Star Wars: Path of Destruction: A Novel of the Old Republic (28 page)

Instead fortune had smiled on him. He’d have to act quickly, though. Once they left Korriban it would be too late. Lord Kaan would have all the apprentices swear vows of loyalty and fealty to each other when they joined the Brotherhood. Killing his enemy after that would be an act of betrayal punishable by death. He wanted revenge, but not at the cost of his own life.

He knew Yevra and Llokay would help him, but he’d need more than them to destroy an enemy as strong as Bane. He needed Githany.

Knocking on the door to her room, he waited for her to call “Enter” before going in.

She was lying on her bed, looking casual and relaxed. In contrast, Sirak felt taut as a wire stretched beyond its limit.

“He’s back” was all he said.

“When?” She didn’t need to ask who he was talking about.

“He staggered in an hour ago. Maybe less. He went straight to the kitchens.”

“The kitchens?” She seemed surprised. Or offended. No doubt she’d expected him to come to her first.

“He’s vulnerable,” Sirak pointed out, his hand dropping to the hilt of his newly acquired lightsaber. “Half starved. Exhausted. We should go after him now.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she snapped. “What would the Masters do to us if we chopped him down in the kitchens?”

She was right. “Do you have a plan?”

She nodded. “Tonight. Wait in the archives. I’ll bring him to you there.”

“I’ll bring Yevra and Llokay.”

A sour grimace puckered up her face. “I suppose we’ll need them,” she conceded, making no effort to hide her distaste.

Sirak’s mouth twisted into a cruel grin. “I only ask one more thing. Let me be the one who deals the killing blow.”

Bane collapsed into his bed, his belly full to bursting. He’d gorged himself in the kitchen, tearing into the food with the manners of a Gamorrean soldier at the barracks trough. He’d stuffed himself with everything in sight until his ravenous hunger was sated. It was only then that he remembered he hadn’t actually slept in nearly two weeks.

Hunger had given way to exhaustion, and he’d wandered from the kitchen to his room in a daze. Within seconds he had dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He woke several hours later to a knocking at his door. Still groggy, he forced himself to his feet, lit a glow rod, and opened the door.

Qordis was standing in the hall. He barged in without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him. Bane was too busy trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep to protest.

“‘Welcome back, Bane,” the Master said. “I trust your journey was … educational.”

Puzzled at Qordis’s cordial tone, Bane only nodded.

“I hope you understand now why I let you go,” Qordis said.

Because you were too much of a coward to try and stop me, Bane thought, but didn’t say anything aloud.

“This was the final phase of your training,” the Master continued. “You had to understand why we have abandoned the old ways. This is a new age, and you could understand that only once you recognized the old age was truly gone.”

Bane maintained his stoic silence, not agreeing with Qordis but unwilling to argue the point.

“Now that you have learned your final lesson, the Academy has nothing left to teach you.” On that point, at least, they were in complete agreement. “You are no longer an apprentice, Bane. You are now fit to join the ranks of the Masters. You are now a Dark Lord of the Sith.”

He paused, as if expecting some kind of reaction. Bane stood still as the stone statues he’d seen guarding the tombs of the ancient Sith in some of the older crypts.

Qordis cleared his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I know Lord Kas’im has already given you a lightsaber. I, too, have a gift for you.” He held out his hand, a lightsaber crystal in his palm.

When Bane hesitated, Qordis spoke again. “Take it, Lord Bane.” He put a special emphasis on the new title. It sounded sour in Bane’s ears: an empty honor bestowed by a fool who believed himself a Master. But he said nothing as the other continued speaking.

“This synthetic crystal is stronger than the one powering your lightsaber now,” Qordis assured him. “And it is much, much stronger than the natural crystals the Jedi use in their own weapons.”

Moving slowly, Bane reached out and took it in his hand. It was cold to the touch at first, but as he gripped it the six-sided stone quickly grew warm.

“The timing of your return from the wastes couldn’t have been better,” Qordis continued. “We are making preparations to leave Korriban. Lord Kaan has need of us on Ruusan. All the Sith must be united in the Brotherhood of Darkness if we are to defeat the Jedi.”

“The Brotherhood will fail,” Bane stated, boldly declaring what he knew to be true only because he knew the other wouldn’t believe. “Kaan does not understand the dark side. He is leading you down the path of ruin.”

Qordis drew in a sharp breath, then spat it out in an angry hiss. “Some might consider that talk to be treason, Lord Bane. You would do well to keep such ideas to yourself in the future.” He wheeled away and strode angrily to the door, wrenching it open. His reaction was exactly as Bane had expected.

The tall Master spun back to face Bane one more time. “You may be a Dark Lord now, Bane. But there is still much about the dark side you do not understand. Join the Brotherhood and we can teach you what we know. Reject us, and you will never find what you seek.”

The Master stalked out; Bane watched silently as the door swung shut behind him. Qordis was wrong about the Brotherhood, but he was right about one thing: there was still much about the dark side Bane needed to understand.

And there was only one place in the galaxy he could go to learn it.

Bane crawled back into bed after Qordis left. He thought about going to see Githany, but he was still exhausted. Tomorrow, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

Several hours later he was again disturbed by a knock on his door. This time he felt more refreshed when he woke. He sat up quickly and lit a glow rod, casting the room in soft light. There were no windows in his chamber, but he guessed it must be close to midnight: well past curfew.

He rose to his feet and went to greet his second uninvited visitor. This time he was not disappointed when he opened the door.

“Can I come in?” Githany whispered.

Bane stepped aside, catching the scent of her perfume as she brushed past him. As he silently closed the door behind her, she walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. She patted the space beside her, and Bane dutifully sat down, turning slightly so he could look her in the eye.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Why did you leave?” she responded.

“It’s … it’s hard to explain. You were right about what happened with Sirak. I should have finished him, but I didn’t. I was foolish and weak. I didn’t want to admit that to you.”

“You left the Academy so you wouldn’t have to face me?” The words sounded compassionate, as if she were seeking to understand him. But Bane could sense the contempt beneath them.

“No,” he explained. “I didn’t leave because of you. I left because you were the only one who recognized my failing. Everyone else congratulated me for my great victory: Kas’im, Qordis … everyone. They were blind to the true nature of the dark side. As blind as I had been until you opened my eyes.

“I left because the Academy had nothing more to offer me. I went to the Valley of the Dark Lords hoping to find the answers I couldn’t find here.”

“And you never thought to come tell me all this?” Her voice had changed; the veil of false compassion was gone. Now she just sounded angry. Angry and hurt. Bane was relieved that she still felt strongly enough about him to reveal some genuine emotion.

“I should have come to you,” he admitted. “I acted rashly. I let my anger at Qordis drive me away.”

She nodded: passion and reckless actions were something he knew Githany could relate to.

“I’ve answered your question,” he said. “Now you answer mine. Why are you here?”

She hesitated, her teeth biting down softly on her lower lip. Bane recognized the unconscious gesture; it meant she was lost in thought, trying to sort something out.

“Not here,” she said at last, rising stiffly from the bed. “I have something to show you. In the archives.”

Without looking back to see if he was following, she made her way from his room and into the dim hall beyond, moving quickly. Bane scrambled to his feet and trotted after her, breaking into a jog to keep up.

She stared straight ahead, her boots making crisp snaps as they struck the stone floor with each brisk stride. The sharp sound echoed in the empty halls, but Githany appeared not to care. Bane could tell that something was bothering her, but he had no idea what it could be.

They found the door to the archives open. Githany didn’t seem surprised; she passed right through without slowing down. Bane paused for only an instant before following her.

At the far side of the room, beyond the rows of shelves, she stopped and turned to face him. There was an expression he couldn’t quite decipher on her haughty but beautiful features.

He crossed to the middle of the room then stopped short when she held up her hand, palm extended. “Githany,” he said, perplexed, “what’s going-“

His words were cut off by the hollow boom of the archive door slamming shut behind him. He whirled around to see Sirak, flanked by Yevra and Llokay. The Zabrak’s pale yellow lips were pulled back in a cruel smile so wide it gave him the appearance of a grinning skull. Bane couldn’t help but notice the lightsaber handles dangling from the belts of all three.

When Githany spoke from behind him he had to resist the urge to turn and face her. It wouldn’t he wise to expose his back to the Zabrak trio.

“Why did you follow me, Bane?” she asked, her voice a mixture of anger, disgust, and regret. “How could you be so stupid? Didn’t you realize you were walking into a trap?”

Githany had betrayed him. The conversation in his room had been a test-one that he’d failed. He knew her well enough to expect something like this. He should have been wary of a trap. Instead he’d been a blind and obedient fool.

He knew he’d brought this on himself. Now he had to discern a way out.

“Is this what you want, Githany?” he asked, trying to stall for time.

“She wants what all Sith want,” Sirak answered for her. “Power. Victory. She knows to side with the strong.”

“I’m stronger than he is,” Bane told Githany. “I proved that in the dueling ring.”

“There’s more to strength than physical prowess,” Sirak replied, igniting his lightsaber. It was the double-bladed variety. Bane’s eyes were focused squarely on the bright red blades, but he heard the hiss as the other two Zabrak followed suit. Githany, however, still hadn’t fired up her whip.

“Strength means more than just the ability to use the Force,” Sirak continued, starting to advance. “It means intelligence. Cunning. Ruthlessness.”

“You know how easily I defeated you in the ring,” Bane said, finally speaking directly to Sirak, though his words were still meant for Githany. “Are you so certain you can defeat me now?”

“Four against one, Bane. And you left your lightsaber back in your chambers. I like those odds.”

Bane laughed and turned his back on Sirak. The Zabrak was close enough to lunge in and kill him with one blow, but Bane was gambling he would hold back, wary of being lured into a trap. It was a dangerous gamble, but he wanted to be looking directly into Githany’s eyes when he spoke what might be his last words.

“This fool actually believes you brought me here for his sake,” he said to her. Behind him he could sense Sirak’s confusion and uncertainty. No attack came yet.

Githany met his stare with a cold, unflinching gaze and didn’t answer. But her teeth worried her lower lip.

“We both know why you brought me here, Githany,” he said, speaking quickly. Sirak wouldn’t wait for long. “You don’t want to side with Sirak. You’ve been plotting ways to get me to kill him ever since you first arrived.”

“Enough!” Sirak shouted. Bane threw himself forward, rolling out of the way at the last second as the double-bladed lightsaber sliced a deep furrow into the spot where he had been standing. As he rolled to his feet, he saw Githany move; when she tossed his lightsaber to him, he was already extending his hand and using the Force to guide the hilt into his grasp.

The weapon flared to life and he turned just in time to block Sirak’s charge. Yevra and Llokay were a few meters behind, rushing forward to join the fray.

Bane counterattacked, slashing down at Sirak’s legs. The Zabrak parried the blow, and their blades collided with a burning hum. On the edge of his awareness Bane heard the sound of Githany’s whip igniting.

A quick flurry caused Sirak to retreat. Bane feinted as if he was going to press forward, then took a step back, opening a full meter of space between them. It gave him just enough time to cast out his arm in the direction of the unsuspecting Yevra. Catching her up with the Force, he hurled her against one of the nearby shelves hard enough to splinter the wood.

She crumpled to the floor, dazed. Before she had a chance to rise, Githany lashed out with her whip and ended the Zabrak female’s life.

Bane barely had time to register her death before Llokay was on him. The red-skinned Zabrak was overmatched, but his grief and rage empowered him, and he drove his much larger opponent back with a brutal series of desperate slashes and strikes.

Staggering back, Bane was almost too distracted to see Sirak unleashing a bolt of crackling blue lightning at him. At the last second he twisted and caught the potentially lethal blast with the blade of his lightsaber, absorbing its energy. The move had been one of instinct and last resort, and it had left him vulnerable to a single quick thrust from Llokay. But Githany’s whip was snapping and cracking at Llokay’s eyes and face, and his blade was busy frantically warding off the blows.

Bane turned his attention back to Sirak, who hesitated. At that moment there was a scream from Llokay: he had misjudged the erratic path of Githany’s energy whip and lost an eye. A second scream would have followed, but she gashed open his throat, the burning tip of her weapon searing his vocal cords so he died in agonized silence.