Rule of Two (22 page)

The Jedi turned his body at the last second, avoiding the first blade completely, but catching the other with the meat of his right shoulder. It sliced deep into the muscle, eliciting a grunt of pain from Johun.

He wheeled back around to see the Twi’lek in the same low crouch, holding the crescent blades up in front of him like a boxer. Johun approached more cautiously this time, recognizing that this opponent was far more dangerous than the other three put together.

Using tight slashes and quick cuts, he probed his enemy’s defenses with his lightsaber, trying to learn the patterns and rhythms of his foe’s unfamiliar weapons. The Twi’lek slapped each blow aside with contemptuous ease, alternating hands so he could always leave one of the crescents up in a defensive position.

The unusual weapons sacrificed reach for speed and maneuverability, Johun realized. He was vulnerable if he let the Twi’lek get in close, but if he could keep him at a distance he had the advantage. The Twi’lek seemed to realize this, too, and began to move in slowly.

Johun tried to force him back with a sequence of aggressive attacks, but he was unable to penetrate the Twi’lek’s defenses. No matter what he tried, his enemy was always able to keep at least one of the crescent blades back to parry his blows.

Frustrated, Johun overextended on one of his strikes, bringing the lightsaber in a fraction of a centimeter too high and wide and putting too much weight on his front foot. The mistake nearly proved fatal.

The Twi’lek swatted Johun’s blade aside and stepped forward, closing the distance between them to less than a meter as he slid inside the arc of the lightsaber’s effective range. The sickle of his left hand sliced down in a high vertical strike as the one in his right carved a low horizontal slash. Johun was able to backpedal and avoid the initial blows, but he wasn’t so lucky when his opponent reversed his attack, allowing the crescent blades to retrace their original paths in the opposite direction.

One of the blades sliced upward, opening a gash in Johun’s cheek and narrowly missing his eye. The other left a long, shallow cut along the left side of the Jedi’s ribs—painful but not debilitating.

His enemy was in too close for Johun to bring his lightsaber to bear effectively; all he could do was butt with his head, sending his brow smashing hard into the Twi’lek’s face. There was a wet crunch as the cartilage of his enemy’s nose crumpled beneath the impact. The Twi’lek staggered back, then dropped once more into his fighting crouch. Blood flowed freely from his nostrils, the dark crimson flow visible even against his bright red complexion.

Johun tried to gather the Force to hurl his opponent off the platform’s edge. But gathering the Force required concentration, and for a fraction of an instant it drew his focus away from the battle. His enemy sensed his momentary lapse and sprang forward, the sickles carving deadly semicircular arcs through the air.

Johun threw himself backward at the last instant, the power he’d accumulated disappearing harmlessly as he fell into a full retreat to avoid the lethal assault. Dropping low to the ground, he tried to swipe the feet out
from under the Twi’lek. His opponent anticipated the move and leapt nimbly over his outstretched foot, bringing his knee up to strike Johun square in the jaw.

Seeing stars, Johun rolled clear, narrowly avoiding decapitation, as the crescent blades swooped in again. He regained his feet and took a wild swipe at his opponent. Dodging the blow, the Twi’lek swooped in close, and Johun was forced to give ground yet again to survive another series of lightning-fast blows.

The Twi’lek pressed the attack, staying close enough to Johun that the Jedi’s only options were blocks and parries. Darting from side to side he cut off Johan’s paths of retreat, slowly backing him up until he was balanced on the platform’s edge.

Johun knew he couldn’t beat the Twi’lek. His opponent was faster, his skills honed by years of intense training. He could continue to fight, but the outcome was inevitable—he was going to die on this platform. He could not escape his fate—yet he could still sacrifice himself to save the Chancellor.

There is no death; there is only the Force
.

The Twi’lek had braced himself in preparation for a desperate counterattack, expecting Johun to try to fight his way clear of the platform’s ledge. Instead the Jedi dropped his weapon and both hands shot forward to clutch tightly onto the front of his opponent’s shirt. The handle of Johun’s lightsaber clattered on the platform’s durasteel surface, the blade extinguished the moment it fell from his hand.

The unexpected move caught the Twi’lek completely off guard, and he hesitated for a split second before his eyes went wide with fear and dawning comprehension. He slashed frantically at Johun’s wrists and forearms, carving deep gashes into the flesh. But the Jedi’s grip never faltered.

With his heels already dangling over the precipice,
Johun simply had to let himself fall backward, dragging his enemy with him. The Twi’lek screamed as they plunged toward the deadly rocks jutting up from the waves fifty meters below; Johun felt nothing but a serene inner peace.

They seemed to fall forever, the world moving in slow motion as Johun surrendered himself fully to the power of the Force. It flowed through him, stronger than he had ever felt it before. The instant before they hit the water he looked into the terrified eyes of his foe and smiled. He had never felt more at peace than he did in that moment.

Dropping from fifty meters into the ocean was nothing like diving into a pool; the surface tension of the water struck them with the impact of a sledgehammer. During the fall they had turned slightly, so the impact took Johun on the right side. He felt his ribs crack, and then a cold shock as the freezing waters enveloped them.

It took Johun several seconds to realize he wasn’t dead. Even missing the rocks, a fall from that height should have been lethal. Yet somehow he had survived, though he was now sinking quickly into the ocean’s angry depths.
The Force
, he thought in amazement. He had given himself over to its power during the fall; in return it had spared his life.

He realized he was still clutching tightly to the front of the Twi’lek’s shirt. Through the murky waters he could see his opponent’s head lolling to the side at an unnatural angle, his neck broken when they had slammed into the unyielding ocean surface.

Releasing his grip he swam toward the surface, pulling with powerful strokes. Just as his lungs threatened to give out, he breached, gasping and swallowing huge gulps of air. The girders supporting the platform rose up out of the water before him, only a few meters away. He kicked his legs and reached out to grab the
slick, wet durasteel with hands already going numb in the chill waters, then began the long slow climb back to the top.

Blood poured freely from the cuts to his forearms. But though the wounds were deep, they hadn’t struck any critical nerves or tendons, and he was able to use his hands to help him along as he clambered up the girders.

He had reached the halfway point when he paused to rest, shivering in the wind. A voice called his name; looking up, he saw the face of Chancellor Valorum staring down at him. Knowing he needed to save his breath for the rest of the climb, Johun’s only response was a weak wave of acknowledgment.

Half a meter from the top Valorum’s arm reached down over the edge to clasp his own. The exhausted Jedi was grateful for the aid as the Chancellor helped him clamber up and back onto the safety of the platform. Johun tried to stand, but his limbs betrayed him. All he could manage was to roll onto his back and stare up at the sky, panting and wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.

“You saved my life,” the Chancellor said, sitting down beside him to wait for the Jedi to recover from his ordeal. “I can never repay you for what you have done, but if there is ever anything you want of me you need only ask.”

“There is one thing.” Johun gasped from his back, still too tired to even try to sit up. “Hire yourself a kriffing security team.”

13

Z
annah made her way slowly through Carannia’s market square, purchasing supplies to replace those Bane had inadvertently destroyed. Only a week had passed since she’d last been here, but in that short time a great many things had changed.

Kel was dead, for one. The HoloNet was buzzing with the news of the failed attempt to kidnap Chancellor Valorum, and all the accounts made specific mention of the red-skinned Twi’lek and his end at the hands of a Jedi Knight named Johun Othone.

Three of the others from the small group were dead as well, though reports indicated that two of the terrorists had fled the scene. From the descriptions given it was obvious to Zannah that Paak and Cyndra were the two surviving fugitives.

The attack had prompted immediate condemnation from the Senate and the rest of the Republic. More important, the Counts of Serenno had promised swift and decisive action to stamp out the separatist organizations that plagued their fair world. Based on the enormous rewards being offered for information leading to the capture of those involved in the attack, it seemed the nobles intended to keep their promise.

Even had Kel and his friends succeeded, Zannah now realized, the reaction of the Counts would have been the same. In the aftermath of the violence, the bodies of several
members of Count Nalju’s household staff were discovered near the landing site. They had been sent to greet Chancellor Valorum on his arrival, only to be murdered by the radicals who had set the ambush.

The deaths of several long-serving followers was a great tragedy for House Nalju, but it paled in comparison with the horror elicited by the attack itself. The Count had personally sponsored the Chancellor’s visit; an assault upon his esteemed guest was an insult to family honor, and a crime tantamount to attacking the Count himself. Always willing to protect their own, the other Great Houses had rallied to the Nalju cry, vowing to hunt down and exterminate those responsible for this atrocity.

No doubt Darth Bane had foreseen this outcome. For the next several years the eyes of the Republic would be focused intently on Serenno and its campaign to snuff out the separatist elements that had infiltrated its culture.

“Don’t move,” a familiar female voice hissed in her ear, and Zannah felt the muzzle of a blaster press itself hard into the flesh of her lower back.

“I’m surprised you’d dare to show your face in public,” Zannah whispered without turning around to face the Chiss standing close behind her. “There’s a lot of credits being offered for your head.”

“Thanks to you,” Cyndra snapped back, jabbing her painfully with the weapon. “Now start walking. Slowly.”

There were a dozen ways Zannah could turn the tables on Cyndra, but each of them involved a display of dark side power she wasn’t willing to make in the crowded market square. So she did as ordered, making her way past the vendor stalls as she waited for the right moment to make her move. Cyndra followed close, pressing tight up against her to shield the blaster at Zannah’s back with her own body.

“Where are you taking me?” Zannah asked her.

“We’re going to see Hetton,” Cyndra snarled. “He’s got some questions for you.”

How convenient
, Zannah thought.
I’ve got some questions for him, too
.

Cyndra took her down a narrow alley leading away from the market square to a deserted side street.

“Stand still or I shoot,” she warned Zannah, then pulled a comlink from her belt. “I’ve got her,” she said. “Come pick us up.”

In less than a minute an airspeeder swooped down to land on the far side of the street. Zannah wasn’t surprised to see Paak sitting in the pilot’s seat. He jumped out as the Chiss marched her prisoner over to the vehicle.

“Told you she’d come back,” he said to his companion.

“Just search her for weapons,” she answered.

Paak leered at Zannah as he roughly patted her down. “What have we here?” he exclaimed, discovering her only weapon and holding it up for inspection.

The handle of Zannah’s lightsaber was slightly longer than normal to accommodate the twin crystals required to power the blades that extended from either end. However, while most traditional double-bladed weapons had blades each measuring a meter and a half or more, those of Zannah’s lightsaber were slightly under a meter in length. This small but significant difference was critical to the way in which she used her weapon …

“The smaller blades give you greater speed and maneuverability,” her Master explained as the fourteen-year-old Zannah twirled her newly constructed lightsaber in her left hand, focusing on mastering the feel of its unique balance and weight
.

“Grip the handle lightly in your fingers. Control the
weapon with your wrist and hand rather than the muscles of your arm. You will sacrifice reach and leverage, but you will be able to create a shield of impenetrable defense.”

“Defense will not slay my enemy,” Zannah remarked, smoothly transferring the spinning crimson blades from her left hand to her right and back again
.

“You lack the physical strength required for the powerful attacking strikes of Djem So or the other aggressive forms,” her Master explained. “You must rely on quickness, cunning and, most of all, patience to best your enemies.”

He ignited his own lightsaber and took a long, looping swing in her direction. Zannah intercepted the blow with her own weapon, easily deflecting it to the side
.

“Form three allows you to parry incoming attacks with minimal effort,” he told her. “Your opponent must expend precious energy with each blow, slowly tiring while you remain fresh and strong.”

Bane seized the hook-handled grip of his own lightsaber with both hands and raised it high over his head, then brought it straight down in a fierce chop. Using the techniques he had made her practice for two hours each day over the past year, Zannah met her Master’s blade with one of her own. Had she tried to meet it head-on, the strength of his attack would have driven her own weapon back into her, or knocked the lightsaber from her hand. Instead she clipped his blade with a glancing contact, rerouting it so that it continued its downward arc at an angle, passing harmlessly a few centimeters from her shoulder
.