Aryn used the Force to augment her strength, her speed. She felt it flowing within and around her, turning her body into a weapon—
“Aryn Leneer!” a commanding voice said, Master Dar’nala’s voice. “Jedi Knight Aryn Leneer!”
Syo, too, called to her. “Aryn! Stop!”
The combination of Dar’nala’s and Syo’s voices penetrated the haze of her emotional state. She faltered, slowed, stopped. Reason elbowed its way past her emotional turmoil, and she gave voice to her thoughts. Without taking her eyes from the male Sith, she said, “The Sith have betrayed us, Master Dar’nala. The negotiations were a ploy.”
Dar’nala did not speak for a moment. Then, “You … felt this?”
Tears fought to fall from Aryn’s eyes but she forced them back. She nodded, unable to speak.
Master Dar’nala’s next words hit Aryn like a punch in the stomach.
“Listen to me, Aryn. I know. I know. But hear me now—Coruscant is in Imperial hands.”
Aryn’s breath went out of her. The statement did not make sense. Coruscant, the heart of the Republic, had fallen to the Empire?
“What?” Syo asked. “How? I thought—”
“That cannot be,” Aryn said. She must have misheard. She turned from the male Sith, who had recaptured his sneer, to face the leader of the Jedi delegation
Master Dar’nala stood in the archway, her skin a deeper red than usual. Senator Am-ris and a senior Jedi Knight, Satele Shan, flanked her. The Senator, a Cerean whose ruff of white hair topped the cliff of his furrowed brow, towered over the other two. His worried eyes looked out from a wrinkled face but focused on nothing. He looked lost.
Satele, on the other hand, looked as tightly wound as an ion coil, her gaze fixed straight ahead, her auburn hair mussed, the veneer of her neutral expression unable to mask the emotion boiling beneath it.
Neither Am-ris nor Satele seemed to notice the destruction in the hall. Both looked dazed—blank-eyed refugees wandering through the ruins of events. Only Dar’nala seemed composed, her hands clasped before her, her eyes noting the details in the room—the broken sculptures, the position of Aryn relative to the two Sith.
Aryn wondered what had transpired in the negotiation room. For a fleeting moment, hope rose in her, hope that her fellow Jedi had perceived the Sith betrayal and arrested or killed the Sith negotiators, but that hope faded as the lead Sith negotiator, Lord Baras, emerged from the chamber and stood near Dar’nala.
His wrinkled face could not hold the smugness he felt. It leaked out around the raised corners of his mouth. His dark hair, combed back off a widow’s peak, matched his dark robes and eyes. In a haughty baritone, he said, “It can be, Jedi Knight. And it is. Coruscant has fallen.”
Satele visibly tensed; her left hand clenched into a fist. Am-ris sagged. Dar’nala closed her eyes for a moment, as if struggling to maintain her calm.
“As of now,” Lord Baras continued, “Coruscant belongs to the Empire.”
“How—?” Aryn began, but Dar’nala raised a hand.
“Say nothing more. Say nothing more.”
Aryn swallowed the question she wished to ask.
“Deactivate your lightsaber,” Dar’nala said to Syo, and he did. The female Sith did the same.
“What happened here?” Lord Baras asked, his eyes on the Sith brother and sister, the ruin in the room.
The male Sith bowed, used the Force to pull his lightsaber hilt to his hand, and hooked it to his belt. “A slight disagreement, Lord Baras. Nothing more. Please forgive the tumult.”
Baras stared at the male Sith for a time, then at the female. “It is well that the disagreement did not lead to bloodshed. We are, after all, here to discuss peace.”
He seemed almost about to burst out laughing. Am-ris whirled on him. Satele grabbed the Senator’s cloak, as she might a leash, to keep him from getting too close to Baras.
“Peace! This entire proceeding was a farce—”
“Senator,” Dar’nala said, and took Am-ris by the arm. But Am-ris would have none of it. His voice gained volume as he gave vent to his anger.
“You did not come here to discuss peace! You came here to mask a sneak attack against Coruscant. You are dishonorable liars, worthy of—”
“Senator!” Dar’nala said, and her tone must have reached Am-ris, for he fell silent, his breath coming fast and hard.
Lord Baras appeared untroubled by Am-ris’s outburst. “You are mistaken, Senator. The Empire is here to discuss peace. We simply wished to ensure that the Republic would be more amenable to our terms. Should I understand your outburst to mean that the Republic is no longer interested in negotiating?”
While Am-ris reddened and sputtered, Dar’nala broke in.
“Negotiations will continue, Lord Baras.”
“You are ever the voice of wisdom, Dar’nala,” Baras said. “The Empire will expect a return to the negotiation table at this time tomorrow. If not, matters will go … poorly for the people of Coruscant.”
Dar’nala’s skin darkened further but her voice remained placid. “Our delegation will discuss matters and contact you tomorrow.”
“I shall look forward to that. Rest well.”
Am-ris cursed Baras in Cerean and Baras pretended not to hear.
As the Republic entourage picked its way among the rubble in the hall, among the rubble in their hearts, Aryn felt the mocking eyes of the Sith male upon her and could barely contain a shout of rage. Before leaving the room, she knelt and picked up one of the coral beads from her shattered bracelet.
Malgus surveyed the ruin. The shell of the drop ship still smoked and burned in places. Bits of blackened metal dotted the hall. Walls and columns had been reduced to piles of jagged rubble. Cracks veined the walls and ceiling. Light from the day’s dying sun traced dust-filled lines from roof to floor. Bodies, many of them Sith, but more of them Jedi and Republic military, lay strewn about the floor, amid the rubble. A few groans sounded here and there. The Mandalorian stood in the Temple’s shattered entrance. She held her helmet under her arm and the sun glinted on her long hair. Her eyes moved across the destruction, the hard line of her mouth showing no emotion. She must have felt Malgus’s eyes on her. She met his gaze and nodded. He returned the gesture, one warrior acknowledging another. She pulled her helmet back on, turned, ignited her jetpack, and lifted off into Coruscant’s sky. The Empire would see to her payment.
Of the fifty Sith warriors who had assaulted the Temple, perhaps a score remained on their feet. Malgus was displeased but not surprised to see Lord Adraas among the living. They, too, shared a look across the ruin, but no mutual gesture acknowledged their kinship as warriors. Neither credited the other with anything.
With the battle over, the remaining Sith warriors assembled near the drop ship and raised their fists in a salute to Malgus, shouting a victory cry amid their fallen foes. For a moment, Adraas stood among them and did nothing, merely stared at Malgus, then he, too, reluctantly joined the salute. Malgus let his tardiness pass.
For now.
Malgus acknowledged the salute with a nod.
“You are servants of the Empire,” he said. “And of the Force.”
They shouted once more in response.
Malgus kicked the hilt of Zallow’s weapon out of his way, deactivated his own lightsaber, stepped over Zallow’s body, and strode among the rubble, among the fires, among the dead, until he reached Eleena. He felt the eyes of his warriors on him, the eyes of Adraas, felt the change in sentiment come over them. He did not care.
He knelt and cradled Eleena in his arms. She remained warm, breathing. The puckered blaster wounds Zallow had given her looked like black mouths in the skin of her shoulder and chest. She appeared to have no broken bones.
“Eleena. Open your eyes. Eleena.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Veradun,” she whispered.
Hearing her pronounce his name before other Sith surprised him, and his hand closed into a fist so tight it made his knuck
les ache. She must never—never—behave familiarly with him in front of other Sith.
She must have sensed his anger for she blanched, cowered, staring at his closed fist, her eyes wide.
That she understood her transgression diffused his anger. He unrolled his fist and extended his hand.
“Can you stand?”
“Yes. Thank you, Master.”
He lifted her roughly to her feet, heedless of her wounds. She winced with pain and leaned on him. He allowed it. Her breath came in pained gasps.
“Summon a medical team from Steadfast,” he ordered Adraas.
Adraas’s eyes narrowed. No doubt he thought the task beneath him.
“You heard Darth Malgus,” Adraas said to a nearby Sith warrior. “Summon a medical team.”
“No,” Malgus said. “You do it, Adraas.”
Adraas stared at him for a moment, anger in his eyes, before he pulled a curtain over his irritation and turned his face expressionless. “As you wish, Darth Malgus.”
From outside, explosions like thunder sounded, the steady drumbeat of intense bombardment. Angral’s fleet had begun its attack on Coruscant.
“I signaled to Darth Angral that the Temple was secure,” Adraas said, the faintest hint of defiance in his tone. “You seemed … preoccupied with other things at the time.”
Adraas’s gaze fell on Eleena, then returned to Malgus.
Malgus glared at Adraas, one fist clenched, and fought down the flash of anger. He would not allow Adraas’s borderline insubordination to diminish the rush he felt at his victory.
“I will forgive your arrogation of power this once, but do not overstep again,” Malgus said. “Now remove yourself from my sight.”
Adraas colored with rage, his mouth a thin line of anger, but he dared not say another word. He gave a half bow and stalked off.
Malgus made his grip on Eleena gentler as they turned to look outside. The ruined entrance of the Temple, widened by the drop ship crashing through it, opened onto clear sky. Together, he and Eleena watched Imperial bombers streak out of the orange-and-red clouds and light Coruscant aflame.
“Go see it, Master,” Eleena whispered to him. “It is your victory. I am fine. Go.”
She was not fine and he knew it. But he also knew that he had to see.
He left her and walked the hall until he reached the shattered entranceway. The statues of the Jedi that had lined the processional lay toppled, broken at his feet. He looked out on the culmination of his life.
Imperial ships swarmed the air. Bombs fell like rain and exploded into showers of red and orange and black. Gouts of smoke poured into the sky. The few native speeders that remained in the air were pursued by Imperial fighters and shot down. Hundreds of fires filled Malgus’s field of vision. A skyrise burned, a pillar of flame reaching for the heavens. Secondary explosions sent deep vibrations moaning through the ground. Malgus occasionally caught the sounds of distant, panicked screaming. A handful of Republic fighters got airborne but they were quickly swarmed by Imperial fighters and blown from the sky.
He opened a communications channel to Darkness, Angral’s command cruiser.
“Darth Angral, you have heard that the Jedi Temple is secure?”
The sound of a busy bridge served as background noise to Angral’s response. “I have. You have done well, Darth Malgus. How many warriors died in the assault?”
“Adraas did not tell you?”
Angral did not answer, merely waited for Malgus to answer the original question.
“Perhaps thirty,” Malgus said at last.
“Excellent. I will send a transport to pick up you and your men.”
“I would rather you wait.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I wish to see Coruscant burn.”
“I understand, old friend. I will ensure the bombers spare the Temple. For now.”
The channel closed and Malgus sat down cross-legged in the doorway of the Temple. Soon, several of the Sith warriors took station around him. Together, they bore witness to fire.
In less than half a standard hour, an Imperial medical transport cut through the smoke and flame and other Imperial ships that filled the sky to set down in a cloud of dust on the large processional outside the Jedi Temple. The two pilots, visible through the transparisteel of the cockpit, saluted Malgus.
A belly door slid open and two men in the gray-and-blue of the Imperial Medical Corps hustled down the ramp. Both carried cases of supplies and instruments and both had the soft physiques of men who—despite their warrior training—had not seen hard work in some time. Bipedal medical droids, their polished silver bodies reflecting the fires burning in the cityscape, walked behind them, each pulling a treatment cart with a tri-level gurney behind it.
Malgus rose and approached them. The doctors’ eyes widened at his appearance—his scarred mien alarmed most—and they gave crisp salutes.
“There are several wounded within,” Malgus said. “The Twi’lek female is my servant. Care for her as you would me.”
“An alien, my lord?” asked the older of the two men, his jowls dotted with a day’s growth of gray beard. “As I’m sure you know, Imperial medical facilities in-theater are restricted—”
Malgus took a step toward him and the doctor’s mouth snapped shut.
“Care for her as you would me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” the doctor said, and the medical team hurried past.
More explosions rocked the urban landscape. A bomb struck a power station, and an enormous flare of plasma jetted half a kilometer into the sky. A flight of ISF interceptors, notable for their bent wings, streaked over the Temple. The Sith around him cheered.
Eleena emerged from the Temple, her mouth tight with pain. The doctor trailed after her, worry creasing his brow.
“Please, mistress,” the doctor said, eyeing Malgus with terror. “Please.”
Eleena’s eyes widened as she took in the scale of the bombardment, the destruction. Malgus stepped before her.
“Go with the doctors,” he said. “There’s an Imperial medical ship, Steadfast, in orbit with the rest of the cruiser fleet. Await me there. I will come when I am finished here.”
“I do not require care, Master.”
“Do as I command,” he said, though his voice was not harsh.
She swallowed, smiled, and nodded.
“Thank you, my lord,” the doctor said to Malgus. “Come, mistress.” He took Eleena gently by the arm and escorted her aboard the transport while bombs fell and the Republic died.
After the medical team had triaged and loaded the wounded, the Sith loaded their own dead aboard. The bodies would be taken to Dromund Kaas or Korriban for proper rites. Malgus wished Adraas had been among them.
After the transport lifted off, Adraas, masked once more, came to Malgus’s side.
“What of the Jedi bodies?” Adraas asked.
Malgus considered. The Jedi had fought well, especially Zallow. They misunderstood the Force, but he nevertheless wished to treat them honorably. “Make the Temple their tomb. Bring the whole thing down.”
“I will request a bomber to—”
Malgus shook his head and turned on Adraas. They stood about the same height, and Adraas did not quail before Malgus’s appearance.
“No,” Malgus said. “There are more than enough explosives still on the drop ship. Use them.”
“This is an order … my lord?”
Malgus held his calm with difficulty. “Sith should destroy the Jedi Temple, not Imperial pilots. Do you disagree, Adraas?”
Adraas seemed not to have considered this. Malgus was not surprised. Adraas, too, misunderstood the Force, and he had little sense of honor. Still, he did as he was told.
“It will be done, my lord.”
Presently, the charges were set and Malgus held a remote detonator in his hand. He eyed the Temple one last time, its towers, the stacked tiers of the central structure, the toppled statues, the great entryway made
into a rough and jagged sneer by the passage of the drop ship. The rest of his Sith forces stood gathered around him.
“Should we remove to a safe distance?” Adraas asked.
Malgus regarded him with contempt. “This is a safe distance.”
“We are twenty meters away from the entrance,” Adraas said.
Staring into Adraas’s face, Malgus activated the detonator. A series of low booms sounded, starting deep within the Temple and drawing closer as the charges exploded in sequence and undermined the Temple’s foundation.
A strong gust of dust and loose debris blew out of the entrance. The explosions on the upper levels began, grew louder, fiercer. Stone cracked. Large chunks fell from the Temple’s façade and crashed to the ground. Flames were visible through the entrance. A whole series of explosions followed in rapid succession, the sound of the snapping spine of the Jedi Order.
The huge edifice, a symbol of the Jedi for centuries, began to fall in on itself. The towers collapsed in its wake, the huge spires crumbling as if in slowed motion. A jet of fire and bits of rock moving faster than the speed of sound exploded out of the now-collapsing entrance.
Instead of taking cover, Malgus fell into the Force, raised both of his hands, palms outward, and formed a transparent wall of power before himself and his warriors. His fellow Sith joined him, mirroring his gesture, mirroring his power. Rocks and debris pelted into the shared barrier, the speeding shrapnel of ruin. The jet of flame struck it and parted around it, water to a stone.
The Temple continued its slow demise, falling inward, shrinking into a shapeless mound of rubble and ruin. And then it was over.
A thick cloud of dust hung like a funeral shroud over the mountain of shattered stone and steel that had been the Jedi Temple. There could have been Jedi survivors in the Temple’s lower levels. Malgus did not care. They were either crushed or trapped forever.
“And so falls the Republic,” Malgus said.
The Sith around him cheered.
No one among the Republic delegation to Alderaan spoke until they had cleared the hall. No one seemed to know what to say. Aryn struggled to keep their collective emotional turmoil at bay. Like her, they were bouncing randomly among grief, rage, and disappointment. Even Dar’nala was struggling to stay centered, though she appeared outwardly calm.
The Old Republic Series Page 46