Star Wars: Path of Destruction: A Novel of the Old Republic (23 page)

“Of course,” Bane lied. “He is acting for the good of us all.” As he rose to his feet he thought, Kaan’s acting like one of the Jedi. Worrying about the greater good. Seeking to bring harmony and cooperation to our order. The dark side withers and dies under those conditions!

Kas’im stared at Bane as if he wanted to say more. In the end, however, he let it drop. “That’s enough for today,” he said. In the distance the sky had turned the faint gray of first light; dawn was only an hour away. “The other students will be arriving for their training soon.”

Bane bowed once more before taking his leave. As he made his way down the temple steps he realized that Kas’im, for all his skill with the lightsaber, couldn’t teach him what he really needed to know. The Twi’lek had turned his back on the past; he had abandoned the individualistic roots of the Sith in favor of Kaan’s Brotherhood.

The mysteries of the dark side’s true potential were beyond his reach-and likely beyond the reach of every Master at the Academy.

Githany could sense that something was troubling Bane. He was barely paying attention as she shared what she had learned from the Sith Masters in her most recent lessons.

She didn’t know what was bothering him. In truth, she didn’t care. Unless it interfered with her own plans.

“Something’s on your mind, Bane,” she whispered.

Lost in his thoughts, he took a moment to react. “I’m … I’m sorry, Githany.”

“What’s wrong?” she pressed, trying to sound genuinely concerned. “What are you thinking about?”

He didn’t answer at first; he seemed to be weighing his words carefully before speaking. “Do you believe in the power of the dark side?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“And is it what you envisioned? Does the Academy live up to your expectations?”

“Few things ever do,” she replied with a hint of a smile. “But I’ve learned a lot from Qordis and the others since I’ve come here. Things the Jedi could never have taught me.”

Bane gave a derisive snort. “Most of what I’ve learned has come from these books.” He waved a hand at the shelves.

She wasn’t sure what to say next, so she said nothing.

“You once told me the Masters didn’t know everything,” Bane continued. “You meant the Jedi Masters at the time, but I’m starting to believe it applies to the Sith, as well.”

“They were wrong to turn their backs on you,” she said, seeing the opportunity she had long been waiting for. “But you have to place your blame where it belongs. We both know who is responsible for doing this to you.”

“Sirak,” he said, spitting out the name as if it were poison.

“He must pay for what he did to you, Bane. We’ve waited long enough. It’s time.”

“Time for what?”

Githany allowed the hint of a tremor into her voice. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to challenge him in the dueling ring.”

“What?” Bane shook his head. “Don’t be stupid, Githany! He’ll destroy you!”

Perfect, she thought. “I have no choice, Bane,” she said gravely. “I’ve already told you I don’t believe in the legend of the Sith’ari. Sirak may be the top student in the school, but he’s not invincible.”

“He may not be the Sith’ari, but he’s still too strong for you. You can’t face him in the dueling ring, Githany. I’ve studied him; I know how good he is. You can’t beat him.”

She let his words hang in the air for a long time before dropping her head in defeat. “What other choice is there? We have to destroy him, and the only way is by facing him in the dueling ring.”

Bane didn’t reply right away; she knew he was mulling over another solution. They both knew there was only one possible course of action, one answer he would inevitably come to. They’d have to kill Sirak outside the ring. Assassinate him. It was a blatant violation of the Academy’s rules, and the consequences would be severe if they were caught.

That’s why it had to be Bane who came up with the idea. Once it was out there, Githany was confident she could maneuver him into performing the actual deed by himself. It was the perfect plan: get rid of Sirak and have Bane assume all the risk.

Later she could “accidentally” tip off the Masters about Bane’s involvement … if she needed to. She wasn’t so sure about that part of her plan anymore, though. She wasn’t convinced she wanted to betray Bane. But she didn’t mind manipulating him.

He drew in a long breath, gathering himself to speak. She prepared herself to give a very convincing-and very contrived-exclamation of surprise.

“You can’t face Sirak in the ring, but I can,” he said.

“What?” Githany’s surprise was completely genuine. “He nearly beat you to death last time! He’ll kill you for sure this time!”

“This time I intend to win.”

The way he spoke made Githany realize she was missing something. “What’s going on, Bane?” she demanded.

He hesitated a moment before admitting, “I’ve been training with Lord Kas’im in secret.”

That made sense, she saw. In fact, she should have figured it out on her own. Maybe you would have if, if you hadn’t let Bane get to you, she chided herself. You knew you were starting to have feelings for him; you let them cloud your judgment.

Out loud she said, “I don’t like being played for a fool, Bane.”

“Neither do I,” he said. “I’m not stupid, Githany. I know what you wanted from me. I know what you expected me to say. I will get my revenge on Sirak. But I’m taking my own path.”

Without even realizing it she had begun chewing on her lower lip. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning. Just as you said you were going to.”

“But you know I wasn’t serious.”

“And you know I am.”

Unbidden, Githany’s finger began to twine itself in a lock of her hair. She pulled her arm down sharply as soon as she realized what she was doing.

Bane reached out a hand and let it rest gently on her shoulder. “You don’t have to worry,” he reassured her. “Nobody will know you were involved.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she whispered.

He tilted his head to one side, studying her closely to see if she was being honest with him. Much to her own surprise, she actually was.

Bane must have sensed her sincerity, because he leaned in close and kissed her softly on the lips. He drew back slowly, letting his hand slip from her shoulder. Without another word, he rose to his feet and made his way toward the door leading out of the archives.

She watched him go in silence, then at the last second called out, “Good luck, Bane. Be careful.”

He stopped as if he’d taken a blaster bolt in the throat, his body rigid. “I will,” he replied without looking back. And then he was gone.

Moments later Githany felt her face burning. She absently brushed away a tear coiling down her cheek, then brought her hand up slowly, staring in disbelief at the moisture smeared across her palm.

Disgusted at her own weakness, she wiped the tear away on the folds of her cloak. She stood up from the chair and threw her shoulders back, bracing her spine and holding her head high and proud.

So what if things hadn’t quite gone according to plan? If Bane killed Sirak in the ring, her rival would still be dead. And if Bane failed, she could always find someone else to assassinate the Zabrak. It would all work out the same in the end.

But as she marched smartly from the room, part of her knew that wasn’t true. No matter how this played out, things were going to be very different from anything she had imagined.

The morning sky was dark with storm clouds. Far in the distance thunder could be heard rumbling across the empty plains that separated the temple from the Valley of the Dark Lords.

Bane hadn’t slept that night. After his confrontation with Githany, he had returned to his room to meditate. Even that had proved difficult; his mind was churning with too many thoughts to properly focus.

Memories of the gruesome beating he had suffered kept forcing themselves to the fore, dragging doubt and the fear of failure behind them. So far he’d managed to resist the whispers that threatened his resolve, and he’d stayed firm in his original plan.

The apprentices were gathering, some casting sour glances at the clouds overhead. The temple roof was completely exposed to the elements, but no matter how wet, cold, and miserable the students got, they knew the drills and challenges would not be canceled. A little rain was nothing to a Sith, Kas’im was fond of saying.

Bane found his place amid the throng in preparation for the group drills. The apprentices around him studiously ignored his presence. It had been this way ever since his loss to Sirak: he was shunned; he had become anathema to the other students. Though he trained with them in all the group sessions, it was as if he didn’t really exist. He was a silent shadow lurking on the fringes, excluded in spirit if not in actual physical presence.

He scanned the crowd for Githany, but when he caught her eye she quickly looked away. Still, he found her presence reassuring. He believed she wanted him to succeed, or at least part of her did. He believed that some of what they felt for each other was more than just part of the game they had both been playing.

As the drills began he made a point not to look over at Sirak. He had studied the Zabrak in excruciating detail over the past months; anything he happened to notice now would only cause him to second-guess himself. Instead he focused on his own technique.

In the past he had purposefully worked errors and mistakes into his routines during the drills in order to keep his growing talent hidden from any student who might happen to cast a glance in his direction. Now, however, the time for secrecy was gone. After the challenges today everyone would know what he was capable of-or he would be dead and forgotten forever.

The rain began to come down. Slowly at first; fat, heavy drops spaced enough apart that he could make out the sound as each one landed. But then the clouds opened up and the rain came in a steady, pounding rhythm. Bane barely even noticed. He’d escaped inside himself, digging down deep to confront his fear. As his body went through the motions of basic attack and defense stances along with the rest of the class, he slowly transformed the fear into anger.

It was impossible for Bane to say how long the training session lasted: it seemed to go on forever, but in actual fact Kas’im probably kept it brief in light of the steady downpour soaking his charges. By the time it ended and the apprentices had gathered into the familiar circle around the dueling ring, the young man had turned his seething anger into white-hot hate.

As he had done the last time he challenged Sirak, he entered the ring before anyone else had a chance to act, pushing his way through the crowd from his position on the outermost edge. There was a murmur of surprise when the others recognized who had stepped forward.

He could feel the dark side churning inside him, a storm far fiercer than the one pelting down on him from the sky. It was time for his hate to set him free.

“Sirak!” he shouted, his voice carrying over the rising wind. “I challenge you!”

Bane’s challenge hung in the air, as if the relentless sheets of rain had somehow trapped his words. Through the darkness of the storm he saw the crowd part and Sirak step slowly forward.

The Zabrak moved with a quiet confidence. Bane had hoped the unexpected challenge might unsettle his enemy. If he could rattle Sirak, catch him off guard or confuse him, he would have an advantage before the fight even began. But if his opponent felt anything at all, he kept it carefully masked beneath a cold, calm veneer.

Sirak handed his long, double-bladed training saber to Yevra, one of the Zabrak siblings who always seemed to follow in his wake, then stripped off his heavy, rain-soaked cloak. Beneath his robes he wore a simple pair of breeches and a sleeveless vest. Without a word he held out his balled-up cloak and Llokay, the other Zabrak, scampered out from the crowd and took it from him. Then Yevra scurried in to return his weapon to his open and waiting hand.

Bane peeled off his own cloak and let it drop to the ground, trying to ignore the cold sting of the rain on his naked torso. He hadn’t really expected Sirak to be flustered by his challenge, but at the very least he’d hoped the Zabrak would be overconfident. There was, however, a ruthless efficiency in Sirak’s preparation-an economy and precision of movement-that told Bane he was taking this duel very seriously.

Sirak was arrogant, but he was no fool. He was smart enough to understand that Bane wouldn’t challenge him again unless he thought he had some plan for victory. Until he understood what that plan was, he wasn’t going to take his opponent for granted.

Bane knew he could probably beat Sirak now. Like Githany, he didn’t believe in the legend of a chosen one who would rise up from the Sith ranks: he was convinced Sirak was not, in fact, the Sith’ari. He didn’t want just to beat him, however. He wanted to destroy him, just as Sirak had destroyed him in their last meeting.

But Sirak was too good; he’d never leave himself exposed the way Bane had. Not at first. Not unless Bane somehow lured him into it.

Across the ring Sirak assumed the ready position. His rain-slicked skin seemed to glow in the darkness: a yellow demon emerging from the shadows of a nightmare into reality’s harsh light.

Bane leapt forward, opening the melee with a series of complex, aggressive attacks. He moved quickly … but not too quickly. There were gasps of astonishment from the crowd at his obvious and unexpected skill, though Sirak turned aside his assault easily enough.

In response to the inevitable counterattack, Bane let himself stagger back into a stumbling retreat. For a brief instant he saw his opponent overextend, leaving his right arm vulnerable to a strike that would have ended the contest right then and there. Fighting his own finely honed instincts, Bane held back. He’d worked too long and too hard to claim victory with a simple blow to the arm.

The battle continued in the familiar rhythm of combat, the ebb and flow of attack and defense. Bane made sure his attacks were effective yet crude, trying to convince his enemy that he was a dangerous but ultimately inferior opponent. Each time he warded off one of Sirak’s charges he embellished his defensive maneuvers, transforming quick parries into long, clumsy swipes that seemed to keep the double-bladed saber at bay as much through blind luck as intention.