Dynasty of Evil (36 page)

* * *

Bane saw the strange black mist crawling across the dirt and knew this was no illusion. Somehow Zannah had given substance and corporeality to the dark side, transforming it into half a dozen shadowy, serpentlike minions rising up from the ground.

Suddenly the tendrils flew at him. He slashed out with his lightsaber to chop the closest one in half, but the blade simply passed through the black mist with no effect. Bane threw himself to the side, but the tip of the tentacle still brushed against his left shoulder.

The material of his clothes melted away as if it had been splashed with acid. A chunk of flesh beneath simply dissolved, and Bane screamed in agony.

Once, orbalisks had fused themselves to his body with a burning chemical compound so intense it had nearly driven him mad. Ten years ago they had been removed when Bane’s flesh had been literally cooked by a concentrated blast of his own violet lightning. During her interrogation, Serra had pumped him full of a drug that had felt like it was eating him alive from the inside. But the excruciating pain he felt from the mere touch of the dark side tendril was unlike anything Bane had ever experienced before.

The damage was far from life threatening, but it nearly sent Bane into shock. He fell hard to the ground, his jaw slack and his eyes rolling back into his head. His mind was reeling from the brief contact. The pain radiated through every nerve in his body, but what he felt went far beyond any mere physical sensation. It was not the raw heat of the dark side but rather the empty chill of the void itself spreading through him. It touched every synapse in his mind, it clawed at the core of his spirit. In that instant he tasted utter annihilation, and felt the true horror of absolute nothingness.

Somehow he managed to stay conscious, and when
the next tentacle coiled in he was able to scramble to his feet and roll out of the way.

His wounded shoulder was still throbbing, but the hollow darkness that had threatened to overwhelm him had faded, allowing him to ignore the pain.

The tendrils were massing for another assault, moving faster as Zannah fed them with a steady stream of power. Bane unleashed violet lightning from his fingers, but when the bolts struck the sinewy black forms they were absorbed with no apparent effect. They were made of pure dark side energy, and there was no way he could harm them.

That left him with only one option—kill Zannah before the tentacles killed him.

He unleashed another lightning blast at his apprentice. She caught the incoming bolts with her lightsaber, rendering them harmless. But her reactions were a fraction slower than normal, and Bane knew it was more than just her injured ribs. The effort to keep the tendrils animated was pushing Zannah’s ability to draw on the Force to its limits, leaving her vulnerable in other areas.

Lightsaber in hand, Bane charged toward her. The tendrils flew to intercept him, but Bane ducked, jumped, and dodged, weaving his way under, over, and around them as he bore down on Zannah.

She brought her lightsaber up to defend against his attack, but without the full power of the Force behind them her movements were awkward and clumsy. She parried the blow, but didn’t react fast enough as Bane dropped down and took her feet out from under her with a sweep of his leg. As she fell he twisted the handle of his lightsaber so that his blade caught one of hers, wrenching the hilt from her grasp and sending her weapon flying across the camp.

With his foe unarmed and helpless at his feet Bane
brought his arm down for the coup de grâce, only to have it intercepted midswing by one of the dark side tendrils. It wrapped itself around the elbow. Skin, muscle, sinew, and bone dissolved instantaneously, severing the limb.

His disembodied forearm and fist tumbled harmlessly to the ground, his lightsaber flicking off as the hilt slid from his suddenly nerveless fingers. The Dark Lord didn’t scream this time; the pain was so intense it left him mute as he collapsed to the ground.

Everything went black. Blind and alone, he felt the void closing in. In desperation he reached out with his left hand, clutching Zannah’s wrist as she lay on the ground beside him. With his last act, he summoned all his remaining power and invoked the ritual of essence transfer.

Working at the speed of thought, his mind tapped into the currents of the Force, seizing on the power of the dark side, spinning, shaping, and twisting it into the intricate patterns he had ripped from Andeddu’s Holocron.

The cold darkness swallowing him up vanished, replaced by a searing burst of crimson light as the power of the ritual was unleashed. Bane was aware of his flesh being utterly consumed by the unimaginable heat, reduced to ashes in a thousandth of a second. But he was no longer a part of his own body. His spirit had discarded it like an old shell in favor of a new one.

Bane was suddenly fully aware of his physical surroundings. He could see with Zannah’s eyes, he could hear with her ears. He could feel the intense heat of the ritual’s crimson glow through her skin. But Zannah was still there, too. She sensed his assault; he could feel her terror and confusion as if they were his own. And when she screamed in horror he screamed with her.

The black tendrils vanished as her concentration was shattered, disappearing like smoke on the wind. Instinctively, she fought to repel the invader. Bane could feel
her pushing him away, rejecting him, trying to drive him out even as he relentlessly tried to force his way in and snuff out her existence.

It became a battle of wills, their two identities locked together inside Zannah’s mind, grappling for possession of her body. They teetered on the precipice of the void, Bane seeking to obliterate all trace of her identity while she sought to cast him down into the blackness.

For a moment they seemed to be evenly matched, neither gaining nor giving ground. And then suddenly it was over.

27

F
rom a safe distance, the Iktotchi had watched the two figures from her dreams wage battle. She was an impartial observer, having no preference as to which one would emerge victorious. She only wanted to serve whoever proved the stronger.

The conflict had been brief but intense: she had marveled at the speed of their blades, their movements so fast she could barely follow the action. She had felt the awesome power of the Force unleashed through bursts of lightning and the sinister tendrils that crawled up from the ground. She shivered in anticipation with the knowledge that she, too, could one day learn to wield such power.

She had seen Bane knock the woman to the ground and slap her weapon away, only to have his arm hewn off by the touch of one of the black tentacles. And then there had been a flash so bright she had been forced to close her eyes and look away.

When she looked back Bane was gone, his body reduced to a pile of ash. The blond woman still lay on the ground, dazed but alive. The deadly tendrils were nowhere to be seen.

Cautiously she approached the scene. Bane’s severed arm lay on the ground, but the rest of his body had been consumed by the crimson flare. In the instant before she had looked away, however, she had felt something.

Even from a distance, she had sensed an incredible burst of power—the same power she had sensed in Bane himself. She didn’t know how it was possible, but it almost seemed as if the Dark Lord’s life energy had burst free of his physical form in one glorious instant, releasing itself upon the material world. Then, as suddenly as she had sensed the presence, it was gone, vanishing like an animal gone to ground.

Crazy as it might seem, there was only one place she could imagine it could have gone.

The woman on the ground shifted, her eyes fluttering open as she rose slowly to her feet. She moved awkwardly and couldn’t seem to stand up straight, as if she was unfamiliar with how her own limbs and muscles worked … though this could simply have been the result of exhaustion from the battle.

She shook her blond head from side to side, and the motion seemed to restore some sense of her equilibrium. Standing straight and tall, she turned and fixed the Iktotchi with a cold stare.

Knowing how insane her words would sound, Cognus hesitated before asking, “Lord Bane?”

“Bane is gone,” the woman replied, her voice confident and strong. “I am Darth Zannah, Dark Lord of the Sith and your new Master.”

The Iktotchi dropped to one knee, folding her hands in supplication and bowing her head.

“Forgive me, Master.”

“What is your name?” Zannah demanded.

“I am … Darth Cognus.” She had almost answered
the Huntress
, but she managed to catch her mistake just in time. “Bane had me take the name to symbolize my new life as a Sith apprentice.”

“Then your training has already begun,” Zannah replied. “Did he explain the Rule of Two that guides our Order?”

“He started to. But there was no time for any real lessons before you arrived,” she admitted.

“I will teach you the Rule of Two and the ways of the Sith,” Zannah promised. “In time, I will teach you everything.

“Rise, Cognus,” she added, and the Iktotchi did as she was instructed.

Zannah turned away from her and walked over to pick up her lightsaber from where it had fallen to the ground.

“Eventually you will construct your own lightsaber,” Zannah said, speaking but not turning to look back at her. “For now, take Darth Bane’s.”

Cognus scooped the curved hilt of Bane’s lightsaber up from the ground, unfazed by the gruesome severed limb resting only a few centimeters away.

“Bane reinvented the Sith,” Zannah explained, standing with her back to her new apprentice as she stared out across the vast, empty expanse of the Ambrian desert. “We are his legacy, and though he is gone his legacy will endure.

“Now I am the Master, and you are my chosen successor. One day you will face me just as I faced Bane, and only one of us will survive.

“This is the way of our Order. An individual may die, but the Sith are eternal.”

“Yes, Master,” Cognus answered.

She couldn’t help but notice that, as she was speaking, Zannah was continually clenching and unclenching the fingers of her left hand.

EPILOGUE

S
et Harth was too smart to go back to his estate on Nal Hutta. If Zannah had survived the destruction of the Stone Prison it was only a matter of time until she went there to look for him, and he had no desire to ever run into her again.

Luckily, Set had built his life on the underlying principle that he might have to go on the run at any time. He had other mansions on other worlds, from Nar Shaddaa all the way to Coruscant itself, and at least a dozen false identities he could assume if he didn’t want to be found. He wasn’t worried about Zannah, not when he had something far more interesting right in front of him.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the shuttle he had stolen from the Stone Prison, Andeddu’s Holocron resting on a small table a few meters away. All his attention was focused on the small holographic figure being projected from the black pyramid’s top.

“It will take years for you to learn the lessons I must teach you,” the gatekeeper warned him, its skeletal features serious and grim. “You must prove yourself worthy before I reveal the ritual of essence transfer to you.”

“Of course, Master,” he said, nodding eagerly. “I understand.”

He had chafed under the tutelage of Master Obba and the Jedi. He had felt serious reservations about serving
as an apprentice under Zannah. But Set was more than willing to do whatever the gatekeeper required of him.

For one thing, he knew he only had to answer to the gatekeeper when the Holocron was active. Unlike a living Master, Set was the one who would decide where and when he would begin each lesson.

More important, however, the Holocron was offering him something he actually wanted. Zannah had tried to tempt him with promises of power and the chance to destroy the Jedi and rule the galaxy. But Set already had more than enough power to get what he needed from life.

Plus, you’re charming, smart, and handsome. What more could anyone ask for?

The last thing he wanted was to rule the galaxy. Let the Jedi and Sith wage their endless war. The outcome made no difference to him. He was a survivor; all he wanted was to live a long and prosperous life. And if he learned the secrets of essence transfer, his life would be very long indeed.

He would have to be careful, of course. Never draw too much attention to himself. Try not to cross paths with the Jedi or powerful people like Zannah.

No problem. Basically, just do what you’re already doing
.

That, and guard the Holocron as if his life—his long, long life—depended on it.

“Are you ready to begin your first lesson?” the gatekeeper asked.

“You have no idea, Master,” Set replied with a wry grin. “You have absolutely no idea.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

D
REW
K
ARPYSHYN
is the
New York Times
bestselling author of
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Path of Destruction
and its sequel,
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Rule of Two
. He also wrote the acclaimed Mass Effect series of novels, and is an award-winning writer/designer of video games for BioWare. After spending most of his life in Canada he finally grew tired of the long, cold winters and headed south in search of a climate more conducive to year-round golf. He now lives in Texas with his wife, Jennifer, and their cat.

B
OOKS BY
D
REW
K
ARPYSHYN

Baldur’s Gate II: Throne of Bhaal

Temple Hill

Mass Effect: Revelation
Mass Effect: Ascension

Star Wars: Darth Bane: Path of Destruction
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Rule of Two
Star Wars: Darth Bane: Dynasty of Evil

STAR WARS—
The Expanded Universe