Star by Star (85 page)

“It gives us
all
hope,” Leia said. “Thank you.”

The rest of Eclipse’s forces added their congratulations, then Luke came on the channel again.

“Let’s form up on the
Venture
and proceed to the rendezvous,” he said. “And be careful. With Coruscant captured, the responsibility for keeping the New Republic alive will fall to the Jedi.”

Han swung the
Falcon
into line with the rest of the convoy, then started to calculate whether they could make even the short jump to the rendezvous site with so many passengers aboard. “Leia, how many troopers did we pick up on the roof?”

When there was no answer, Han looked over to find Leia lost in meditation, her face weary and full of sorrow. His heart rose into his throat, for it was a look he had seen on her face only once before. He reached over and shook her arm.

“What?” he asked. “Not the twins?”

Leia’s face remained weary and sad, but also grew fearfully calm. “They’re alive, but in trouble. Terrible trouble.”

“Artoo, give me a line to the
Venture,
” Han ordered. “We’ll dump this bunch and go after them, Leia. Just you and me.”

Leia placed her hand on his and shook her head. “No, Han. Even if we knew where to look—and could reach there alive—it doesn’t feel like that kind of trouble. They must rescue themselves.”

Han scowled. It sounded like Jedi trouble, and that was the worst kind. “And if they don’t?”

“They will.” Leia closed her eyes and held his hand. “They will.”

T
ROY
D
ENNING
is the
New York Times
bestselling author of
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Abyss; Star Wars: Tatooine Ghost; Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Star by Star;
the
Star Wars: Dark Nest
trilogy:
The Joiner King, The Unseen Queen
, and
The Swarm War;
and
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Tempest, Inferno
, and
Invincible
—as well as
Pages of Pain, Beyond the High Road, The Summoning
, and many other novels. A former game designer and editor, he lives in western Wisconsin with his wife, Andria.

By Troy Denning

Waterdeep
Dragonwall
The Parched Sea
The Verdant Passage
The Crimson Legion
The Amber Enchantress
The Obsidian Oracle
The Cerulean Storm
The Ogre’s Pact
The Giant Among Us
The Titan of Twilight
The Veiled Dragon
Pages of Pain
Crucible: The Trial of Cyric the Mad
The Oath of Stonekeep
Faces of Deception
Beyond the High Road
Death of the Dragon (with Ed Greenwood)
The Summoning
The Siege
The Sorcerer

Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Star by Star
Star Wars: Tatooine Ghost
Star Wars: Dark Nest I: The Joiner King
Star Wars: Dark Nest II: The Unseen Queen
Star Wars: Dark Nest III: The Swarm War
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Tempest
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Inferno
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Invincible
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Abyss
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Vortex

STAR WARS
—LEGENDS

What is a legend? According to the Random House Dictionary, a legend is “a nonhistorical or unverifiable story handed down by tradition from earlier times and popularly accepted as historical.” Merriam-Webster defines it as “a story from the past that is believed by many people but cannot be proved to be true.” And Wikipedia says, “Legends are tales that, because of the tie to a historical event or location, are believable, though not necessarily believed.” Because of this inherent believability, legends tend to live on in a culture, told and retold even though they are generally regarded as fiction.

Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a legend was born: The story of Luke Skywalker and his fellow heroes, Princess Leia and Han Solo. Three blockbuster movies introduced these characters and their stories to millions of people who embraced these tales and began to build upon them, as is done with myths everywhere. And thus novels, short stories, and comic books were published, expanding the
Star Wars
universe introduced in the original trilogy and later enhanced by the prequel movies and the animated TV series
The Clone Wars
. The enormous body of work that grew around the films and
The Clone Wars
came to be known as
The Expanded Universe
.

Now, as new movies, television shows, and books move into the realm of the official canon,
The Expanded Universe
must take its place firmly in the realm of legends. But, like all great legends, the fact that we can’t prove the veracity of every detail doesn’t make the stories any less entertaining or worthy of being read. These legends remain true to the spirit of
Star Wars
and in that way are another avenue through which we can get to know and understand our beloved heroes in that galaxy far, far away.

—Del Rey Books, May 2014

Turn the page or jump to the
timeline
of
Star Wars Legends
novels to learn more.

A sunrise corona limned one edge of the planet Myrkr, setting its vast northern forests alight with a verdant glow. Viewed from space, the planet appeared as lush and green as Yuuzhan’tar, the long-lost homeworld of Yuuzhan Vong legend.

Two Yuuzhan Vong males stood at the viewport of a priestship, deep in contemplation of the scene before them. One was tall and gaunt, with a sloping forehead and sharp, aristocratic features scarred by many acts of devotion. These marks, and his cunningly wrapped head cloth, identified him as a priest of high rank. His companion was younger, broader, and so physically imposing that a first glance yielded no perceptible boundaries between armor and weapons and the warrior who wore them. He struck the eye in a single blow, leaving an indelible impression of a complex, living weapon. His countenance was somber, and there was an intensity about him that suggested movement even though he stood at respectful attention.

The priest swept a three-fingered hand toward the scene below. “Dawn: bright death of mortal night,” he recited.

Harrar’s words followed the well-worn path of proverb, but there was genuine reverence in his eyes as he gazed upon the distant world. The young warrior touched two fingers to his forehead in a pious gesture, but his attention
was absorbed less by the glowing vision of Myrkr than by the battle raging above it.

Silhouetted against the green world was a fist-sized lump of black yorik coral. This, an aging worldship housing hundreds of Yuuzhan Vong and their slaves and creature-servants, looked to be nothing more than lifeless rock. But as Harrar’s priestship drew closer, he could make out signs of battle—tiny coral fliers buzzing and stinging like fire gnats, plasma bolts surging in a frantic, erratic pulse. If life was pain, then the worldship was very much alive.

“Our arrival is timely,” the priest observed, glancing at the young warrior. “These young
Jeedai
seem determined to prove themselves a worthy sacrifice!”

“As you say, Eminence.”

The words were polite, but distracted, as if the warrior gave scant attention. Harrar turned a measuring gaze upon his companion. Discord between the priest and warrior castes was growing more common, but he could discern nothing amiss in Khalee Lah.

The son of Warmaster Tsavong Lah stood tall among the Yuuzhan Vong. His skin’s original gray hue was visible only in the faint strips and whorls separating numerous black scars and tattoos. A cloak of command flowed from hooks embedded in his shoulders. Other implants added spikes to his elbows and to the knuckles on his hands. A single short, thick horn thrust out from the center of his forehead—a difficult implant, and the mark of a truly worthy host.

Harrar knew himself honored when this promising warrior was assigned to his military escort, but he was also wary and more than a little intrigued. Like any true priest of Yun-Harla, goddess of trickery, Harrar relished games of deception and strategy. His old friend Tsavong Lah was a master of the multilayered agenda, and Harrar expected nothing less from the young commander.

Khalee turned to meet the priest’s scrutiny. His gaze was respectful, but direct. “May I speak freely, Eminence?”

Harrar began to suspect Tsavong Lah’s purpose in sending his son to a Trickster priest. Candor was a weakness—a potentially fatal one.

“In this matter, consider the warmaster’s judgment,” he advised, hiding words of caution in seeming assent.

The young male nodded solemnly. “Tsavong Lah entrusted you with the sacrifice of the twin
Jeedai
. The success of his latest implant is still in the hands of the gods, and you are his chosen intercessor. What the warmaster honors, I reverence.” He concluded his words by dropping to one knee and lowering his head in a respectful bow.

This was hardly the message Harrar intended to send, but Khalee Lah seemed content with their exchange. He rose and directed his attention back to the worldship.

“In plain speech, then. It appears the battle is not going as well as anticipated. Perhaps not even as well as Nom Anor reported.”

Harrar’s scarred forehead creased in a scowl. He himself held a dubious opinion of the Yuuzhan Vong spy. But Nom Anor enjoyed the rank of executor and was not to be lightly criticized.

“Such words veer dangerously close to treason, my young friend.”

“Truth is never treason,” Khalee Lah stated.

The priest carefully weighed these words. To the priesthood of Yun-Harla and among certain other factions, this proverb was an ironic jest, but there was no mistaking the ringing sincerity in the younger male’s tones.

Harrar schooled his face to match the warrior’s earnest expression. “Explain.”

Khalee Lah pointed to a small, dark shape hurtling away from the worldship at an oblique vector to the
priestship’s approach. “That is the
Ksstarr
, the frigate that brought Nom Anor to Myrkr.”

The priest leaned closer to the viewport, but his eyes were not nearly as keen as Khalee Lah’s enhanced implants. He tapped one hand against the portal. In response, a thin membrane nictitated from side to side, cleaning the transparent surface. The living tissue reshaped, exaggerating the convex curve to provide sharper focus and faint magnification.

“Yes,” the priest murmured, noting the distinctive knobs and bumps on the underside of the approaching ship. “And if the battle against the
Jeedai
is all but won, as Nom Anor reported, why does he flee? I must speak to him at once!”

Khalee Lah turned toward the door and repeated Harrar’s words as an order. The guards stationed there thumped their fists to opposite shoulders and strode off to tend their commander’s bidding.

The swift click of chitinous boots announced a subordinate’s approach. A female warrior garishly tattooed in green and yellow entered the room, a crenellated form cradled in her taloned hands. She bowed, presented the villip to Harrar, and placed it on a small stand.

The priest dismissed her with an absent wave and began to stroke the sentient globe. The outer layer peeled back, and the soft tissue within began to rearrange itself into a rough semblance of Nom Anor’s scarred visage. One eye socket was empty and sunken, and the bruised eyelid seemed to sag into the blue crescent sack beneath. The venom-spitting plaeyrin bol that had once distinguished Nom Anor’s countenance was gone, and evidently he had not yet been permitted to replace it.

Harrar’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction. Nom Anor had failed repeatedly, but never once had he accepted responsibility for his actions. In a manner most unworthy a Yuuzhan Vong, he had foisted blame upon others. Harrar
had suffered a temporary demotion for his part in a failed espionage scheme; Nom Anor had merely received a reprimand, even though his agents played a significant role in the plot’s failure. In Harrar’s opinion, the blurred face testified that the gods’ justice would, in time, be served.

The image of Nom Anor, imprecise though it was, nevertheless managed to convey a sense of impatience, perhaps even anxiety.

“Your Eminence,” Nom Anor began.

“Your report,” Harrar broke in curtly.

Nom Anor’s one eye narrowed, and for a moment Harrar thought the executor would protest. As a field agent, Nom Anor was seldom required to answer to the priesthood. His silence stretched beyond the bounds of pride, however, and Harrar began to fear that Khalee Lah’s suspicions had fallen short of grim truth.

“You have lost?”

“We have losses,” Nom Anor corrected. “The voxyn queen and her spawn were destroyed. Two Jedi prisoners held on the worldship were freed. They escaped, as did several of the others.”

Harrar looked to Khalee Lah. “You have sighted the infidels’ escape ship?”

The warrior’s eyes widened, and for a moment his scarred face held horrified enlightenment—a fleeting emotion that swiftly darkened to wrath.

“Ask who flies the
Ksstarr
: the executor or the infidels?”

This possibility had not occurred to Harrar. He quickly relayed the question through the attuned villip.