Rule of Two (24 page)

The entire process took less than a second. In that time Cyndra had drawn her weapon, but instead of pointing it at Zannah she suddenly screamed and aimed it high in the air above her, firing wildly at demons conjured from her own mind that only she could see.

The illusions grew more real and more terrifying the longer the spell continued, but Zannah had no intention of ending it yet. The Chiss shrieked and threw her weapon to the ground. She flung her head wildly from side to side, covering it with her arms and screaming “No!” over and over before collapsing on the floor. Weeping and sobbing, she curled up into a tight little ball, still muttering “No, no, no …”

Everyone else in the room was staring at her in horror and bewilderment. Some of the guards took a step back, afraid they might somehow become infected by her madness.

Zannah could have ended it then, dispelling the illusion and allowing Cyndra to fall into unconsciousness. She would wake hours later with only the most basic recollection of what had happened, her mind instinctively recoiling from the memories of what it had witnessed. Or Zannah could push the illusion even farther, driving her victim to the edge of insanity and beyond. An image of the Chiss romantically entangled with Kel sprang unbidden to her mind—and Zannah pushed.

Cyndra’s cries of terror became animal howls as her sanity was ripped apart by the ghastly visions. Her hands scratched and clawed at her own eyes, tearing them out. Blood poured down her cheeks, but even blindness couldn’t save her from the nightmares crawling through what was left of her mind.

Her howls stopped as her body went into seizure; her mouth foamed as her limbs convulsed wildly on the floor. Then, with a final bloodcurdling shriek, she fell suddenly limp and lay still. Her conscious mind completely and irrevocably obliterated, her catatonic body was now nothing more than an empty shell.

The body shivered once, and Zannah knew that somewhere in the deepest core of Cyndra’s subconscious a small part of her still existed, silently screaming, trapped forever with the horrors inside her own mind.

Though everyone had borne witness to the Chiss’s gruesome and terrifying end, Zannah was the only one who knew what had really happened. Yet even she was never quite certain just what her victims saw. Based on their reactions she figured it was probably better not to know. She coolly regarded Cyndra’s body on the floor, still trembling occasionally, then glanced up to see Hetton staring at her intently.

She turned away when she heard Paak shouting at her from across the room.

“You did this!” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “Stop her or she’ll kill us all!” he cried.

Several of the guards took a step toward her, only to pull up at a slight shake of the head from Hetton.

“She’s not dead,” Zannah announced. “Though whatever’s left of her mind surely begs for death.”

The answer did nothing to calm Paak’s mounting hysteria. Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a short vibroblade and rushed at Zannah with a scream.

The spell she had unleashed on Cyndra was powerful but exhausting. Zannah doubted she’d be able to effect a similar reaction in Paak before he ran her through with his blade. So instead of sorcery, she turned to more conventional means to dispatch him.

Extending her shackled hands, she used the Force to
draw the lightsaber from Hetton’s lap, sending it flying across the room and into her waiting palm. As the blades ignited she casually snapped her restraints with a single thought.

Paak had come in expecting to skewer a helpless prisoner; he wasn’t ready to face an armed foe. She could have slain him right then and there, but she noticed that Hetton was still sitting passively in his seat, observing the action. Zannah decided she’d give him a show.

Instead of decapitating her overmatched opponent, she simply toyed with him, twirling and spinning the lightsaber through intricate, hypnotic patterns as she easily parried his ham-fisted blows. Paak was a brawler, all muscle and no technique, making it ridiculously simple for her to repulse his attacks. He came at her three times, hacking and slashing as he tried to bowl her over. Each time she would nimbly skip to one side and redirect his blade with her own, turning their combat into a dance where she was most definitely taking the lead.

After three failed passes, the tattooed man threw his blade down in frustration and scooped up Cyndra’s fallen blaster. He took aim and fired twice from point-blank range, but Zannah didn’t even flinch.

Using the precognitive awareness of the Force, she was easily able to anticipate the incoming shots and intercept them with the crackling crimson blades of her lightsaber. The first bolt ricocheted harmlessly up into the ceiling; the second she sent back at Paak.

It struck him square between the eyes, leaving a smoking hole in his forehead. His body went rigid, then toppled over backward.

Still twirling her weapon, Zannah turned to face Hetton again. He had not moved from his throne; nor had he made any signal to his guards. As she stared at him he
rose slowly to his feet and walked down the stairs of the dais until he was standing only a few meters in front of her. Then he dropped to his knees before her and bowed his head.

In a trembling voice he whispered, “I have been waiting for someone like you my entire life.”

14

J
ohun walked with long, quick strides down the dormitory corridors of the great Jedi Temple. He passed halls and staircases leading to the various wings that had been constructed to house the Jedi Knights and Padawans who chose to dwell here on Coruscant, making his way toward the base of the Spire of the High Council and the private chambers reserved for the Masters-in-residence.

He nodded curtly to those who waved or called out to him as he marched briskly past, but Johun had no time to stop and exchange pleasantries. He had received a summons from Valenthyne Farfalla immediately after landing, and Johun had a pretty good idea what his old Master wanted to talk to him about.

When he arrived at his destination he was surprised to find the door to Farfalla’s private quarters standing open, the Jedi Master seated at a desk inside, deep in study.

“You wanted to see me?” Johun said by way of greeting, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

The room was decorated much as Farfalla’s private cabin had been aboard the
Fairwind
, the flagship of the now disbanded Jedi fleet. Fine art adorned the walls, and expensive rugs covered the floor. In one corner sat the four-poster bed depicting the key stages of Valenthyne’s rise to the rank of Jedi Master.

“Johun,” Farfalla said with mild surprise. “I did not
expect to see you so soon.” He turned in his seat and motioned to one of the other chairs in the room, indicating that his guest should sit.

“Your summons sounded urgent,” Johun answered. He spread his feet and stood stiffly, refusing the offer of a chair.

“I need to speak with you,” Farfalla said with a weary sigh.

“As my friend, my Master, or a representative of the Jedi Council?”

“That depends on what you have to say,” Farfalla answered, ever the diplomat. “I have heard that Chancellor Valorum intends to petition the Senate for funds to create a memorial to Hoth and the other Jedi who fell on Ruusan.”

“No doubt he believes this to be a fitting tribute to the people who gave their lives to keep the Republic safe,” Johun remarked. “A tribute some would say is long overdue.”

Farfalla raised an eyebrow. “So you had nothing to do with this request? Valorum came up with this idea on his own?”

“I never said
that,”
the Jedi Knight replied. The truth, as both he and Valenthyne were well aware, was that Valorum had agreed to do this to show his gratitude toward Johun for saving him during the attack on Serenno.

“As I suspected,” the Master said with another sigh. “The Jedi Council does not approve of this, Johun. They see it as an act of pride and arrogance.”

“Is it arrogant to honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice?” Johun asked, staying calm. He was a Jedi Knight now; the Padawan who would fly off the handle at the slightest provocation was long gone.

“Requesting a memorial to honor your former Master smacks of vanity,” Farfalla explained. “In elevating the
man who first trained you, you in effect elevate yourself.”

“This is not vanity, Master,” Johun explained patiently. “A memorial on Ruusan will serve as a reminder of how one hundred beings willingly marched off to face certain death so that the rest of the galaxy might live in peace. It will be a powerful symbol to inspire others.”

“The Jedi do not need symbols to inspire them,” Farfalla reminded him.

“But the rest of the Republic does,” Johun countered. “Symbols give power to ideas, they speak to the hearts and minds of the average person, they help transform abstract values and beliefs into reality.

“This monument glorifies the victory on Ruusan: a victory that came not through the strength of our army, but through the courage, conviction, and sacrifice of Hoth and those who perished with him. It will serve as a shining example to guide the citizens of the Republic in their thoughts and actions.”

“I see Valorum’s flair for speeches has rubbed off on you,” Valenthyne said with a rueful smile, recognizing that he would not be able to convince Johun to change his position.

“It was you who chose to assign me to the Chancellor’s side,” Johun reminded him. “And I have learned many things in my years of service.”

Farfalla rose from his seat and began to pace the room.

“Your arguments are eloquent, Johun. But surely you know they will not sway the Jedi Council.”

“This matter falls outside the Council’s authority,” Johun reminded him. “If the Senate approves funding for Valorum’s request, construction on Ruusan will begin within the month.”

“The Senate will never refuse Valorum anything.”

Farfalla snorted. He stopped pacing and turned toward Johun. “And what will your role be in this project?”

“That, too, is for the Senate to decide,” Johun answered evasively. However, after a moment he relented and told Farfalla the truth. “The Chancellor has agreed to travel with a full security complement on future diplomatic missions so that I will be free to go to Ruusan and oversee construction of the memorial.”

Farfalla sighed and sat back down in his chair.

“I understand why you are doing this, Johun. I do not fully approve, but neither I nor the Jedi Council will stand in your way.” After a moment he added, “I doubt we could stop you now even if we tried.”

“At times I can be most stubborn,” the Jedi Knight replied with the hint of a smile.

“Just like Hoth,” Farfalla noted.

Johun chose to take his words as a compliment.

“My father died when I was only an infant,” Hetton said, his voice low enough that Zannah had to strain to hear it over the clacking of their footsteps on the polished marble floor. “Burdened with the responsibilities of being the head of our house, my mother left it to the servants to raise me. They knew of my special gifts for many years before word of it ever reached my mother’s ear.”

“Perhaps they feared what she might do to them if they told her,” Zannah suggested.

She and Hetton were alone now. After her performance in the throne room, he had insisted on bringing her to see his vast collection of Sith manuscripts and artifacts, located in his inner sanctum on the far side of the great mansion. He had also insisted that his guards stay behind. To pass the time on the journey through the seemingly endless halls and rooms of his manor, he had started to tell her his personal history.

“My mother was a strong and intimidating woman,” Hetton admitted. “Perhaps the servants were afraid of her. Whatever the reasons, I was already in my early twenties before she finally discovered my affinity for the Force.”

“How did she react?”

“She saw my talents as a tool we could use to further the fortunes of our house. She had no use for the Jedi—or even the Sith, for that matter—but she wanted to find someone to help teach me to better master my skills.

“This was many years before the Brotherhood of Darkness came to power,” he reminded her before resuming his tale.

“After a number of discreet inquiries and many substantial bribes and payments, she finally settled on a Duros named Gula Dwan.”

“He became your Master?”

“
Master
was a title he never deserved,” Hetton replied with just a hint of bitterness. “He was nothing but a bounty hunter and assassin who had the good fortune to be born with the ability to touch the Force. Over the years he had gleaned a simple understanding of the most basic techniques to access his power, allowing him to levitate small objects and perform other similar tricks.

“But he had no allegiance to the Sith or the Jedi; Gula’s only fealty was to whoever paid him the most credits. And my family could afford to pay him more credits than he had ever dreamed of.”

They had reached another set of large double doors, though these were sealed and locked from the other side. Her host reached out and placed his palm on the surface, then closed his eyes. Zannah felt the soft whisper of the Force; then the lock clicked and the door swung open to reveal Hetton’s inner sanctum.

The room was part library, part museum. Shelves of
ancient manuscripts and scrolls, and endless lines of old datatapes lined the walls, and there was a data terminal and large viewscreen in one corner. Several long glass display cases ran lengthwise down the center of the room, displaying the collection of Sith treasures Hetton had spent the past three decades acquiring: strange glowing amulets, small jewel-encrusted daggers, a variety of unusual stones and crystals, and the handles of at least a dozen different lightsabers.

“Gula’s instruction gave me a foundation on which to build, but most of my learning came from the books and manuscripts you see before you,” Hetton said with pride.

They walked slowly along the length of the display cases, Zannah splitting her attention between Hetton’s words and the intriguing array of Sith artifacts. She could still feel faint remnants of dark side energy clinging to them: fading memories of the incredible power they once contained.