Star Wars: Knight Errant (38 page)

The Jedi rubbed her eyes, unbelieving. She wanted to memorize it all as quickly as possible. But there was so much. Far more systems were under Sith control than anyone in the Republic imagined. And from the snaking maze of territories and the jangle of colors and emblems, it was clear there were far more players, too.

“You know of the Sith Lord Chagras,” Arkadia said.

Kerra nodded. Chagras had controlled Darkknell before Daiman.

“Chagras and Xelian were brother and sister—two of the seven children of Vilia Calimondra.”

Kerra hadn’t heard the latter name. But Xelian, she knew, was Daiman and Odion’s mother. Chagras was Odion and Daiman’s
uncle
? That was something the
Sithologists of the Republic had never heard. The researchers she’d studied under weren’t clear on who Odion and Daiman’s father was—just that he had been out of the picture for many years. But neither brother acted or looked much like the popular image of Chagras. His empire had been reasonably orderly.

“I think you’re going to have to start at the beginning,” Kerra said.

“The fountainhead,” Arkadia said, teeth glinting in the shimmering light, “is Vilia. My grandmother. Over the years, my grandmother acquired several dead husbands—and a sizable empire.” Above, large blocks of space blinked into icy blue, one section after another.

“The dowager,” Kerra whispered.

“Well, I hope you didn’t think that was
me
,” Arkadia said, smirking. “But Vilia had a problem. Each of her marriages produced offspring. And those seven children, grown, each claimed the right to be her sole heir.” Above, seven worlds dripped red. “So she proposed a contest. The
Charge Matrica
. Whichever child expanded her holdings the most would have her whole legacy, when the time came.”

Kerra stood up, mesmerized by the display. “When—when was this?”

“Thirty-four years ago. Before you, or I, or the so-called creator of the universe was born,” she said. “So the challenge began.”

Above, the blue areas swelled, sprawling across sector borders and filling in gaps. Every world, Kerra realized, was one of the many that lost its freedom—one of the planets Vannar Treece had fought to save.

“It worked,” Arkadia said, “for a while. But Sith don’t play fair. When her bid began failing, Xelian—Odion and Daiman’s mother—declared war on Chagras.
My father
.” Arkadia clasped her hands together and looked down at them.

Kerra looked at her, stunned.
Chagras’s daughter
.

“That broke it,” Arkadia said. “All of Vilia’s children went to war against one another. My grandmother seemed … strangely unwilling to referee. And our joint cause suffered.” In the holographic display around them, the blue mass of space stopped growing and began to fragment, breaking into multicolored zones. “For years, Sith conquests in this region stalled due to the infighting. Until only Chagras was left from his generation—and peace came.”

“I know,” Kerra said. She had been born into that island of relative silence. No one had ever known why the internecine violence had stopped. Her parents were simply glad that it had, so they could stop fleeing. “Did your father win Vilia’s legacy?”

Arkadia stiffened. “Yes. And no.” She began pacing around the flickering pylon. “He was sole heir. But Vilia yet lived, and so retained most of her holdings. All my father was guaranteed was the cooperation of his many nieces and nephews in restoring all that had been damaged. Ten years ago, Chagras was ready to face the Republic anew.”

“Aquilaris,” Kerra said. “Chagras sent Odion to conquer Aquilaris.”
My homeworld
. She glared at Arkadia.

Arkadia returned her gaze. “You lost your family, I take it. Well, we are joined in sadness—for before many more worlds fell, Chagras died suddenly, eight years ago. And eight years ago …”

“A second
Charge Matrica
began,” Kerra whispered. “Among the grandchildren?”

“Among the grandchildren.”

Arkadia let the words sink in as, above, the star map showing took on a leprous aspect. The Chagras Hegemony shattered into five shards. Then ten. Then more.

“Daiman and Odion went to war first,” Arkadia said. “They barely needed the excuse. On Byllura, where my
father had placed my troubled brother and sister for safekeeping, Calician took control and began to build a state around Quillan and Dromika. There are others,” she said, almost somberly. “I can’t even remember them all, sometimes.”

Kerra’s head spun. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me every Sith Lord who’s warring out here is related?” It was just too fantastic—and something no one, not even Vannar, had ever heard. “You’re all
cousins
?”

“No, not by any stretch,” Arkadia said. “Not even all the human Sith Lords trace back to Vilia. But it is a big family. There are also half-breeds—and some outsiders, like Calician, who try to figure in,” she said. “It’s all about impressing Grandmother.”

“So she’ll remember them when she
dies
?”

“She favors them now, too,” Arkadia said. “Vilia doles out assets from her holdings occasionally as rewards.”

Flabbergasted, Kerra sagged against the wall. Looking at the patchwork of color suspended in the air, it seemed too incredible. “Who would believe this?”

“You
will,
”
Arkadia said. “It’s time.” Pressing a control on the pylon, she watched the starfield disappear. The Sith Lord walked through the darkness toward Kerra, stopping in a semicircle on the floor. “Stay in the shadows,” she said. “Watch—and say nothing. If you’re noticed, I’ll have to kill you immediately.” She looked back. “And your students.”

Chilled, Kerra looked toward the pylon. In place of the floating star systems, a constellation of images flickered into being. Odion, as large and hateful as life. Daiman, in his gaudiest fineries. And there were others. Men. Women. More teenagers. Robed or in battle dress. Mostly human, but some strange faces. More cyborgs, like Odion. A figure in a chair. An odd wraith-like entity in a hood. Kerra’s eyes jumped from one to the next. She didn’t know where to look.

And every one of them postured, trying to look as menacing—or regal, or wise, or aloof—as possible. Daiman seemed completely disinterested, not even deigning to look at the others. Which was hard, given how many there were. Kerra had seen seven markings on the floor: locations for standing. She assumed there were similar rooms elsewhere. But there were far more than seven images sharing the circle.

It was like the Jedi Council.

A council
of hate
.

“Greetings, my children,” came a soft voice from the center.

Kerra looked past Arkadia. There, hovering above the pylon, was the image of a white-haired woman in a gossamer yellow gown.
The Dowager. Vilia
.

Human, and in her seventies, at least—wrinkled, but not worn. Kerra watched as the woman caressed a strange alien flower; she appeared to be in a garden, somewhere.

Clearly enjoying her retirement
, Kerra thought.
Just letting the star systems roll in
.

“I wish to offer you all my congratulations on the liquidation of Lord Bactra,” Vilia said.

“Us
all
?” Odion smoldered.

“Yes, Odion,” the woman said. “The Quermian was an outsider. He was a friend to our family for many years—but he couldn’t change what he was.” She turned, as if seeing all the dozen-plus Sith Lords in virtual attendance at once. “I felt the need for Bactra was past—and he gave us the opportunity to do something about it.”

Kerra clasped her hand tightly over her mouth, muffling her gasp.
Of course
. Daiman and Odion had truly been fighting on Gazzari—until they suddenly stabbed Bactra in the back. She’d just never imagined they’d done so on command.

And least of all at the behest of someone who looked so kindly. Vilia swept her hand gracefully through the
air. “You have
all
done very well since we last spoke,” she said. “And the time has come for the assignment of bequests.”

A murmur went up from the collected holographic Sith Lords. Half approving, half resentful.

“Bactra’s territories have already fallen to those nearest: Daiman, Odion, Lioko, and Malakite,” she said, gesturing to a couple of Sith Lords whom Kerra hadn’t seen before. “That is as it should be. But his greatest assets are his corporate holdings, which call no single world home.” She reached to the side, out of the projected image, to retrieve a small parchment. “I now dispose of these. Industrial Heuristics and all affiliated enterprises, I give to Daiman.”

A laugh went up from Arkadia’s left. Kerra could only see Daiman’s back from where she was kneeling; he was definitely paying attention now. Off to the right, Odion was stiffening against the muffled laughter of some of his virtual cousins.

“The bequest doesn’t change anything,” Odion said, his scarred face filling with rage. “I occupy Bactra’s capital. If the little snot wants these—these
merchants
, he can come and get them!”

“The award has been made,” Vilia said, turning toward the image of her massive grandson. “The planet is yours, my Odion, but you will give the executive staff time to relocate to a position behind Daiman’s borders.”

“I’ll send the corpses!”

“That is
enough
,” Vilia said.

The room instantly quieted. For the first time, Kerra saw the eyes in that kindly face clearly: bright and red. Suddenly self-conscious, she scooted farther back against the wall.

“Far be it from me to preach to you on philosophies, Odion,” the old woman said, softening. “You each have
your own approach—and I respect that. I applaud that, in fact. But corporations are not to be destroyed lightly.”

“They’re a tool of the Republic,” Odion snarled.

“And the Republic is a tool of the corporations,” Arkadia interjected.

Vilia smiled, recognizing Kerra’s hostess for the first time. “Very good, Arkadia. I know how you all were taught. You recognize power when you see it.”

The dowager looked away for a moment. “But perhaps something from my own complement will balance the accounts for you, Odion,” she said, lifting a datapad. “Here. Two legions of Trandoshan slave-warriors, from my forces. I award them to you. They’ll arrive in your territory in three days—just as the Industrial Heuristics corporate staff leaves your space for Daiman’s. Understood?”

Odion bristled. Finally, ever so gently, the glistening head nodded.

Kerra placed her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp.
The destroyer of the universe, brought down by his grandmother!

“Listen, Bothan, unless you’re looking to enlist, get away from me!”

Marching down the narrow hall behind Arkadia’s guide, Narsk stepped faster to keep up with Rusher. Mercenaries were so frustrating. Never willing to be diverted from the course they’d set for themselves—even when others had really set their courses.

“This is important,” Narsk said, boots grinding on the crunchy floor as he tried to keep up. “There is a pouch on your ship that belongs to me.”

“So you keep saying. The Jedi stole your stealth suit,” Rusher said. “I believe she also brought along a walking tank from the Battle of Mizra. I expect it’s hiding underneath her bunk.”

Narsk sidled up and grabbed the warrior’s sleeve. “I asked her about it back in the atrium when you arrived. She said a little girl had it,” he said. “Maybe the Sullustan you brought over?”

“Maybe.” Rusher yanked his arm away. “But I can’t leave to go fetch anything. Lord Arkadia’s ordered me to wait here, same as you.”

“You’ve got a comlink, surely.”

Rusher charged ahead after the guide. “Look, Snark—”

“Narsk.”

“What ever. I’m not going to annoy a Sith Lord by asking to make side trips. All the refugees will be coming across in the icecrawler later. If your gizmo exists, we’ll send it back with Tan then.” He shook his head. “And then I’m out of here!”

“That may be too late,” Narsk said, entering the anteroom outside Arkadia’s museum. No one was here, apart from two Wookiee Citizen Guards posted at either side of the golden portal. He checked the chrono as the guide parted. The Bequest was on, right now.

And the Jedi was witnessing it. She had to be. The guide who had escorted Kerra from the grotto had taken her up the same hallway, a corridor with no other outlets. In a third of a century, no Jedi had been allowed to see a Bequest taking place. The only possibility was that Arkadia intended to show off her catch—but the Jedi Knight would have to be executed immediately, as all the other Sith Lords watched. That was decorum, or the Sith equivalent.

What is Arkadia trying to prove?

The Bothan’s fur rippled, his ears perking up. Someone was coming up the entry hallway: another of Arkadia’s aides pushing Quillan, still in the hoverchair from the mercenary’s ship.

Of course he’d be invited, Narsk realized. The boy had every right to attend the Bequest, even in his current
state. But the teenager seemed oblivious to everything, his head tipped awkwardly onto his shoulder.

Watching the great door open to allow Quillan’s chair to pass, Narsk wished again for the stealth suit. All the answers were in that room, with Arkadia. But Quillan wouldn’t be paying any attention!