"

  Qui-Gon tried to curb his exasperation. Talking with Elan was like trying to catch a drifting snowflake. Whatever he said, she found a way to make his meaning disappear.

  "So that is why you won't participate in the elections?" Qui-Gon asked. "The support of the hill people could make a difference to the right candidate."

  "And who is the right candidate?" Elan asked. She still worked on the bandage on his back, so he couldn't see her face. He could only feel her cool, expert fingers and occasionally the brush of her hair against his skin. "Deca Brun, who shouts slogans and murmurs promises? Wila Prammi, who has been a slave to the royal system and now talks of democracy? That young fool, Prince Beju? No thank you, Jedi. I don't trust the elections, I don't trust the Queen, and I don't trust the candidates. I am happy where I am." She patted the bandage in place, then rose. "I'm finished."

  Qui-Gon turned to face her. "Thank you. You feel no loyalty to Gala?"

  She replaced the vials and bandages in her bag with quick motions. "I feel loyalty to my own people. I can trust them."

  "What about your world?" Qui-Gon asked, easing back into his tunic. "Gala is about to undergo a great change. A good change. Shouldn't the hill people be part of it?"

  Elan picked up her bag. She turned to him impatiently. "Is that why the Queen sent you? To ask for my support for her son?"

  "No," Qui-Gon said quietly. He watched her face carefully. "She sent me to tell you that Prince Beju is not King Cana's true heir."

  "And why should she tell me this?" Elan demanded. "And why should I care?"

  "Because you are the heir," Qui-Gon said. "You are King Cana's daughter."

  Elan blinked. He saw the shock on her face, and saw how she was trying to control it.

  "What lies are these?" she asked, taking a step backward. "Why did you come here?"

  "Lies or truth, perhaps only you can discover," Qui-Gon said. "I only say what has been told to me, and what I've come to believe. Queen Veda recently discovered that King Cana had a child before he married her. That child is you. The Queen says she wants you to know your birthright."

  "This is a trick," Elan said flatly. "A trick to lure me back to the city. She wants to imprison me, scatter the hill people-"

  "No," Qui-Gon interrupted firmly. "I believe she only wants you to know. That is all."

  Elan whirled around, her pale silver hair flying. She stalked toward the door. "I won't listen to this."

  "What about your parents?" Qui-Gon asked, raising his voice to be heard above the howling wind. "Your mother?"

  Elan turned to face him again. "It is none of your business, Jedi. But I'll tell you so that you will not try to confuse me with lies again. My mother lived in the hills all her life. She never went to Galu. My father was a great healer, renowned by all the hill people. You are wrong."

  "I am sure that those who raised you are worthy people," Qui-Gon said. "But Cana 's blood may be in you, Elan."

  She stared at him icily. "Perhaps you actually believe the Queen's lies. But Qui-Gon, I tell you that there is a plan behind her words. It is up to you to find it out."

  "She is dying," Qui-Gon said quietly. "She is thinking of her legacy. It is a gift she gives to you."

  "I don't believe it, and I don't want it," Elan answered firmly. "This is my legacy." She gestured to take in the dome and all that was outside it. "These are my people. We are all outcasts. You've seen how Gala is ruled by powerful families. The hill people began a hundred years ago when those who were different - whose eyes were too dark, whose skin was too dark, who had no family - took refuge here. We made our own society, and freedom is our first rule. My parents gave me this heritage. I am proud of it. I don't want any crown."

  "You make a large decision in a very short time," Qui-Gon observed.

  Her dark eyes studied him. "And what is this to you, Qui-Gon Jinn?" she asked softly. "You have come a long way, almost lost your life, just to tell me this. But Gala is not your world. Its people are not your people. I have ties to something. Do you? Why should I listen to talk of legacies from someone who has no ties?"

  Qui-Gon fell silent. Elan was trying to wound him. Some of what she said merely echoed his own thoughts.

  "My comlink was not working earlier," Qui-Gon said. “Is there any way I can contact my apprentice in Galu?"

  "We jam communications in the hills for our protection," Elan answered. "But we will let you contact him as soon as the storm lessens. Speak to Dana."

  She opened the door. The fierce wind blew back her hair and clothes and sent an icy draft toward Qui-Gon. Elan didn't flinch.

  "Tell your apprentice that when the weather clears, you will be on your way," she added. Then she ducked out into the storm.

  The door banged shut behind her. He had come a long way for nothing. His mission had failed.

  Obi-Wan's comlink was activated when he woke the next day. Qui-Gon had contacted him at last. Afraid to use it in his room - he was still wary of surveillance - he took it to a corner of the gardens that was planted with wild tropical species. Under cover of the thick leaves of overhanging trees, he opened the communication line.

  "Hello, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice sounded strained.

  Obi-Wan sensed something..."You're wounded, Master," he said in concern.

  "I'm healing now. I ran into some bandits," Qui-Gon explained. "But I found the hill people as well."

  "And Elan?"

  "I found her," Qui-Gon said. "My masked rescuer turned out to be the one I sought. But I haven't had much success. She thinks the Queen is lying to further some plan of her own."

  "That could be true," Obi-Wan said.

  "And you?" Qui-Gon asked. "Have you discovered anything?"

  "I think the Queen is being poisoned," Obi-Wan said. Hurriedly, he explained his suspicions and his visit to the substance analysis lab.

  Qui-Gon's face grew grave. "This is very bad news," he said.

  "Who could it be?" Obi-Wan asked.

  "Ask yourself who would benefit from her death," Qui-Gon said. "If she dies, the elections could be suspended by her successor."

  "Beju!" Obi-Wan cried. "But would he poison his own mother?"

  "He might," Qui-Gon said. "Though I don't think so. I think under his anger there is genuine affection."

  "I'm not so sure," Obi-Wan muttered. He didn't have a very good opinion of the Prince.

  "Or it could be someone who wants the royal line to continue," Qui-Gon continued. "Like Giba. Or it could be someone whose motive isn't obvious. You must be careful, Padawan. You must have proof. Maybe when the substance analyzer gives you the poisonous agent, you will be able to figure out the culprit. Didn't you say that Jono brought the nightly tea?"

  "It can't be him," Obi-Wan said. "He only picks it up in the kitchens and delivers it."

  "You sound very sure of your new friend," Qui-Gon replied neutrally. "But sometimes the obvious is the answer."

  "I am sure of him," Obi-Wan said. Annoyance rose in him at Qui-G
on's suggestion. His Master had chosen to leave Obi-Wan in charge at the palace. Why couldn't Qui-Gon trust his judgment?

  "In the meantime, you must warn the Queen," Qui-Gon said. "I see no other way. She must only take food from those she trusts. Better yet, she should prepare it herself."

  "Are you coming back soon?" Obi-Wan hoped the answer would be yes.

  "In a few days. My wounds might prevent me from traveling."

  "But you said you were healing!" Obi-Wan protested.

  "But they don't know that. Elan won't take well to hearing that her healing arts are slow. She is proud of her skills."

  "Elan is a healer?" Obi-Wan asked. A thought struck him. "But that means she could know about such things as poisons."

  Qui-Gon's tone turned stern. "That is quite a jump in logic, Padawan. Are you saying Elan could have something to do with the Queen's illness? She never comes to Galu."

  "But we don't know that," Obi-Wan argued. "You said she was in disguise when you met her. What if she had knowledge of her position as heir? You asked me who would benefit from the Queen's death. Isn't Elan that person?"

  "She didn't know she was the heir," Qui-Gon said shortly.

  "Or so she pretended," Obi-Wan said stubbornly. If Qui-Gon could accuse Jono, why couldn't the web of suspicion extend to Elan as well?

  "Concentrate on the palace," Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan heard disapproval in his voice. "I will handle Elan."

  The communication faded. Obi-Wan slipped the comlink back in his pocket, disappointed in their exchange. Sometimes it felt as though he and Qui-Gon would never achieve the mind communion that is the mark of the ideal Master-Apprentice relationship.

  Obviously, Qui-Gon had not been able to convince Elan that she was the heir to the crown. Why was he wasting his time with the hill people?

  Obi-Wan followed the path back to the kitchen gardens. As he rounded a corner, he almost ran into Jono.

  "Obi-Wan! There you are," Jono said. "I left a tray for you. Fresh juna berries for you this morning. Very sweet."

  Obi-Wan nodded and headed back toward the palace. Jono had been so close. Had he heard Obi-Wan's communication? Was Jono a spy for Giba and Beju after all?