Star Wars: Path of Destruction: A Novel of the Old Republic (29 page)

Outnumbered, Sirak extinguished his lightsaber, dropped it to the ground, and fell to his knees.

“Please, Bane,” he begged, his voice cracking. “I yield. You are a true Sith Lord. I know that now.”

Githany whispered, “End it now, Bane.”

Bane advanced until he towered over his groveling foe. Suddenly it wasn’t just Sirak he saw before him. It was everyone he’d ever struck down. Every life he’d ever taken. Fohargh, the Makurth. The nameless Republic soldier he’d killed on Apatros. His father.

He was responsible for their deaths. Even now, they weighed on him. Guilt over Fohargh’s death had left him numb to the dark side for months. It had shackled him like iron. He didn’t want to suffer through that again.

“Listen to me,” Sirak pleaded. “I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you command. You can use me. I can help you. Please, Bane-have mercy!”

Bane steeled himself. “Those who ask for mercy,” he answered coldly, “are too weak to deserve it.”

His blade decapitated his helpless foe. The torso remained upright for a full second, the charred edges of the cauterized stump where the head had once been attached still smoking. Then it toppled forward.

Staring down at it, Bane felt only one thing: freedom. The guilt, the shame, the weight of responsibility had all vanished in that single, decisive act. He had opened himself to the dark side completely. It surged through him, filling him with confidence and power.

Through power, I gain victory. Through victory my chains are broken. He turned to see Githany smiling, her eyes filled with hunger.

“I of all people should have known better than to underestimate you,” she said. “You saw me take your lightsaber! That’s why you followed me.”

“No,” Bane replied, still heady from the rush of killing his enemy. “I didn’t see anything. I was just guessing?’

For a brief moment her expression darkened; then she burst out with a laugh. “You never cease to amaze me, Lord Bane.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked. “Qordis has given all the students the rank of Dark Lord of the Sith.”

Seeing him wince, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, looking up into his face. “Bane,” she breathed, “we’re going to fight the Jedi! We’re going to join Lord Kaan’s Brotherhood of Darkness!”

He reached up and grasped her delicate hands in his own massive ones, then gently unwound her arms from around his neck. Puzzled, she offered no resistance as he brought his hands together at his chest, her own clasped between them.

How could he make her understand? He was of the dark side now; Sirak’s execution had been the final step. He had crossed the threshold; there was no going back. He would never hesitate again. Never doubt again. The transformation he had begun when he’d first come to the Academy was complete: he was Sith.

Now, more than ever, he understood the failings of the Brotherhood. “Kaan is a fool, Githany,” he said, staring intently into her eyes to read her expression.

She recoiled slightly and tried to pull her hands away. He held them tight.

“You’ve never even met Lord Kaan,” she said defensively. “I have. He’s a great man, Bane. A man of vision.”

“He’s blind as an Orkellian cave slug,” Bane insisted. “The Brotherhood of Darkness, this Academy, everything the Sith have become is a monument to his ignorance!” He clasped her hands even more tightly. “Come with me. There is nothing left for us on Korriban, and only death on Ruusan. But I know somewhere else we can go. A place where the dark side is still strong.”

She squirmed her hands free and pulled away from him. “Lord Kaan has united the Sith in a single glorious cause. We can join them on Ruusan.”

“Then go!” Bane spat. “Join the others on Ruusan. Be united with them in their defeat.”

He turned and stormed angrily away as she called out “Wait, Bane. Wait!”

If she had made any move to follow him, he might have.

Bane kicked open the door to Qordis’s chamber; it slammed against the wall with a crash that reverberated down the hall. The Academy’s Master had been awake and already dressed, meditating on the mat in the center of his room. Now he leapt to his feet, anger darkening his face.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Did you send Sirak to kill me?” Bane blurted out. The time for subtlety was gone.

“What? I … did something happen to Sirak?”

“I killed him. Yevra and Llokay, too. Their bodies are in the archives.”

The shock and horror of his reaction made it clear that Qordis had known nothing about the attack. “You did this on the eve of our departure for Ruusan?” he asked, his voice rising shrilly.

A few of the other Masters had gathered in the corridor outside, drawn by Bane’s loud arrival. A handful of the students, as well. Bane didn’t care.

“You can go to Ruusan,” Bane snapped. “I will have nothing to do with the Brotherhood of Darkness.”

“You are a student of this Academy,” Qordis reminded him. “You will do as you are told!”

“I am a Dark Lord of the Sith,” Bane countered. “I serve no one but myself.”

Glancing over Bane’s shoulder at the gathering crowd of curious onlookers, Qordis dropped his voice to a threatening whisper. “We leave for Ruusan tomorrow, Lord Bane. You will be coming with us. This is not a matter for discussion.”

“I am leaving tonight,” Bane replied, lowering his voice to match and mock the tone of Qordis’s own. “And none of you here is strong enough to stop me!’

He turned his back on the head of the Academy and walked slowly from the room. For a brief second he felt the spurned Master gathering the Force, and Bane braced himself for a confrontation. But a second later he felt the power fading away.

At the threshold he halted. When he spoke, he was addressing the assembled gawkers as much as Qordis.

“Someone here once told me the Darth title was no longer used because it promoted rivalry among the Sith. It gave the Jedi an easy target. It was easier just to abandon the custom. To have all the Sith Masters use the same title of Dark Lord.”

He raised his voice slightly, speaking loud enough for all to hear. “But I know the truth, Qordis. I know why none of you claims that name for yourself. Fear. You’re cowards.”

He half turned and looked back at Qordis. “None of the Brotherhood is worthy of the Darth title. Least of all you.”

There was a gasp from the assemblage. Some of the students stepped back, expecting some type of reaction. Of course there was none.

Shaking his head in disgust, Bane left them there. As he passed the other Masters, Kas’im stepped in front of him, placing a hand on his chest.

“Don’t go,” the Blademaster said. “Let’s talk about this. If you just meet with Kaan you’ll understand. That’s all I ask, Bane.”

“It’s Darth Bane,” he said, slapping the Twi’lek’s hand away and pushing past him.

Nobody else tried to stop him as he made his way through the temple’s halls. Nobody tried to follow him or even called out as he mounted the stairs to the small landing pad on the roof.

There was only a single ship at the starport: the Valcyn, a T-class long-range personal cruiser. The blade-shaped vessel was one of the finest in the Sith fleet, equipped with the latest and most advanced technology. It had arrived just the day before: a gift from Kaan to Qordis, in recognition of his work with the apprentices at the Academy.

Bane lowered the access hatch and climbed inside. During his stint in the military he’d been given rudimentary training in the basics of piloting a standard hyperdrive vessel. Fortunately, the Valcyn’s controls matched all intergalactic standards of operation and were designed for ease of use. He sat himself down in the pilot’s chair and fired up the thrusters, punching in the hyperspace coordinates of his destination even as he began the liftoff sequence. A moment later the Valcyn rose up from the landing pad’s surface then shot off into the atmosphere, leaving Korriban and the Academy behind.

Lord Hoth, Jedi Master and acting general of the Republic forces on Ruusan, sat huddled on a stump outside his tent and stared up at the dark clouds hovering above the camp. He scowled at the brooding sky as if he could banish the coming storm with the fierceness of his expression.

“Is something troubling you, Lord Hoth?”

The voice of Master Pernicar, his longtime friend and right hand during this never-ending campaign, snapped his attention back to where it belonged.

“What isn’t troubling me, Pernicar?” he asked with a heavy sigh. “We’re low on food and medpacs. Our injured outnumber our hale. The scouts report that reinforcements are on their way to assist Kaan and his Sith.” He slapped his hand down on one knee. “All we have coming to our aid are youths and children.”

“Children who are strong in the Force,” Pernicar reminded him. “If we don’t recruit them to our side, the Sith will claim them for theirs?’

“Blast it, Pernicar, they’re just children! I need Jedi. Fully trained. All we can spare. But there are still members of our own order who refuse to help us.”

“Perhaps it’s how you ask them,” a new voice said from behind him.

Hoth rubbed his temples but didn’t turn to face the speaker. Lord Valenthyne Farfalla had been one of the first Jedi Masters to join the Army of Light on Ruusan. He had fought in nearly every confrontation, and the Sith had come to know him well: Farfalla was hard to miss even in the chaos of battle.

He had long, flowing curls of golden hair that hung down past his shoulders. The breastplate of his armor was also gold, buffed and polished until it gleamed before every battle. It was trimmed with bright red sleeves and adorned with rubies that matched the color of his eyes and contrasted with his pale skin.

Lord Hoth found him insufferable. Farfalla was a loyal servant of the light, but he was also a vain and prancing fool who spent more time selecting his wardrobe before each battle than he did planning strategy. Farfalla was the last person he wanted to deal with now.

“If you showed more tact, Lord Hoth,” Farfalla continued, gliding into view, “you might have rallied more Jedi to your cause.”

“I shouldn’t have to persuade them!” Hoth roared, leaping to his feet and waving his arms in exasperation. Farfalla hopped nimbly out of the way. “We’re fighting the Sith! The dark side must be destroyed! We could do it if more Jedi were here!”

“There are some who don’t see it that way,” Pernicar said calmly. He had become used to Hoth’s outbursts during their time on Ruusan, and had learned to ignore them, for the most part.

“There are other Republic worlds besides this one that are under attack,” Farfalla chimed in. “Many Jedi are aiding the Republic troops in other sectors, helping them against the Sith fleets.”

Hoth spat on the ground and was pleased to see Farfalla’s look of horrified disgust. “Those fleets might fly the banner of the Sith, but they’re made up of ordinary beings. The Republic has the numbers to beat them back. They don’t need the help of the Jedi to do it. All the real Sith-the Dark Lords-are here now. If we defeat the Brotherhood of Darkness, the Sith rebellion will collapse. Don’t they understand that?”

There was a long silence as the other two exchanged uneasy looks. It was Pernicar who finally found the courage to answer.

“Some of the Jedi believe we shouldn’t be here. They feel the only thing keeping the Brotherhood together is their hatred of the Army of Light. They claim if we disband and surrender Ruusan, then the Sith will quickly turn against each other, and the Brotherhood will tear itself apart.”

Hoth shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t they see what a great opportunity we have here? We can wipe out the followers of the dark side once and for all!”

“Some might argue that is not the purpose of our order,” Farfalla suggested gently. “The Jedi are defenders of the Republic. They feel the Army of Light is prolonging the rebellion by strengthening the Sith resolve. They say you are actually causing harm to the Republic you were sworn to defend.”

“Is that what you think?” Hoth snarled.

“Lord Farfalla has been with us since the beginning,” Pernicar reminded him. “He is only telling you what others are saying-those Jedi who have not come to Ruusan.”

“The Sith are getting reinforcements from Korriban,” Hoth grumbled. “We barely have enough numbers to hold them off as it is. I’ll just have to make them understand!”

“We would probably have more success if someone else approached them,” Farfalla said. “There are some who believe this has become a personal vendetta for you. They do not see Ruusan as the ultimate struggle between the light and the dark, but rather as a feud between you and Lord Kaan.”

Hoth sat back down wearily. “Then we are doomed. Without reinforcements we will be overwhelmed.”

Farfalla crouched down beside him, laying a perfectly manicured, heavily perfumed hand on Hoth’s brawny shoulder. It took every ounce of the general’s Jedi discipline not to shrug him off.

“Send me, my lord,” Farfalla said earnestly. “I have been here since the beginning; I believe in this cause as strongly as you.”

“Why should they listen to you any more than me?”

Farfalla gave a high, twittering laugh that set Hoth’s teeth on edge. “My lord, for all your skill in battle and all your strength in the Force, you are somewhat lacking in the delicate art of diplomacy. You are a brilliant general, and your taciturn nature serves you well when giving orders to your troops. Unfortunately, it can set those who are not under your command on edge.”

“You are too blunt, my lord,” Pernicar clarified.

“That’s what I just said,” Farfalla insisted with just a hint of annoyance. Then he continued, “On the other hand, people find me witty and charming. I can be quite persuasive when necessary. Give me leave to recruit others to our cause, and I will return with a hundred-no, three hundred!-Jedi ready to join the Army of Light.”

Hoth dropped his head into his hands again. His temples were throbbing: Farfalla always seemed to have that effect on him.

“Go,” he muttered without looking up. “If you’re so certain you can bring me reinforcements, then bring them.”