CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 9 page

She tested the door and was surprised when it opened easily. Obviously, Set was confident in his privacy-but then, he no doubt had never suspected that a Sith might come to visit. Stepping into the room, she found it small and plain next to the rest of the mansion. There were no works of art, and the only furnishing was a display case set against the back wall a few meters away. By the light of her glow lamp, she could see an array of jewelry carefully arranged in the display case: rings, necklaces, amulets, and even crowns, all imbued with the power of the dark side.

Zannah had seen collections like this before. Ten years ago Hetton, a Force-sensitive Serrenian noble obsessed with the dark side, had shown her a similar trove of Sith artifacts:an offering he had hoped would convince Zannah to take him on as her apprentice despite his advanced age. Unfortunately for Hetton, his baubles and trinkets hadn't been able to save him-or his trained guards-when they confronted Zannah's own Master. Bane had shown Hetton the true power of the dark side, a lesson that had cost the old man his life.

Bane also collected the treasures of the ancient Sith, but he preferred the wisdom contained in the ancient texts. Zannah knew he looked on the rings, amulets, and other paraphernalia with disdain. The spark of the dark side that burned within them was like a single drop of rain falling into the ocean of power he already commanded; he saw no need to augment his abilities with gaudy jewelry fashioned centuries ago by ancient Sith sorcerers. Her Master believed true strength must come from within, and he had ingrained this belief in his apprentice. Apparently that was another lesson she would have to teach Set Harth, assuming he proved himself worthy of being her apprentice.

Zannah froze as she felt a sudden presence within the mansion. Reaching out with the Force, she confirmed her suspicions: Set had returned from his party, and he was alone. Extinguishing her glow rod, she moved in perfect darkness back toward the main entrance, letting the Force guide her path.

Slipping silently to the railing overlooking the large sitting room at the foot of the stairs, she spotted her quarry almost directly below her. By the light of the lamp on a nearby end table she could see him lounging on an exquisite leather couch, a bottle of fine Sullustan wine in one hand and a half-filled glass in the other. He was still dressed in the clothes he had worn to the party: a turquoise-blue shirt of fine Dramassian silk, tailored black slacks, and knee-high boots polished to perfection. The collar of his shirt was unbuttoned and its long, loose-fitting sleeves hung from his wrists, billowing softly as he gently swirled the wine to release its full body between each sip.

She made no attempt to mask her own presence; she was curious to see if Set would sense her through the Force the same way she had sensed him on his arrival. Much to her dismay, he seemed completely oblivious, lost in the comforts of his home and the enjoyment of his drink.

Zannah leapt over the railing and fell five meters to the floor below, landing behind him, silent save for the soft rustle of her black cape. Set shifted at the noise, twisting in his seat to fix his bleary gaze on the intruder.

"Greetings," he said with a smile, seemingly unsurprised by her arrival. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure. My name is Set Harth."

He raised his drink and tilted his head as if toasting her arrival.

"I know who you are," Zannah replied coldly.

Set carefully placed the wine bottle and his glass on the nearby end table, then turned back to Zannah and patted the cushion beside him. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable? Plenty of room for both of us."

"I prefer to stand."

Zannah was both confused and dismayed by his reaction. Instead of being guarded, wary, or even outraged at discovering an intruder in his home, Set seemed to be hitting on her. His tone was playful and suggestive. Couldn't he sense that his life hung in the balance? Couldn't he sense the danger he was in?

Set responded to her refusal with an easy shrug. "Followed me home from the party, did you?" he guessed. "Normally I wouldn't forget such a pretty face."

Zannah cursed herself as a fool. She had come here looking for an apprentice and found nothing but a womanizing fool too interested in making clumsy advances to recognize her power. Her failure was embarrassing; she knew with certainty Darth Bane would have seen Set for what he was right away.

"You still haven't told me your name," Set reminded her, waggling his finger in front of his face. "You're a very naughty girl."

The attack came the instant Zannah opened her mouth to reply. It came without any warning, Set moving with the preternatural speed of the Force. The Dark Jedi's lightsaber materialized in his hand, igniting and spiraling across the room toward her faster than thought itself.

Zannah barely managed to duck out of the way, the lightsaber's blade slicing off a section of her cape as she threw herself to the floor. By the time the weapon completed its boomerang path and returned to Set's hand, he was on his feet:as was Zannah.

She realized Set's initial greeting had all been an act. He had been waiting with his lightsaber up his sleeve the whole time, just looking for Zannah to lower her guard. Maybe there was hope for him yet. "You move fast," Set noted, a hint of admiration in his voice.

His words no longer carried the light, easy tone of a guest at a party; he had dropped all pretense now. His blue eyes were sharp and focused, boring through his opponent searching for any weakness he could exploit.

Zannah braced herself for his next assault. In her mind the next few seconds played out in a thousand different scenarios, each unique in its specific details, each a vision of a possible future glimpsed through the power of the Force. The sheer number of possibilities could be overwhelming, but Bane had trained her well. Instinctively, she collapsed the matrix of probabilities into the most likely outcomes, effectively allowing her to anticipate and react to her opponent's next move even before it happened.

Set fired out a sharp burst of dark side power in a shimmering wave designed to knock her from her feet. Zannah easily countered by throwing up a protective energy barrier, the simplest and most effective way for one Force-user to defend against the attacks of another. It was a technique taught to every Jedi Padawan, and it had been one of the earliest lessons Bane had required her to master.

"You're a Jedi?" Set exclaimed. "A Sith," Zannah replied.

"I thought the Sith were extinct," he replied, casually twirling his lightsaber in one hand, never taking his eyes off Zannah.

"Not yet," She stood still, her own lightsaber still tucked inside her belt. But she was wary now: Set had almost fooled her once, and she wasn't about to let it happen again.

"Let me see if I can fix that."

As he leapt over the couch toward her, Zannah ignited her own weapon. The twin blades sprung to life, and she fell into the familiar dance.

Set came in low to start, slashing at her legs. When she parried his incoming blade he spun away quickly, moving out of range before she could retaliate. With the Force he picked up a bronze bust on the side of the room and hurled it toward her left flank. At the same time, he dived forward into a somersault that brought him close enough to strike at her right side as he tumbled past her.

Zannah easily repelled both threats, her spinning blades slicing the bust in half even as she pivoted just enough so that Set's weapon missed her hip by less than a centimeter. For good measure she kicked him hard in the back as he rolled past, a blow meant not to disable him, but to goad him on to further aggression.

When two skilled combatants engaged each other with the lightsaber, the blades moved so quickly it was impossible to think and react to each move. Bane had taught her to rely on instinct, guided by the Force and honed by thousands of hours' training in the martial forms. This training allowed her to realize within the first few passes that Set was using a modified variation of Ataru, a style defined by quick, aggressive strikes. In only the first few moments of battle she had already evaluated her opponent, noting his speed, agility, and technique. Set was good. Very good. But Zannah also knew without any doubt that she was much, much better.

Set, however, had yet to come to the same realization. Her kick had had the desired effect: when he came at her the next time his face was twisted with snarling rage. His fury allowed him to call upon the dark side, making him even more dangerous as he unleashed his next series of attacks. Leaping high in the air, crouching low to the ground, lunging forward, springing back, spinning, twisting, and twirling, he came at her from every conceivable angle in a relentless barrage meant to overwhelm her defenses, only to have Zannah turn his efforts back with a cool, almost casual, efficiency.

Lightsaber battles were brutal in their intensity; few duels lasted more than a minute. Even for a trained Jedi, the effort of all-out combat was exhausting:particularly when using the acrobatic maneuvers of Ataru. It didn't take long for Zannah to sense that her opponent was wearing down. She, on the other hand, was barely winded. At Bane's urging, she had become an expert in the defensive sequences of the Soresu form. It was simple for her to parry, redirect, or evade her opponent's blows by using Set's own momentum against him, easily keeping the Dark Jedi at bay.

In their short encounter, she was presented with at least a dozen opportunities to land a lethal blow to the silver-haired man. But she hadn't come here to kill him; not yet, at least. She had come here to test him, to see if he was worthy of being her apprentice.

He didn't have to beat her to succeed in Zannah's eyes; he only had to show potential. Despite his inability to penetrate her defenses, she had seen enough to satisfy her. He may have been reckless and wild with the lightsaber, but he was also imaginative and even, at times, a little unpredictable. He had shown enough cunning when they first met to make Zannah underestimate him. And, most importantly, she could feel the power of the dark side raging within him as he grew more and more determined to take her out:futile though his efforts might be.

She was toying with him now, dragging the battle out. It wasn't enough for her to want Set as an apprentice; he also had to want her to be his Master. She had to prove her superiority so completely that he would be willing to serve. It wasn't enough just to beat the Dark Jedi; she had to break him.

When he was a step slow in retreating after one of his thrusts, she kicked his feet out from under him and sent him sprawling to the floor, only to back away and let him get to his feet again. When he moved back in, she twisted her lightsaber in a sharp, unorthodox move, hooking one of her blades onto his and wrenching the weapon from his hand.

Set sprang back immediately and used the Force to yank the hilt back to his palm, then stubbornly renewed his attacks. But as the seconds slipped by, the fire of the dark side was less and less able to fight off the fatigue setting into his joints and limbs. It was inevitable that his weary body would betray him, and soon enough he came in with his blade held out too far to the side, instead of tight in front of him. Zannah stepped forward and snapped her foot straight up, catching Set under the chin. He staggered back howling in pain while a string of unintelligible profanities spewed from his mouth, along with a spatter of blood.

"Do you yield?" Zannah asked.

His only response was to spit a gob of blood onto the expensive carpet at his feet and rush forward once more.

Zannah felt a small twinge of disappointment. She had hoped he would be smart enough not to continue a battle he could not win. Another lesson I will have to teach you.

As he drew near, she responded not with physical violence, but rather with a powerful spell of Sith sorcery that attacked Set's mind. He tried to throw up a protective Force barrier in response, but Zannah's power shredded his defenses, leaving him completely vulnerable.

Sith sorcery was as much a part of the dark side as the deadly violet bolts of energy her Master unleashed from his hands, and when Bane had first recognized her talent for the subtle but devastating magics he had encouraged her studies into the arcane. From ancient texts she had learned to twist and torment the thoughts of her enemies. She could make them see nightmares as reality; she could cause their deepest fears to manifest as demons of the psyche. She could, and had, rip the minds of her enemies apart with a simple thought and a gesture.

With Set, however, she did not intend to destroy him completely. Instead she enveloped him in a cloud of utter despair and hopelessness. She reached into the innermost recesses of his mind and wrapped it in the nothingness of the void.

Set's eyes went blank, his jaw hung slack, and his lightsaber slipped from nerveless fingers. He slowly slumped to the ground, his eyes closing and his body trembling slightly as he curled up into a fetal position.

This was to be his final test. A weak mind would collapse upon itself to wither and die, leaving the victim forever comatose. If Set was strong, however, his will would fight back against the horror. Little by little it would tear away at the emptiness, refusing to die, clawing its way back to the surface until consciousness finally returned.

If Set was truly worthy of being her apprentice, he would recover from his current condition in a day or two. If not, she would simply have to begin her search anew.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Huntress brought her shuttle in low over the desert wastelands that covered the majority of Ambria's surface. Though she had received no formal training, she was highly attuned to the Force, allowing her to feel it rising up from the sun-baked dirt as her ship skimmed across the surface.

Thousands of years ago Ambria had been a world of verdant forests, brimming with life and the power of the Force. But the lush vegetation had been devastated when a Sith sorceress tried-and failed-to bend the entire planet to her will through a powerful ritual. Unable to control the violent energies of the dark side, she was destroyed by her own spell:as was the landscape of the entire planet.

For centuries the corruption of the failed ritual influenced all life on Ambria, transforming the once beautiful world into a nightmare of stunted, poisonous vegetation and twisted, mutated beasts. Eventually the dark side energies released by the Sith sorceress were trapped in a great lake near the planet's equator by a Jedi Master named Thon, but the damage was too widespread for the world to ever be completely healed.

The Iktotchi knew all this not because she had studied the planet's history, however. Her connection to the Force allowed her to see things; it gave her glimpses of the past, present, and even possible futures. The ability was common to all Iktotchi in varying degrees, but the Huntress's talent went far beyond that of the rest of her species. Most Iktotchi would get nothing more than a subtle sense of danger when an impending threat was coming, or a general feeling of whether a new acquaintance might be friend or foe. On occasion they would be granted precognitive dreams, but even these were little more than random images that meant little without content.

With her, however, it was different. Over the years she had developed her skills so that she could control and direct the visions that flashed through her mind. When she concentrated on a specific person or place, she would get a rush of visual and emotional stimuli that she could often assemble into something useful and coherent.

She had meditated for several hours in preparation for her journey to Ambria, calling on the Force while thinking about her destination. In return, she had witnessed scenes plucked from the planet's history: the Sith sorceress as she was consumed by her failed spell; the Jedi Master's struggle to trap the dark side in Lake Natth.

But not all her visions were as clear, particularly those dealing with the shifting probabilities of the future. Her arrival and meeting with the princess from Doan had only been revealed in vague impressions. She was confident she wasn't walking into a trap. More importantly, she had the sense that somehow this meeting was going to have a profound influence on the rest of her life. For better or for worse she couldn't say, but she was certain the journey to Ambria would set her on a new path:and the Huntress was never one to shy away from her destiny.

The location for the meeting was a small abandoned camp located deep in the heart of Ambria's impassable desert. As it drew nearer, the shuttle's sensors indicated that another ship was already waiting on the ground. Readings indicated a single life-form on board; as promised, the princess had come alone.

The Huntress landed, shut down the engines, and made her way from the climate-controlled comfort of her shuttle out into the dry, suffocating heat of Ambria's midday sun. The princess was standing at the edge of the camp, facing away from her and lost in thought.

The camp itself wasn't much to look at; it was nothing but a small, dilapidated hut and an old cooking pot suspended over a ring of stones and charcoal. But despite the modest surroundings, the Huntress could feel this was a place of power: a nexus for both the light and dark sides of the Force. Despite the heat, the Iktotchi shivered. Great and terrible things had happened here; events that would one day shape the course of galactic history.

The princess-Serra, the assassin recalled-turned to face her.

"I'm glad you came" was all she said.

The Huntress sensed something dark and powerful in the other woman, a strength of will and a hatred nurtured over many years.

"Your bodyguard said you wished to hire me?"

The princess nodded. "They say you can track anyone. No matter where they hide, you can find them. They say you can see across time and space."

The statement wasn't precisely accurate, but the Huntress saw no need to explain the subtle intricacies of her talent to this woman.

"I have never failed a mission."

Serra smiled. "There was a man here. Many years ago. I don't know his name. I don't know where he is now. But I want you to find him. Can you do this?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she closed her eyes and reached out with her mind. She felt the Force gathering; it swirled around her like a rising storm, carrying the dust of memory imprinted on the campsite.

The captured memories encircled her; images flooded her mind. She saw a child, dressed in a frayed and tattered tunic; she saw the child blossom into a young woman; she saw the woman leave Ambria, only to return many years later as a princess.

"You grew up here," she whispered as she continued to probe even deeper.

Sometimes the history of a place was faint, washed away by the passage of mundane events and insignificant people. Here the memories were strong, preserved by isolation and trapped in the currents of the Force that permeated the camp.

"I see a man. Tall and thin. Dark hair. Brown skin."

"My father," Serra explained. "His name was Caleb."

"He was a healer. Wise. Strong. A man who commanded respect."

She didn't say this to please the princess; the Huntress never cared what her clients thought of her as long as they paid.

"There is another man," Serra told her. "He came to my father for help during the New Sith Wars. Tall and muscular. Bald. He was:evil."

Evil. Reaching out with the Force required intense focus and deep mental concentration. Even so, the Iktotchi couldn't help but notice the other woman's hesitation.

The Huntress had no use for words like evil, or good, or even justice. She killed those she was hired to kill; she gave no thought of whether they deserved their fate. Still, she found the princess's choice of labels odd. She was an assassin. She killed for profit. Was this any more evil than the man Serra spoke of? And what about the princess herself? She wanted to hire someone to take the life of another; did that make her evil?

She did not speak her thoughts aloud, however. They had no relevance to what she was doing. Instead she pushed deeper into the well of memories, submersing herself in them in search of the man Serra had described.

Hundreds of faces flashed before her. Male. Female. Human, Twi'lek, Cerean, Ithorian. Soldiers serving the Jedi, and even those serving the Sith. Caleb had healed them all. The only ones he turned away were the leaders of the armies. He saw himself a servant of the common folk. The Jedi Masters and the Sith Lords he always refused to help, with one notable exception.

The Huntress could see him now: a Sith Lord in black armor; the curved hilt of a lightsaber clipped to his belt as he towered over the healer. They were locked in a battle of wills, the big man dying from some illness she couldn't discern. Even though they were decades removed from the encounter, the Iktotchi sensed the raw power of the dark side emanating from him. It was like nothing she had seen or felt before, both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I see him," she told the princess. I see what he did to you.

"My father always said he would return. That was why he sent me away. Made me change my name."

"Your father was right."

Now that she had seen him in her visions, it was easy to skim the passing years looking for the imprint of the Sith Lord. Through the maelstrom of images, she easily picked out his next visit to the camp. Yet again, he arrived in need of the healer's aid. This time, however, he did not come alone.

"There are others with him. A young woman. A young man."

"What happened?" the princess asked, her voice trembling slightly.

A series of shocking and violent images assailed the Iktotchi's senses. She saw the healer's decapitated body, his limbs hacked from his torso and arranged in a gruesome display near the fire pit. Inside the cabin the young man crouched in a corner, a babbling idiot driven mad by the horrors that had been visited upon him. The other two-the young woman and the Sith Lord-were harder to see, though she sensed they were still there. Something concealed them; some power or spell cloaked their presence.

When she tried to pierce the veil something pushed back, snapping her out of her meditative trance and severing her connection with the past. She fell to her knees with a cry of anguish, clutching at her temples, her mind reeling.

Serra was at her side in an instant, crouching over her. "What happened? What did you see?"

The Huntress didn't speak right away. She had heard of this happening to others, but she'd never experienced it herself. It wasn't the images of Caleb's gruesome death that had caused her to recoil. It had been sorcery, Sith magic. A spell of concealment had hidden the Sith Lord and the young woman from the Jedi who had discovered the healer's body. The memories still carried the echo of the spell upon them; even after a decade it had been potent enough to momentarily overwhelm her.

How can one individual command such power?

"Tell me what you saw," the princess demanded, rising to her feet.

"Your father's death," the Huntress replied, also rising to her feet.

"He was there? The man in the black armor?"

"Yes. I think so. It wasn't clear."

"He was there," the princess said with certainty. "He was responsible for my father's death."

"There was another with him," the Huntress said. "A young blond woman."

"I only care about the man in black. Can you find him?"

"If he still lives, I will find him," the Huntress assured her. She knew she would dream about the Sith Lord tonight, and for many nights to come. Her sleep would be filled with pictures and images from his daily life. She would see how many suns rose in the sky each morning on whatever world he called home; she would see their color and their size. Whatever moons and stars marked the night sky would be revealed to her. Familiar landmarks would bubble up from her sleeping subconscious night after night. She would cross-reference these with a database containing descriptions of all the systems and worlds in the known galaxy, narrowing her search down until she had his exact location.

It might take days, or possibly even weeks, but in the end she always found her prey. This time, however, she wasn't certain what the outcome would be. She had killed a Jedi on Doan, but this encounter would be far more dangerous. The lingering remnants of the Sith spell had been enough to thwart her efforts to peer into the past. How much stronger would the creator of that spell be in person? And who had cast the spell? The Sith Lord? Or the young woman with him?

She still intended to take the job, of course. But she was smart enough to understand that her odds of success would increase if she wasn't acting alone.

"This man is powerful," the Huntress admitted. "I don't know if I will be able to kill him without help."

"I don't want you to kill him," the princess replied. "I want you to capture him. I want you to bring him to me alive."

The assassin's lips twisted up in an angry sneer. "I'm not a bounty hunter."

"I'll pay ten times your normal price. And I'll hire mercenaries to help you. As many as you want."

"Even if we capture him, how are we supposed to keep him prisoner while we bring him back to you? Normal restraints can't hold someone who has the power to call upon the Force."

"Leave that to me," the princess replied, pushing past the Iktotchi and heading toward the small hut on the other side of the camp.

Curious, the assassin followed her.

Only a few meters on either side, the hut was little more than a crate with a doorway. On the floor inside, buried under a layer of sand that had blown in from the encroaching desert, were a tattered old curtain and a threadbare rug.

The curtain looked as if it had been torn down. The rug, on the other hand, was still spread out across the far corner of the hut, though its fibers were caked with dirt.

With the Iktotchi watching from just outside the doorway, the princess pulled the carpet aside, revealing a trapdoor built into the floor. A small ladder led down to a tiny chamber below. "My father built this cellar to store the tools of his trade," Serra explained, climbing carefully down the ladder.

The Huntress entered the hut to get a better view, approaching the trapdoor and peering down into the darkness below. She heard a sharp crack as the princess ignited a glow lamp to dispel the gloom.

From her vantage point the assassin could just make out a series of shelves built into the cellar walls, each lined with jars, satchels, and other small containers. The princess rummaged through them quickly until she found what she was looking for: a nondescript bottle of a pale yellow liquid that she tucked into the folds of her clothes before making her way back up the ladder.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 673