Right, now I feel like I’ve accomplished something. On to work on other things! Probably back to FFXIV fic, gotta work on my Hallowe’en cosplay some more, etc. etc.
Part 10: Lord Kallig
Aristheron crouched over him. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Murlesson grunted, though it wasn’t entirely true. “Question, if I might.”
“Ask.”
“How were you planning to take on all three of them? You were holding your own against the apprentices, but the master…”
“I was a bit reckless this time, it’s true,” Aristheron said, helping him up. “I had thought to be only chasing Sabran. However, they led me here. I am glad of your arrival.”
Murlesson stepped into the other hangar, observing Kel Reu Giri’s rapidly departing craft. “He has the artifact I need. My blade is yours until we stop him.”
“Or at least until you retrieve the artifact, hmm?” Aristheron amber gaze regarded him levelly. “Even allied, it might take us some time to defeat him decisively – years, perhaps. I will not bind you to your impulsive words.”
“Right,” Murlesson said. He really needed to cool his head. Naga Sadow didn’t conquer most of the known galaxy by acting without thinking. “Then let’s find out what he wants with that artifact, and stop him from doing that, at least.”
“That sounds more reasonable,” Aristheron said. “I’m afraid I don’t know a lot about his long-term plans. I have been focusing more on isolating and defeating his apprentices.”
“Leave it to me,” Murlesson said. “Jedi, particularly ones with noisy idealistic apprentices, leave large trails. We’ll learn something.”
Aristheron nodded. “Then let us be off. Vany and I will follow Kel Reu Giri.”
“I’ll keep you informed if you keep me informed.”
They met again a few hours later at Murlesson’s direction; he was unwilling to let the Jedi Master keep the artifact for longer than necessary, particularly when he discovered the Jedi was connected to the planet of Salvara – a Republic-held world, but one with a hidden Sith past. If he let him get away with the artifact, he might never see it again. His artifact wasn’t even the one that he was concerned about, really: the Jedi seemed far more interested in an artifact known as the Weeper. His artifact was, almost certainly, to amplify the effects of the Weeper, though he doubted the Jedi had found the Weeper yet. If he had, he would no longer be on this planet.
Aristheron, meanwhile, had followed the Jedi back to the Rhu Caenus spaceport, and had sent Vany and Revel to reconnoitre. There was a chance the younger Jedi would recognize them, but it was better than Aristheron going himself. “The situation is not favourable,” he said, when Murlesson arrived at the park where he’d gone to wait. “It may be best not to engage them here, but these conditions cannot stand.”
“The situation’s never favourable,” Murlesson retorted. “We are their enemy, and a dangerous enemy, at that. They almost always resort to traps, and think themselves clever for doing so. What sort of situation?”
Aristheron’s gaze darkened. “He’s within the spaceport now, I believe trying to cut us off from our ships. How he entered, I do not know, but he has chosen to surround himself with unacceptable potential collateral damage. He’s bold to venture so deep into Imperial territory, but it’s all the worse for us.”
“So we’re stuck until he gets bored and leaves.” They could wait him out, get the artifact back another day. He wasn’t keen on walking into an encounter with a Jedi Master where his enemy had chosen the terrain.
“That’s not the issue,” Aristheron snapped. “This ‘Jedi’ would hide behind noncombatants – our noncombatants – while seeking not to flee, but to destroy us. I thought them above such dishonourable dealings.”
“You’re certain that’s his plan?”
“I can confirm that,” said a female voice from behind them, and they both spun – how had she snuck up on them? The female Jedi stood there, farther away than they’d expected. She must have thrown her voice in the Force. “I’m not here to fight. I want to talk.”
“What was your name again?” Aristheron asked, wary, but courteous. “Janelle, was it not?”
“Janelle Wouters. Yes. Sorry to startle you, I had to follow your scouts back.”
“What is it you want to talk about?” Murlesson demanded. “If you’re here to demand our surrender to spare the civilians, you can save your breath.” Even if Aristheron cared, he didn’t, and if the Jedi figured out they didn’t care, he wouldn’t be able to hurt them with the civilians – so he’d have no reason to hurt the civilians, which would make Aristheron happy.
“No,” she said. “And I’m not here to talk with you, only with Lord Aristheron.”
“I’m listening,” Aristheron said evenly.
Janelle looked around with an upset look on her face. “What our Master is doing is wrong, very wrong. This isn’t the Jedi way. We ought to be engaging you away from civilian populations – what you’ve been doing since you began hounding us. I don’t get it! You’re more compassionate than our Master! What is that?”
“Honour,” Aristheron said, the grey cloak of his Force sense rippling but not lifting. “Just because I’m a Sith doesn’t mean I’m a ravening beast to be put down.”
“A great many are,” Janelle said. “I think that’s my master’s problem – he’s fought too many of those. But this time he’s gone too far. So – I want to help you! Look, I brought the artifact you want so much.” She tossed it into the air, and quick as a flash, Murlesson caught it in the Force, not taking it, simply holding it steady, suspicious.
“Then what’s to stop us from walking away right now?” he asked. “Why would you do this?”
“My master’s done a terrible thing,” Janelle said. “Even now, he’s rigging the spaceport to explode. Sabran’s been arguing with him, but they’re only one person, and when our Master’s mind is set, it’s difficult to bend it, let alone change it. And Sabran can’t deactivate all the sabotage by themself, but I thought… you might help…”
“That’s a nice story you’ve woven together,” Murlesson said. “Why should we believe you?”
“I brought you your artifact, didn’t I?”
“That means nothing. Your master could retrieve it off my corpse later once we take your bait.”
She whined a little in distress. “I’m telling the truth! Master Giri doesn’t even know I’m here! I swear it!”
“I believe her,” Aristheron said. “She is genuine.”
“Yes! I promise! I just can’t let this happen! I know it’s weird, a Jedi going to Sith for help, and if it was anyone else, I wouldn’t, but… Lord Aristheron, I trust you. You are a true Knight, even if of the Dark.”
Murlesson grimaced inwardly and pulled the artifact to his hand. If they’d been in any other situation, he would have been able to walk away immediately. He’d still rather walk away immediately, there was no guarantee the Jedi would do something so foolish as make a terrorist attack on a spaceport if his targets weren’t even in the area. It might even jeopardize the Republic’s precious cease-fire treaty. But his ship was in the spaceport… and saving civilians would score ‘brownie points’ with Aristheron… and this Jedi seemed pretty ruthless.
“You took a great risk in us,” Aristheron said. “But it will be rewarded. We will aid you, and let you go peaceably once the spaceport is saved.”
Janelle’s eyes went wide and she heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness! I didn’t want to go talk to security for help. They’d just try to shoot me. So, what’s the plan? I can probably get Sab to tell us where the sabotage is.”
“It’s still a trap, don’t forget,” Murlesson said. “He’ll happily blow up the building as soon as we enter it, sounds like. And if we manage to hold off the explosion in the Force, then he’ll undoubtedly start stabbing us while we’re distracted.”
“Very true,” Aristheron said. “Very well. Murlesson?”
Murlesson paced, trying to think of the spaceport plan. “Our main objective is to drive him off, not necessarily kill him.”
“I like that,” Janelle said. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but won’t it make it more difficult?”
“I’m not doing it for you,” he said coldly. “I’m not sure we can kill him at this point. We can only make ourselves not worth the effort for him to kill us. Therefore: overwhelming force is going to be the theme of the day. It will be difficult, because he doesn’t have to worry about collateral damage and can cause as much of a mess as he likes.”
“Oh gosh,” Janelle said. “And you don’t want to hit your own side, do you?”
“You like to talk, don’t you?” Murlesson told her, and she pouted fiercely but shut up. He didn’t like being interrupted by chatty Jedi. “But we can’t let on to the idea that we have overwhelming force too early… First, we need to neutralize the sabotage. Janelle, Vany, and Revel will aid Sabran in that. If it were me blowing up a building, I’d destroy as many support columns in the subfloor as possible, so start there if we don’t get more intel. And then I’d preferably be as far away as possible; do you know how he plans to avoid the destruction himself? Or damaging his apprentices?”
“I-I’m not sure,” Janelle said. “I guess he was going to rely on his control of the Force to keep us all safe.”
“So he’ll be around, but we can’t count on it to take him out. Naturally. At the same time, one of us will have to sound the fire alarm. I doubt he cares one way or another whether the civilians are present or not, so he will probably not make much move to stop us, though he will know his plan is detected and accelerate accordingly. Aristheron, you rally whatever security forces you can find, and see if we can call for reinforcements from House Thul. I realize that’s simply creating more targets for him, but there does come a point where even a Jedi Master must find it suicidal to continue. I doubt he’ll expose himself easily, so we may have to sweep the building to flush him out. Any droids we have should be in the first line.” He glared at Janelle. “Once you and Sabran are done neutralizing the sabotage, leave.”
“Gladly,” she said.
“Then let’s go. I’ll figure out the rest of the plan on the way.”
They jogged into Rhu Caenus spaceport, into a scene of ordinary orderly confusion, ordinary busy minds. All Imperial spaceports seemed the same on the inside; it was one of their strong points and weaknesses. Murlesson nodded to Janelle, who was supposed to be reaching out to Sabran to find where they were and go and assist them. She nodded back; supposedly she knew where to go. Aristheron was already speaking with a spaceport official, and then a higher-ranking one, arranging for Janelle and their companions access anywhere they needed to go, and organizing security for their attack.
Though he’d said they probably couldn’t kill Giri at this time, he’d really only said that to reassure Janelle. The fact was that they couldn’t hold back. They had to fight to kill, to even have a chance to survive. And if Giri died… it sounded like even Janelle and Sabran wouldn’t be too upset about it.
An enormous crash shattered his senses, and he spun to see a small spaceship hurtling at them, tumbling over and over, the pilot radiating blind panic. “Frakking six-eyed son of a Bith!” He flung up his hands, bringing the ship to a shuddering stop in midair, but his fear would only strengthen his control in the Force for so long; it was already weakening…
Aristheron added his strength, and Janelle, and some other random Sith who had happened to be nearby, and together, they held it back as the civilians around them screamed and ran, fear spreading through the crowd like a plague. Even the Imperial troopers and security were looking rather wild-eyed, guns drawn, uncertain where to aim.
And standing before the now-shattered main viewport was the Duros Jedi, Kel Reu Giri, yellow lightsaber drawn and ready. Murlesson flicked a glance at Aristheron; they had the same thought. With a heave, they tossed the spaceship back towards the Jedi Master. “Revel! Go!” Murlesson yelled. They needed whatever sabotage had been done to be undone, now. That Giri would be so blatant…
The spaceship seemed to landed and skid in front of Giri for a moment, and then a yellow flash shone through it and it exploded in two halves. Giri stood unmoved in the centre of the fireball. “Civilians out!” Aristheron bellowed, and anyone who hadn’t yet fled began to. “Soldiers, form up! We have a Jedi terrorist to dispose of!”
“I’m with you,” said the other Sith. “Trenal Parga. I’m sure I’ll be more assistance than this flailing alien weakling.” Murlesson rolled his eyes at him, but it wasn’t worth it to pick a fight now.
Aristheron showed no sign of reaction. “Take up position on my left, Parga. Kel Reu Giri! You are alone and outnumbered. Surrender, or I will destroy you.”
The Duros smiled thinly and made no motion. Aristheron signalled for the soldiers to fire. With the first shot, the Jedi exploded into action, sweeping towards their left flank. Blaster bolts ricocheted from his lightsaber like oil in a hot pan, but his face did not change as he reached the line of shaken but defiant soldiers and began to cut through them with ease. Parga howled as he attacked, and Giri knocked him back easily.
“Will we have reinforcements from House Thul?” Murlesson asked as he and Aristheron closed in.
“We will now,” Aristheron answered grimly, waiting a moment – why? Oh, he didn’t want to attack Giri in the back. Whatever. Murlesson was briefly torn; he really ought to seize the opportunity. On the other hand, Parga was struggling, and it would be satisfying to see the Jedi cut him in half. On the other other hand, with an opponent this powerful, it was probably best to kill him now; he could always kill Parga later.
But Aristheron changed his angle, moving in beside Parga to assist – to take over, even. Murlesson sprinted, trying to get behind Giri again. Giri’s Force-sense did not change; he did not seem terribly perturbed to be fighting three Sith at once. And indeed, Murlesson attacked with a spinning slash and found his strike knocked back, even while Aristheron and Parga were unable to break through their opponent’s guard or his concentration.
“Don’t get in my way,” Parga growled to Aristheron and Murlesson, trying to edge Aristheron back out of the centre.
“Don’t lose your head,” Aristheron said coldly, refusing to give ground. “You alone cannot defeat him. We must work together.”
Giri smiled thinly. “Sith, working together as peers? Let this be a calendar date for its rarity.” Already, he’d assumed a better position, moving to where he could see all three of them at once. Every time Murlesson tried to get around him, he moved again. He didn’t seem to be watching any of them in particular, probably feeling more through the Force than through his own senses.
Murlesson, ducking a swing and sweeping vainly at Giri’s legs, wondered if Parga knew how to work together with other Sith in the first place.
“Shut up,” Parga said, pushing again. And pushing, and pushing, full of reckless rage. No doubt Aristheron’s advice had triggered his sensitive Sith pride that couldn’t bear to be corrected even a little. Murlesson slackened his own attack, forcing a pivot, letting Parga think he was winning. “Go be a coward somewhere else!”
Giri swung, and Parga’s body fell, decapitated.
“He said not to lose your head,” Murlesson wanted to say, but didn’t – he thought it was terribly clever, but Aristheron probably wouldn’t appreciate the levity at this moment.
They were better off without him, anyway. “My lords!” called an officer from the upper part of the spaceport. “Reinforcements are here!”
Aristheron glanced at Murlesson, who nodded. They’d pull back and leave the Jedi Master exposed to several dozen blaster rifles…
Giri’s left hand shot out briefly, and the catwalk above shook loose and came tumbling down with a shrieking of distressed metal. Aristheron shouted, and Murlesson reflexively reached out to grab it, stop its fall, save the helpless troopers beneath it. It slowed, just enough that the soldiers could scramble out from under it before it hit the ground.
Not that he’d forgotten about Giri, but he’d put no distance between them before he’d tried to catch the catwalk, and flinched with a yelp as the yellow saber stabbed towards him, his concentration breaking and dropping the catwalk the last few meters. Aristheron knocked him roughly aside, blocking and countering smoothly. Murlesson fell and rolled nimbly, then seized the remains of the catwalk and hurled it at Giri, who knocked it away in the same direction as the burning spaceship.
“You are without honour!” Aristheron cried, the Light in him blazing like a torch as he fought, crimson saber clashing on yellow. “Soldiers, forward!”
“And you are without hope,” said Kel Reu Giri, bringing up a thumbswitch in his off hand and clicking it.
Nothing happened. Murlesson savoured that moment, so rare, when even the Jedi Master realized that his plan had failed catastrophically and his expressionless mask cracked, just a little.
“Master!” cried a voice, and there were Sabran and Janelle, standing near to the spaceport entrance. “Come on, Master, we have to go, we can’t fight this many!”
Giri’s expression darkened just slightly, but then he pushed Aristheron back, knocked Murlesson away, and dashed for the exit where his apprentices beckoned.
“After him,” Aristheron commanded to the soldiers, and turned to restore order to the chaos of the spaceport. “Murlesson, go with them, make sure he doesn’t return. Vany, report.”
The retreating Jedi quickly outstripped the soldiers, and after they turned the corner must have used the Force to confuse their ordinary pursuers, as the soldiers hesitated, looking in every direction, running in every direction, though he could see the Jedi plainly, hurrying down the street. But though he stalked them to the edge of the city, they made it away into the hills.
They went to House Thul to explain what had happened to Elana Thul, then made their way at a leisurely pace back to the spaceport. “I take it you will be returning to Dromund Kaas,” Aristheron said.
“Yes,” Murlesson answered. “I have completed my mission for my master. Now to see what she has in store for me.”
“I wish you luck,” Aristheron said. “I… do you sense that?”
“Wait!” cried a voice, and they turned to see Janelle hurrying up breathlessly.
“What is it now?” Murlesson asked crossly, and she frowned at him.
“Not here to speak with you! Again! Lord Aristheron… I want to go with you!”
Aristheron blinked. “May I ask why?”
She looked sad. “My master… I can’t trust Master Giri. Maybe that’s why the Council assigned Sab and me to study with him, to remind him what it means to be a Jedi, to follow the Light, but… I can’t do it anymore. It’s too frustrating, working for someone who disregards everyone and everything around him in pursuit of his goals, even if he means well in the end. I mean, the ends aren’t justifying the means! Not when our direct adversary, a Sith, is more Light-sided than he is!”
Murlesson narrowed his eyes at her. “You think he is Light-side?”
“I know!” She glared defiantly at him. “I felt it, during the battle, and his actions confirm it.” She clasped her hands together before her. “Sabran’s mind is made up; they will keep trying to sway Master Giri with words. But mine is made up too. I think he needs to be stopped before he can be redeemed, and you’re a far better Master to follow, I’ve seen that much since I arrived on Alderaan.”
“I am… honoured,” Aristheron said, honestly taken aback. “But in the Empire, though we aspire to true freedom, the freedom to be who we truly are, it is not so easy. To survive long enough to gain the power to win such freedom, we must often hide our true feelings. You understand that, yes?”
“Yes.” She nodded fervently. “I’ve been hiding behind masks all my life. Everyone does, don’t they? Especially you. Neither of us can show our Light side while the Dark hates us so. And the Jedi… they often say one thing and then do another, like Master Giri. Even knowing that, though…” She glanced at Murlesson. “You’re Light, but he’s Dark, Dark, Dark. Yet there’s such a strong bond between you. How are you friends?”
Murlesson glared tiredly. “Why don’t I turn him in to my masters for wealth and power? Because I don’t give a frak what side of the Force anyone is as long as they’re not out to get me.”
“Language,” Aristheron said mildly. “Darkness has shaped him, it is a part of him, yet he is a strong and good ally. As you travel with me, you will come to know why.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “Fine with me.”
“May I ask what Giri plans to do next?” Aristheron asked.
“He’s leaving Alderaan, I know that much,” she said. “He’ll probably be going back to Salvara before too long.” Murlesson nodded to himself.
Aristheron frowned. “Salvara?”
“Yeah, he’s an advisor to the governor there,” Janelle said. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, really,” Aristheron said slowly, then turned to Murlesson. “I think I will be returning to Dromund Kaas as well, then. My master… he has done little besides send me here and there to fight while he cowers in the capital and does nothing. All his soothing words ring hollow in my ears. He must explain himself, or I shall go my own way to pursue Giri.”
“Probably shouldn’t say that out loud,” Murlesson said absently. “I know you like a challenge, but don’t make it too difficult to kill him.”
“I said nothing about killing him,” Aristheron answered mildly. “But I will see you in Kaas City then, when all is said and done?”
“Hopefully,” Murlesson said.
“You are welcome to come, then,” Aristheron said to Janelle. “I look forward to working with you.”
“I’m grateful,” Janelle said. “I won’t let you down.”
Vany jumped up and down. “You mean there’s going to be another girl on the ship besides me??”
Janelle laughed, a great big warm friendly delighted laugh. Murlesson had never really heard anything like it before. “Yeah, I guess there is! Were you lonely?”
“Nah.” Vany jerked a thumb at Aristheron. “He’s a great boss to work for. But I mean he’s not interested in, like, girly stuff, you know? Are you into girly stuff? Like clothes and jewellery and stuff.”
“I could be,” Janelle said. “As a Padawan, I never really had the chance to find out!”
Revel shook his head. “Glad I’m not shipping about that ship. I much prefer working for a moody teenager.”
Murlesson growled mildly and set off for the Viper.
Cruising away from Alderaan through hyperspace, curled in his pillow nest, he tried to read but found his gaze focusing somewhere far past the words in introspection. He was and always would be alone, and that was how it should be. Letting others in was only opening weaknesses ripe for betrayal, whether wittingly or not – as Lady Rist and Nomar Organa had found out. Sith didn’t make such mistakes.
He was lonely, almost cripplingly so. But he had to push through it. Power was always lonely, he understood that both from what he’d read and what he’d experienced. There were few he could trust at the best of times, and fewer still if his true goals ever became even suspected. And to allow feelings for a woman… One part of him scoffed; most of what he’d seen of relationships came from Lightning Strikes My Heart, and it was at times nauseatingly sappy; a lot of the rest came from holonet gossip and it was ugly. But one part of him… secretly yearned for it. Someone he could hold onto without fearing them, or them afraid of him. And he was curious what a kiss might feel like, what a woman’s body felt like.
The last part of him, the majority of him, knew it was never going to happen. He didn’t go to places where normal, eligible women were; if he did, he didn’t interact with them in a way that would lead to any such development; if he had, they would reject him once they knew anything about him; and none of it could happen anyway, he had an Empire to ruin and a girlfriend would be a huge liability, either for betraying him herself, or for being used as leverage against him. He wouldn’t make any of Nomar Organa’s mistakes. Naga Sadow hadn’t had so much as a liaison – that was recorded, at least.
He rarely indulged in such thoughts anyway, keeping them ruthlessly contained. Not only due to a certain amount of conditioning during his slavery, but because wallowing in his loneliness was counterproductive. Only… seeing Rehanna Rist’s feelings, feeling them bleed with abandon into the Force as they had… dragged him unwilling into these wonderings. And now he couldn’t read, he couldn’t sleep, and it was making him angry in the middle of his depression. He was going to need caf tomorrow. It was time to start planning for his reunion with Zash.
In his sleep-deprived muddle the next morning, he made a comm call to Zash’s office instead of her personal comm by accident the next day, but before he could rectify his mistake, the call went through.
Murlesson frowned, on his guard and trying not to freeze up, at the sudden appearance of Darth Thanaton. The sharp-featured human Sith Lord regarded him with curiosity. “You’re looking for Zash, are you?”
“My mistake,” Murlesson said, bowing. “Forgive me, my lord.” Hitting the right level of obsequiousness with Sith this high in rank was tricky – too fawning, and they’d think him too pathetic to live, with a 15% chance they’d snuff him out immediately; not fawning enough, and they’d take offence with a 75% chance of death.
“No, stay and talk a while,” Thanaton said to him. What he could dimly sense over the comm did not speak to immediate hostility, so he obeyed. “I believe you know who I am. I’ve waited a long time to meet you. An alien in the Sith ranks is an extremely rare thing.”
“I gathered that ideally, one’s heritage does not matter too much when one is Sith,” Murlesson said, wondering if he were about to get splatted for being an alien slave yet again.
Thanaton shrugged. “I’m not terribly concerned with your origins. The trials on Korriban are an honoured tradition designed to sift out the unworthy. I trust they’ve served their purpose. But about your master. I’m very interested in how this game she’s playing will turn out.”
“You don’t like her, I take it,” Murlesson said boldly. It wasn’t a huge stretch – between Zash’s stunt in arranging for him to assassinate Skotia, and the fact that no Sith liked any other, he would have been more surprised to hear they played dejarik on weekends or something.
Thanaton’s brow furrowed. “Darth Zash is arrogant and reckless. The reckless have a way of defeating themselves in the end. When she finally self-destructs, be careful not to get caught in the blast. A young Sith should not associate himself too closely with a master like Zash.”
Right. He’d get right on that. It wasn’t like he was the cornerstone of whatever plan she had or anything. “A young Sith can’t get very far without a powerful master,” he rejoined, wondering if Thanaton were offering to steal him from Zash.
Apparently not. “You must seek your own way, carve out your own victories. The cult you won on Nar Shaddaa was a good first step, but it is not enough. A Sith cannot live without a power base. Good luck.” The holoprojector flickered off.
A power base, hmm? Not a master. Odd. Thanaton was a massive traditionalist, everyone knew that – he had expected him to tout the benefits of a clear hierarchy until the sky fell. A masterless Sith didn’t fit in a hierarchy. There were a few near the top, of course, ruling their own sectors of the Empire, or so embedded in the military they had no apparent interest in leaving it, but he was not nearly powerful enough to be in those categories. Unless… Thanaton saw him as undesirable for some other reason – his race, perhaps, or his nothing origins, despite his words – and wanted to set him up for removal. And yet he had given him good advice, even if he’d known it already.
All in all, he was pretty confused. But he ought to call Zash anyway. On the right channel this time.
“Apprentice!” she beamed. “I’m on my way back to Dromund Kaas right now, with the fourth artifact. How are you with the fifth?”
“I have it in hand,” he said. “I will be at Dromund Kaas in five days.”
“You’ll be there before me, then. Take a day to relax until I get back. I’ll let you know when, and we can get started. Oh, apprentice, I’m so excited!” And she ended the call.
Six days to determine whether he lived or died on the seventh. No pressure.
Who was he kidding? He thrived under pressure. Bring it on.
“Apprentice! So good to see you!” Zash gushed, when they met again. She wore her hood over her head, though they were indoors. Coupled with the terrible ambient lighting everywhere on Dromund Kaas, he found it difficult to see her face, but her eyes appeared the same, glittering in the depths of her hood’s shadow. “How was your trip?”
“It was fine,” he said. “Killed a Jedi.”
“Oh, good for you. Very proud of you. It was Nomar Organa, wasn’t it?” He nodded. “I heard about that. Such marvellous power radiates from you now. Clear, strong. You have truly come into your own. Is that a new lightsaber?”
Would she recognize it if he just showed it to her? He held it out. “I believe it once belonged to a Lord of the Sith.”
“Ahhh, how wonderful! Such craftsmanship, fit for a Lord of the first rank; it’s so old, yet so well-preserved. Fitting for you, both in your new power and your interest in the ancient Sith. And I assume it works as good as new, yes?” He nodded. “Where did you find it?” He shrugged. “Ah, you and your secrets. If it was a tomb, I hope you show me someday. Well, let’s get right to work. Secrecy is vital, so I’ve secured us a nice, out of the way spot for this ritual of Tulak Hord’s. We’re going to that chamber of the Dark Temple where you pacified the apparition.” Her spirit sharpened with anticipation, so he did as well, though he tried not to show it.
“I want to know more,” he said. “What does it do? How does it work?”
“I will tell you everything, apprentice. But not here, not now. I’ll share everything when we get there. Oh, there is one thing… Given the sensitive nature of this ritual, I think it’s best we leave Andronikos with the ship, don’t you think?”
“What about Khem, can I bring Khem? He likes Tulak Hord, remember.”
“How could I forget? Your Dashade is fine, desirable, even, given your bond to him.”
What did that mean? “I understand.”
“Good, then let us go!”
She chatted about this and that on the drive to the Dark Temple, and he did likewise, telling her about the holodrama he’d begun watching on the hyperspace jump between Korriban and Alderaan – not that he mentioned Korriban. But he’d taken Major Bessiker’s recommendation and begun watching Voyage Among the Stars, though he hadn’t had time to binge it like he had Lightning Strikes My Heart. He liked it a lot better, though, or he would after he managed to get through the really schlocky first series. She seemed amused.
As they drew closer, her talk became more businesslike. “On my way back, I arranged for you to receive the title of Lord of the Sith. I hope you realize what an honour and responsibility it is. As a Darth, I answer only to Darth Thanaton who answers to the Dark Council. As a lord, you’re only one step below that, and you tower above many.”
“I hope I live up to the honour,” he said, affecting uncertainty.
She smiled reassuringly. “You’ve already exceeded my greatest hopes and expectations. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Ah, here we are.” She pulled up and parked in the same place as last time. He got out, gazing at it with cold determination. His doom lay before him, one way or another, and whether he rose to meet it or fell before it depended almost entirely on his planning and his power.
They progressed without incident into the innermost chamber. He was tense, a hand always in his pocket, but she seemed tense as well, though she tried to hide it. He knew her too well. And that meant she knew him, too. Well, for him not to suspect anything would make him rankly stupid, and she knew he was not. She directed him to help her set up the artifacts around the chamber, in specific places, and though he felt fear twisting in his gut the whole time, nothing appeared to happen yet.
The making of an artifact was not an easy thing; to imbue an inanimate dead object with any sort of trace of the ambient energy field of universal life, either it had to have had a strong connection with a living sentient, or many Force rituals to coerce the Force to hang about it, especially to give it a specific power. The Sith Lords of the past seemed to have been able to do it all over the place; the Sith Lords of the present struggled, when they tried at all, to create even one half as effective.
A Sith could certainly use an artifact alone, as a direct weapon, as Paladius had tried to. But in a ritual, the placement of artifacts together with their properties could direct the flow of the Force to accomplish things not possible simply by one being alone. That was undoubtedly what Zash had been doing in this chamber before she went to Tatooine; establishing channels for the Force to flow more strongly through when she began the main ritual. He felt for them now, noted there were two foci in the room. He’d have to casually stay away from them unless – until ordered, and then… things would come to a head then.
The artifacts, placed, Zash turned away from him with an air of gravity. “Before we get distracted by anything else, there is something I must confess to you. I have not been completely honest with you. I wish I could have been, but the timing was not right.” He watched her with a look of skepticism. With her back to him and her hood up, he had no idea what her expression was. He was more tense than ever.
But then she put back her hood and turned to face him, and he started with genuine surprise. “Look at me, apprentice. I am sorry to have concealed it from you for so long… but it was such a pleasant vanity to share in your youth.” He stared, unable to hide his shock – instead of the vivacious blonde he’d been working with, he saw now an old crone, withered with Dark Side decay, white-haired, with deep-sunken wrinkled cheeks. She looked like she was three centuries old, not three decades like before.
“I-I don’t understand,” he stammered, and yet everything was falling into place in his head. The artifact that facilitated manipulation of someone’s connection to the Force, the one that increased focus, the one that increased perception of others’ consciousness – and whatever the other two did – he’d believed that they would allow Zash to steal his life-Force and add it to her own, granting her power maybe sort of on a level nearing Tulak Hord. But no. It was far, far worse.
“Listen, Murlesson,” she said. “Various Force rituals and illusions have helped me maintain my appearance and some of my vitality. But inevitably, life fades. I’m dying, Murlesson. My will, my intellect, my spirit are as lively as ever, but this body is dying.”
“I had thought… there were rituals to prolong life…” It was too late to change her plan, but he wondered why she hadn’t gone for one of those. Unless she’d already tried them and they didn’t work.
She shook her head. “None that I have found. Even what I intend was a long hope. But now, you must be prepared. This ritual will grant you power, but as it ends, you will likely see me collapse before you feel it taking effect.” Her ghastly old face smiled. “Do not panic. Know that this is what I have trained you for, primed you for, from the start.”
She began to step towards him, and he backed up warily – no, he was backing towards one of the foci, he was trapped between her and it. But he no longer bothered to hide his battle-ready stance, his fear and hostility. “Be more specific, or I’m leaving.” Confirm for him what he already guessed strongly.
“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling sweetly, wrinkled lips stretching. “I imagine it will be… just like… falling asleep.”
She took another step towards him, almost in his personal space, and he involuntarily stepped back – and found he could not move. Her cold dead eyes blazed with triumph. “Ah, we will accomplish so much once I am in command of that wonderful vessel of yours! Just hold still.”
He couldn’t move – at least one of the artifacts in the room was inhibiting his body, giving her will a powerful suggestion over it. Khem roared and drew his broadsword, raising it to attack. She spun and tossed the Dashade back with a crack of lightning.
That was enough. He slammed his mask on his head, barely conscious of his movements outside of the black hatred that exploded through him. “Zash!” His lightsaber buzzed viciously as he swung it, and she countered with shocking strength and ferocity.
“What is that!?” she shrieked as they battled. “Where did you get it? That’s not fair!”
“You’re one to speak of fairness?” he yelled back. He was very nearly her equal, though he couldn’t tell how much aid either of them was getting from their artifacts. “You’re about to take everything from me without even the dignity of murdering me!”
“I am giving you everything-!”
“Shut up! I don’t want you!”
“But what is that?” Even in a battle to the death, she couldn’t contain her curiosity.
His snarl was invisible behind the mask. “It’s the mask of my ancestor, whose body lies here in this chamber! You know why you can’t control me? Because I am Murlesson Kallig and I will live!”
She drew back a moment with a soft gasp and he seized the initiative, but couldn’t break her guard though she was distracted. “Kallig? No… Not Kallig- that’s who lies buried here? Ah!”
“So you have heard of him…”
“Only once, but that once was enough. But now I know what that is, and I know how to get you to cooperate.” Frak. Shouldn’t have gloated. He slashed at her repeatedly, his double-blade swinging end over end, her violet double-blade twisting to meet it again and again and again.
And then – he wasn’t sure what happened – somehow their lightsabers became tangled, his own whipping out of his hand and slashing through the left temple of the mask, scoring through it nearly to his skin before both lightsabers were flung away to the far end of the room.. The heat cracked the rest of it, a large chunk falling away, taking with it a large part of his shielding. Without missing a beat, he turned to the Force, blasting at her, but she guarded herself quickly.
“You can’t stop this ritual from happening!” she screamed, pushing him back bodily. With the mask cracked, he could only rely on his own strength to keep her out – no, to defeat her. The moment he switched to defensive thinking, he was lost. He could feel her presence, beating on his mind, and pushed back with a furious yell. They were balanced, his raw strength a match so far for her experienced power, but the longer he lingered here, the more he felt the weight of the artifacts, even if he wasn’t in the right spot. He strained, tendons standing out on his hands, his shoulders, his neck, the full force of the Darkness within him howling to survive.
There was a thunderous growl and the hulking form of the Dashade flung itself between them, attacking Zash yet again. There was a vast rush of wind, like an invisible explosion, and they were all tossed in separate directions.
Murlesson picked himself up first, dazed, definitely bruised, wincing as he stood and looked around. Both Zash and Khem Val were lying still. “K-Khem…? Khem! Answer me!” His voice cracked in the sudden stillness, the ominous deathly quiet of the tomb. But though there had been that explosion, that had only been the ritual running amok; there had been no great rush of life energy like when Skotia or Paladius had died. He didn’t trust it. The Force told him little, only that there was far less energy in the room than there had been a moment ago.
It was Khem’s body that answered him, stirring and then climbing to his feet, but it was not Khem’s voice that spoke – in Basic, no less. “Apprentice! What have you done to me?” He backed away with a jump as Khem staggered, looking down at himself, and letting out an oddly feminine wail of despair. “Why couldn’t you just hold still for a few moments longer? Why couldn’t you call your monster off?”
“What?” Murlesson asked flatly. “…Zash?” Frakking what?
Zash-Khem pointed at him accusingly. “That monster broke through my defences, interrupted my concentration, diverted the entire ritual. Five years of preparation, finding the right person, training them, researching the artifacts, gathering them – wasted! You were my legacy, my one chance to defeat death! You fool – you’ve ruined everything!”
“You didn’t expect him to just sit around and do nothing, did you?” Murlesson bickered. “And you said I could bring him. Encouraged me to, even.” He shrugged. “You wonder why I want to keep my body? Are you stupid? I knew what you were planning.”
“You think you’re clever,” Zash snapped. “Well, this beast’s body is quite powerful. Powerful enough to punish you for your rebellion!”
He raised himself to his full height with some regalness. “The Dashade is bound to me, and now, so are you.”
Zash-Khem raised a fist, but dropped it again. “That bond, that damn bond! How can your will be stronger than my own? I am the master, not you!”
Murlesson grinned mirthlessly. “Not. Anymore.”
Zash-Khem wailed once again, before twitching oddly and returning to a more familiar stance with a bark. <Ha! What new kink has insinuated itself into the twisted coils of my unfortunate existence? First Tulak Hord abandons me to this meager creature, and now – it is as if my body is no longer my own.>
Murlesson tilted his head. “Is that you, my morose monster?”
Khem grunted and shook himself. <Last I remember, I was attacking the female Darth when I felt this force, like something trying to drive me from my body. It was not my Mistress Death, but another. So I resisted the force’s pull, and then a darkness came over me. Tell me, master: what is going on?>
“It seems Zash went into your body, but you didn’t leave,” Murlesson said.
<What…? No. No!>
“Protest all you like, Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord, but your ancient master’s artifacts have been turned against you. And through some strange and miraculous trick, neither you nor Zash have full control.” Murlesson turned, both a little relieved and rather apprehensive. Lord Kallig’s spirit had appeared by them, glimmering faintly in the dim light. Khem grumbled but fell silent.
“Where were you when everything went sideways a few minutes ago?” he asked crossly, hoping his ancestor wouldn’t be too displeased about the destruction of his mask.
“I have been watching from the shadows all along, powerless to help,” said Kallig. “But it’s clear – my help was not necessary. Though you were careless with my mask. Your youth and inexperience are no excuse; you may need every tool at your disposal to navigate your future.”
“I know,” Murlesson said. What else was there to say? It had happened so quickly. He needed more lightsaber practice, clearly. It wouldn’t do to be disarmed like that again. If only he had someone to spar with on his own ship… He wondered if the mask could be mended, its power restored. He’d certainly try.
Kallig spread his arms. “But I am proud of you. Flesh of my flesh, you have defeated your master. The great danger that I feared is past, your rise to glory well begun. I don’t know whether we will chance to meet again on this side of death, but I am at peace. I came to say goodbye, and good luck.”
“I’ll… see you around, then,” Murlesson said awkwardly.
Kallig nodded, removing his mask, letting Murlesson see his true face once more. “You are Lord Kallig now. It was once a glorious name. Use it well.” He bowed slightly, then faded into nothingness.
He had claimed that name, hadn’t he, in the heat of the moment? He probably didn’t need it. But… somehow… it felt good to have it.
He turned to leave and paused. Voices were muttering in the corridor, mortal voices, attached to acolyte-level Sith auras. What were the names of her new apprentices? Corrin and Kaal, wasn’t it? They stepped into the chamber and froze, taking everything in: Murlesson in his cracked mask, Khem standing dourly by his side, and Zash’s motionless body. The girl pointed. “Look, Kaal!”
The boy – why was he calling them a girl and a boy? They were probably older than him. But not as strong. The boy rushed to Zash’s body. “Darth Zash! You… you murdered her!” He turned, grabbing his lightsaber, raising it threateningly.
Murlesson didn’t even move. Kaal wouldn’t be a fight. “That’s a fairly normal thing for a Sith to do when someone attacks him.”
The girl hurried forward, holding out her hands to pacify both of them. “Hold your weapon, Kaal. This is not what Zash wanted, remember?” She turned to Murlesson and bowed low. “My lord, we have not met, but Kaal and I are Zash’s newest apprentices. My name is Corrin. She honoured us by telling us about a prophecy, a dream she had… one that has now been fulfilled by you.”
“She does have a lot of them, doesn’t she?” Murlesson asked, faintly sarcastic.
“Darth Zash dreamt that her stronger apprentice would eventually rise to destroy her,” Corrin said earnestly, apparently missing it entirely. A pity. “But she also foresaw that the same apprentice would rise to bring new glory and strength to a fragmented Sith Order. She went knowingly to her death at your hand so that you could lead the Sith to glory!”
It was all a lie, a complete and total fabrication. Were they stupid? Well, if they believed Zash, they’d be all the easier for him to manipulate. And he’d need apprentices, even relatively stupid ones. He had no interest in leading anyone to glory. Glory was a useless concept. He was going to take this supposedly fragmented Sith Order and smash it utterly. “Then I formally claim all that she had, as her former apprentice and the one who bested her. That includes you.”
Corrin smiled. “We have been anticipating this day since Zash first leaked the rumours of your incredible triumph over Darth Skotia. Zash answered to Darth Thanaton on the Dark Council – he’ll want to speak to you.” Thanaton wasn’t on the Dark Council yet… was he? “But we are your servants.”
He pulled his hood over his head, covering the missing mask piece. “Announce me, Khem.”
Khem stepped forward. <Gladly, my master.> The deep growl grew more measured, more commanding. <Behold Murlesson, the heir of Kallig, slayer of Skotia and Zash, successor of Tulak Hord, Lord of the Sith. Now bow!>
They bowed, both of them, without question, prostrating themselves before him. He looked down upon them and felt a rush. Zash was technically dead and all her former power was his. It was a good day to be alive.