They were watched by only a pair of Vastor’s Akk Guards and six of their fierce akk dogs; as Vastor led Mace past, he explained that the guards and dogs were there only to make sure the Balawai did not steal weapons or supplies from wounded Korunnai, or otherwise attack their captors. The guards didn’t need blasters; any prisoner who wished to escape into the jungle was welcome to.

That is, after all, what was going to happen to them anyway: stripped of everything but their clothing and boots, they would be turned loose in the jungle, left to make their way to whatever safety they might be able to find.

Tan pel’trokal. Jungle justice.

Mace leaned alongside the grasser’s neck, to speak softly for Vastor’s ears alone. “How do you know they won’t double back along the line of march? Some of your wounded are barely walking. These Balawai might think it worth the risk to steal weapons or supplies.”

Vastor gave a grin like a mouthful of needles. Can you not feel them? They are in the jungle, not of the jungle. They cannot surprise us.

“Then why are they still here?”

It’s light, Vastor rumbled, with a wave of the wrist at the green-lit leaves above. The day belongs to the gunships. We give prisoners tan pel’trokal after sunset.

“In the dark,” Mace murmured.

Yes. The night belongs to us.

Mace remembered the recording of Depa’s whisper: … I use the night, and the night uses me … It gave his chest a heavy ache. His breath came hard and slow.


- Shatterpoint, Chapter 9