Raskta’s mastery of her blades was unparalleled, but even with her talents augmented by Worror’s battle meditation she wasn’t able to land a telling blow on such a small target through Bane’s defenses. Still, the ferocity of her new strategy had turned the momentum in her favor … or so Farfalla thought.
Bane continued his retreat, circling away from Raskta’s blades, then suddenly turned and ran straight
toward the unarmed Ithorian standing just inside the door of the room.
Battle meditation required Master Worror’s complete focus; there was no chance for him to mount any type of defense. If Bane cut him down, the others would lose the only advantage that gave them any chance of surviving the encounter.
Farfalla released the power he’d been gathering in a single concentrated burst. Bane was suddenly encased in a shimmering stasis field of light-side energy, freezing him where he stood. But his command of the dark side was too powerful for it to hold him for more than a split second. The shimmering field exploded into fragments as the Dark Lord broke free, though the momentary delay had allowed the Echani to place herself between the Ithorian and the Sith.
Raskta’s blades hummed and sang as she engaged him again, determined to keep him from reaching Master Worror at all costs.
He’s too strong
, Farfalla realized, even as he ran to help her.
Both physically and in the power of the dark side. It’s like trying to fight a force of nature
.
“Johun! Sarro! We need reinforcements!”
Johun turned his head at the sound of Farfalla’s voice.
“Go,” Sarro shouted at him. “I can handle this one.” The young Jedi looked over to the far side of the room and instantly recognized what was happening. Master Worror was in danger; he had to be protected or his battle meditation—and any hope of victory—would be lost.
He leapt across the room, using the Force to propel him through the air so that he landed only a few meters from where Raskta was dueling Darth Bane, desperately trying to drive him back and away from where Master Worror stood but a meter or two behind her. He hesitated
before attacking, noticing that the Sith Lord’s skin was covered with a strange, crustaceous growth.
“Go for the face!” Farfalla shouted, arriving on the scene and throwing himself into the battle as Johun did the same.
Together the three of them held the Sith Lord at bay: Farfalla on the left flank, Johun on the right, and Raskta in the center. Between blocks and parries they cut and stabbed at his face, their combined efforts finally forcing their enemy into a defensive stance.
The young Jedi marveled at the speed and savagery of Raskta’s blades. And while Johun’s own clumsy efforts had actually seemed to impede Sarro when they fought side by side, Raskta appeared to thrive off his presence. When he went high, she went low. If he came from the left, she came from the right. It was partly a function of her choice of weapon: individually each of her lightsabers was more precise and accurate than Sarro’s giant double blades. But it was more than that. Her reactions were so fast, her combat instincts so pure, that she was able to sense and anticipate what he was going to do even as it happened, then use his attacks to her own advantage.
On her opposite side Farfalla struck with clean, elegant blows, his form perfect as he harried Bane’s right flank. Yet though they were able to hold their ground, they couldn’t drive him back or defeat him.
They were at an impasse, none of their attacks able to connect with the one vulnerable part of Bane’s anatomy. Then Johun caught a glimpse of white flesh peeking out from the seam between the Sith’s armored gloves and the strange shells on his forearm. The gap was narrow, but it was large enough for a well-aimed blade to penetrate.
He slashed at his new target. Amplified by Worror’s power, the Force flowed through him and guided his
blade home. The contact wasn’t perfect; his lightsaber glanced off the edge of the armored shells so that he only made shallow contact with the skin beneath. Instead of severing the hand, he merely sliced deep enough to sever nerves and tendons.
Bane bellowed in rage as his weapon slipped from his grasp, the wound leaving his fingers limp and powerless. But before Johun or any of the others had a chance to finish off their unarmed opponent, they were blown backward by an explosion of dark side energy, their enemy’s power fueled by the sharp, sudden pain of his wound.
Lying on the ground ten meters away, Johun watched in helpless horror as the Dark Lord’s lightsaber leapt from the floor and flew back into his hand. Amazingly, his fingers wrapped themselves around the hilt and reignited the crimson blade, his injuries somehow healing almost instantly.
There was no longer anyone standing between Bane and the Ithorian; like Johun, Farfalla and Raskta had both been thrown clear. The Sith Lord raised his blade to end Worror’s life, and Johun thrust out with the Force.
He knew he wasn’t strong enough to penetrate Bane’s defenses, but the big man wasn’t his target. Instead, the powerful push struck Worror, throwing him into the corner as the lightsaber strike that would have cut him in two swished harmlessly through the air.
Johun felt his strength and energy plummet. A wave of exhaustion and fatigue overwhelmed him, the beneficial effects of the battle meditation vanishing as Worror’s concentration was broken. But the Jedi Master was still alive, and Farfalla and Raskta were back on their feet. If they could hold Bane off for just a few seconds, the Ithorian could resume his meditations and restore their advantage.
* * *
Zannah slid to the side, her spinning weapon redirecting the blade of her enemy away from her throat and harmlessly up over her shoulder. Its twin came in quickly from the other side at her hip, and she threw herself into a back handspring to avoid it, landing nimbly on her feet. Grimly, she realized that she’d never understood the true meaning of the term
martial arts
until now.
The warrior assailing her had elevated the act of combat to its purest and highest form. He moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, his monstrous blade singing the deadly song of battle. He executed his moves with a perfect elegance born of obsession. Zannah knew it left him vulnerable to other forms of attack, but he pressed her so relentlessly that she never had a chance to effectively gather her power.
Had the Jedi enjoyed the same advantages Bane’s orbalisk armor provided, their encounter would have ended long ago. Bane could shrug off otherwise lethal blows, forgoing all sense of personal safety in a reckless assault of pure offense to overwhelm her defenses. In contrast, the man before her, massive though he was, would still die if her blades caught him. He had to guard against her counterattacks, his style less aggressive so he didn’t leave himself vulnerable. Even though his technique was more refined than her Master’s, she’d been able to withstand his assault … so far.
He came at her again, his blade changing directions so quickly in midstroke that it seemed to bend and curve. Zannah repelled the assault with a furious defensive flurry, breathing hard. Her style was meant to prolong combat, exhausting her opponents as they tried to penetrate her defenses. But each time she clashed with the olive-skinned giant, she was the one forced to expend desperate, frantic energy. Slowly, he was wearing her down.
It was more than just his talent and training. Zannah sensed some type of greater power at work: the Force flowed through him as if it was being channeled by another, giving even greater strength to her opponent.
Another exchange drove her backward; the man was cutting off the room, herding her tightly into the corner to limit her movement. He was taking away her agility, knowing she was no match for his strength. And there was nothing she could do about it. Taking another step back, she felt her heel butt up against the edge of the wall. There was nowhere left to go; the end was near.
On the far side of the room she heard Bane howl in rage, and she braced herself for a final stand she knew she couldn’t survive. Her opponent spun the long double-bladed lightsaber around his own body, gathering momentum for his next attack. And then, suddenly, the power behind him—the Force being channeled through him by another—was gone. Zannah felt it disappear, snuffed out like a candle in a puff of wind.
The big man hesitated, casting a quick glance over toward the others to see what had happened. Seizing the opportunity, Zannah’s fingers flickered in strange patterns as she unleashed her Sith sorcery at her foe.
His eyes went wide and he stumbled away from her, his lightsaber swinging wildly at the air around him as he was beset on all sides by imaginary demons. Flailing in half-mad terror at the invisible monsters, he ignored Zannah as she swooped in and ended his life with one long, diagonal stroke across his muscular chest.
As he fell to the ground, Zannah turned her attention to Bane on the far side of the room. He was single-handedly battling three Jedi, slowly pushing them back toward where the Ithorian lay crumpled in a corner.
Gathering the dark side around her, Zannah created a concealing cloak to mask her power as she had done at the Jedi Temple. While she did so, she saw the Ithorian
slowly rise to his feet and close his eyes in concentration. She felt the surge of light-side energy rolling across the room, as did Bane’s opponents. Suddenly invigorated, they backed her Master up against a wall, concentrating their attacks on his face and the joints of his wrist where the orbalisks had left tiny gaps in his armor.
Zannah rushed to her Master’s aid, coming up silently behind the Jedi. Her presence hidden by her spell of concealment, they never sensed her coming. She struck the Echani down first, thrusting her blade forward so that it pierced the Jedi’s back and ran her through.
The Echani cried out and slumped forward, dropping at Zannah’s feet. The men on either side half turned toward her, momentarily forgetting the opponent directly in front of them. Bane took the opportunity to slice off the weapon hand of the man with the green lightsaber. He screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching his cauterized stump. The image pulled Zannah’s mind back to the cave on Ruusan where she had taken her cousin’s hand.
With a shake of her head, she dispelled the memory. Her distraction had given the young Jedi a chance to roll clear of the battle. Zannah hesitated, uncertain whether to finish him off or help her Master against the man he was still battling. The question became moot a moment later when Bane swatted the Jedi’s golden lightsaber aside with his orbalisk-encrusted left forearm, then removed his foe’s head from his body with his lightsaber.
In the corner the Ithorian broke his meditative trance, sensing that his companions had fallen. But before he could act Bane leapt through the air and landed in front of him, slashing all four of his throats simultaneously. The Ithorian crumpled to the ground, and Bane turned to finish off the one-handed Jedi.
Zannah felt the gathering dark side power of her Master, but in the instant before he unleashed the storm of
deadly purple lightning, the Ithorian reached up from the floor and clutched him by his ankle. A shimmering blue globe surrounded them both as the mortally wounded Jedi released his own power in his final, dying act.
Instead of arcing across the room to destroy the one-armed Jedi, the lightning that flew from Bane’s fingers reflected off the inside of the shimmering blue globe encasing him. The bolts ricocheted around wildly inside the globe, creating a storm of energy so intense that Zannah had to shield her eyes and look away. She heard Bane’s scream rising above the sharp crackle of electricity, and when she looked back she saw the globe vanish and her Master fall to the ground in a charred and smoking heap.
She started to run to him, then saw that the sole surviving Jedi was crawling toward where his lightsaber had fallen on the ground, determined to fight on despite the loss of his hand.
Her face frozen in a mask of rage and hatred, she stepped forward and spun her lightsaber above her head. He looked at her with pleading eyes, but her only response was to bring her blade crashing down, ending his life.
22
W
hen Zannah first reached Bane’s side, she was sure her Master was dead. The lightning had reduced his clothes to ash, and his gloves and boots had melted away. The flesh of his face and hands was charred and burned, covered with blisters that oozed a runny yellow pus. Several of the parasites on his chest and stomach hadn’t survived, their brown shells turned black and brittle by the lightning’s electrical charge. Wisps of still-smoldering smoke crept out from beneath their shells, bringing with it a sickly stench that made Zannah’s stomach churn.
Then she saw Bane’s chest rise and fall, his breaths so shallow and faint she had almost missed them. He must have slipped into unconsciousness as his body went into shock from the unbearable pain. She paused, half expecting to see his seared skin and tissue begin to regenerate, but his injuries exceeded even the ability of the orbalisks to heal him, and nothing happened.
The sound of a door opening made her turn her head, glancing up to see Darovit emerging from his hiding place. He looked around at the carnage in the room, then saw Zannah crouched over her Master.
“Is he …?” He left the question hanging in the air.
“He’s alive,” she said angrily, rising to her feet.
Darovit slowly walked over to her side, cradling Belia’s Holocron and the datacard against his sternum
with his good hand. Zannah reached out and snatched them away when he drew close. He didn’t seem to notice, his eyes transfixed by the charred husk at her feet that was somehow still alive.
“Get the lightsabers,” she commanded. “We’re leaving.”
Darovit had the good sense not to question her orders, but went to gather the weapons of the fallen Jedi: trophies of the Sith triumph on Tython.
Zannah stuffed the Holocron and datacard away in the pockets of her clothing, then took a deep breath to focus her mind. She reached out with the Force and lifted Bane’s body off the ground, levitating it at waist height.