The Old Republic Series

by Sean Williams

  He focused on the pain, transforming it into anger to fuel the Force for a savage counterattack. At the same time, instinctively, he drew upon his opponent’s fear, adding it to his own passion and further amplifying the power he was gathering.

  Channeling his rage, he unleashed a concentrated wave of energy that struck the woman square in the chest. The impact lifted her off her feet and sent her flying backward through the air. Her journey was cut short when she slammed against the base of one of the abstract statues. The sudden stop jarred the pistols from her hands, leaving her momentarily defenseless.

  Scourge placed one hand on the hood of the speeder and vaulted over it, rushing to close in on his prone foe before she could regain her footing. But the mercenary was quick: She scrambled to her feet and pulled out a short electrorod, its tip crackling with a charge potent enough to knock an opponent unconscious with even a grazing blow.

  Scourge pulled up short. The mercenary dropped into a fighting crouch, and the two combatants circled each other warily.

  Had he wanted to, Scourge could have ended the encounter right then and there. Without her pistols, electrorod or not, the mercenary had no chance against a Sith Lord with a lightsaber. But killing her wouldn’t get him what he really wanted.

  “Tell me who hired you and I’ll let you live,” he said.

  “Do I look that stupid?” she countered, feinting and making a quick lunge that Scourge easily sidestepped.

  “You’re obviously skilled,” he told her. “I can use someone like you. Tell me who hired you, and I’ll let you work for me. That, or throw your life away.”

  She hesitated, and for an instant Scourge thought she might drop her weapon. And then the night was shattered by the sound of multiple blaster carbines. The bolts hammered the mercenary in the back, sending her stumbling toward Scourge. He saw a look of total bewilderment on her face as she sank to her knees. Her mouth moved, but no words came out. Then she fell facedown in the gravel, dead.

  Turning, Scourge saw half a dozen guards standing in the courtyard near the door leading into the stronghold. Among them was a human wearing a commander’s uniform. He was short, broad-shouldered, and barrel-chested, with close-cropped blond hair and a neatly trimmed blond beard that contrasted sharply with his dark brown skin. Scourge recognized him from the holo: Murtog, Darth Nyriss’s head of security.

  Before Scourge could say anything, Sechel exclaimed, “About time you got here.”

  He was still cowering against the wall, in nearly the exact same place Scourge had left him after the brief interrogation that had preceded the ambush.

  “Get up,” Murtog told him, and the Sith lackey did as ordered.

  “Clean this mess up,” Murtog snapped at his guards, who scrambled to obey.

  Satisfied, the security chief slung his weapon over his shoulder and nodded in Scourge’s direction. “Darth Nyriss will see you now.”

  CHAPTER 2

  AS MURTOG LED THE WAY through the halls of the stronghold, Lord Scourge did his best to ignore the pain radiating from his wounded shoulder. Instead he focused on his surroundings, hoping to learn more of Lord Nyriss before they came face-to-face.

  The interior architecture was typical of Sith aristocracy: a series of long, wide corridors with thick stone walls, vaulted ceilings, and countless imposing steel doors, all closed to conceal the rooms behind them. The halls were lavishly decorated in bold colors: red, black, and purple. Expensive woven rugs covered the floors, and the walls were lined with a collection of pictures, sculptures, and holoprojections worthy of any museum.

  Murtog set a quick pace, giving Scourge little time to study the works. However, Sechel—trailing a few steps behind—provided a running commentary on significant pieces as they marched past.

  “This is a bust of the infamous warlord Ugroth. He swore fealty to Darth Nyriss a dozen years ago when she led an Imperial force into his sector to subdue a potential uprising.

  “This holoprojection was a gift from Queen Ressa of Drezzi to thank Darth Nyriss for her merciful treatment of the royal family when the Empire conquered their world. Her husband was executed, but the queen and her children were spared.

  “This portrait commemorates Darth Nyriss’s victory during …”

  Realizing he wasn’t going to gain any real insight from Sechel’s descriptions, Scourge tuned him out. Still, he understood and appreciated the overt display of opulence. Nyriss was a member of the Dark Council; she was one of the twelve most important and influential individuals in the Empire. The material treasures were a symbol of her own worth; a reminder to any visitors that she was a being of rank and power.

  Numerous sentries stood guard throughout the halls. They nodded in acknowledgment as Murtog passed. Such a high number of guards stationed inside the stronghold was a bit atypical, but considering the recent assassination attempts it wasn’t unexpected. Scourge wondered if Murtog would increase their numbers, given the most recent incident … though Scourge wasn’t convinced it had actually been an assassination attempt.

  The dark side fed on passion and raw emotion, but it was important to temper it with cold analysis and reason. Even as he marched to meet his new liege, Scourge’s mind was trying to piece together the parts of a puzzle that didn’t seem to fit.

  The alleged assassins had struck in the courtyard, exposing their presence while still outside the secured walls and gates of the stronghold. Even if Scourge hadn’t stopped them, there was no chance they could actually have gotten inside the building to strike at Nyriss. Which probably meant she wasn’t their real target: He was.

  But who had set him up, and why? Murtog seemed a likely candidate. Though only a human, he had risen to a prominent rank in Nyriss’s service—a position almost on par with Scourge’s own newly appointed status. The first lesson Scourge had learned during his time at the Academy was that your peers could be your most dangerous rivals, Force-users or not.

  And Murtog had every reason to feel threatened. He had failed to find those behind the assassination attempts on his liege. Scourge’s arrival was a direct challenge to his competence as security chief. What better way to eliminate a potential rival than to expose his incompetence by killing him in a staged assassination attempt? That could explain why Murtog refused to let Scourge in when they’d first arrived, and why Murtog’s soldiers had killed the female mercenary just when she’d been on the verge of surrendering.

  However, Murtog wasn’t Scourge’s only suspect. Sechel had similar self-preserving motives. If Scourge succeeded in his mission, he would likely be rewarded with a permanent position that would surely rank above the servile Sith adviser in Darth Nyriss’s hierarchy. Sechel had managed to find himself a niche in Sith society by clinging to his role as an adviser to Nyriss. It made sense to assume he would do anything in his power to remove an individual he viewed as a threat to his own position of power.

  Scourge had witnessed Sechel speaking to the mercenaries at the spaceport earlier. At the time it had seemed he was shooing them away out of respect for a high-ranking Sith Lord newly arrived on the planet. Now Scourge wondered if he had been giving them last-minute instructions. The fact that Sechel had survived the battle in the courtyard was also suspicious. It was possible he was just lucky or had the highly evolved survival skills of a true coward, but it was also possible the mercenaries had been careful not to fire anywhere near him.

  Murtog rounded another corner. The pain in Scourge’s shoulder was becoming more intense as his armor rubbed against the wounded flesh. Yet he kept pace with the stocky human, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

  The hall came to a dead end against another imposing door. This one, closed like all the others, was flanked by Sith apprentices. He doubted Nyriss would have made the Sith answer directly to a human, so they were probably not under Murtog’s direct command. But based on the fact that they made no move to challenge the security chief as he approached, it was clear to Scourge that Murtog enjoyed a privileged position in N
yriss’s household.

  Murtog stepped forward and rapped his knuckles gently on the door, then took a step back and stood at attention.

  While they waited for an answer to the knock, Scourge realized there was a third possibility: Murtog and Sechel might have been working together to plan the attack in the courtyard. At the Academy, lesser students would sometimes conspire together to bring down a more talented individual. It wasn’t hard to imagine the same kind of thing happening outside the facility’s walls, as well.

  For the moment it wasn’t possible to know which of his theories—if any—was correct. But Scourge knew he’d have to watch his back.

  The door opened to reveal a young Twi’lek. She was clad in black robes, with Nyriss’s four-pointed star emblazoned in purple on both the chest and back, surrounded by a red circle. A shock collar was fastened securely around her neck, but even without it, her status would have been immediately obvious simply because of her species.

  When the Sith had fallen into full retreat during the last days of the Great Hyperspace War, they had taken with them a number of prisoners captured during their early victories over Republic worlds. Those prisoners—mostly humans and Twi’leks—had been condemned to a life of slavery.

  By the Emperor’s order, no slave could ever be granted his or her freedom, and the status of the parent would be passed down to the child generation after generation. Because of this directive, there was never any doubt about the role of any Twi’lek in the Empire—they were and always would be slaves, descended from ancestors too weak to save themselves from the Sith invaders.

  The slave bent to one knee and kept her eyes to the ground as Murtog, Scourge, and Sechel stepped through. Then she closed the door behind them and retreated into a corner.

  The well-lit room appeared to be a study or private library. The walls were lined with shelves, their ancient wooden frames warped by the weight of the treasures they bore.

  Scourge couldn’t help but stare in wonder at the collection. During his days at the Academy he had seen only one physical manuscript—an ancient tome dating back more than ten thousand years to the arrival of the first Dark Jedi on Dromund Kaas. The book was considered a priceless artifact, one of the academy’s greatest treasures.

  Yet here dozens—if not hundreds—of volumes filled the shelves on the left wall. Most of the books were large and thick, their bound pages protected by covers of leather or some similarly cured hide … though Scourge guessed that not all of them were made from skin cured from mindless beasts. They had an antiquated look about them, though most appeared to be preserved in good condition, if somewhat worn from use. Obviously Nyriss had paged through them many times.

  The shelves on the right wall contained reference material that looked even more ancient and delicate. Loose leaves of yellowed parchment were held in place with delicate wire clips; rolled scrolls were encased in clear protective tubes. A hinged glass cover sheltered several books that looked as if they might crumble into dust should a strong breeze pass through the room.

  But not everything in the room was an archaic relic. On the rear wall was a large bank of holodisks and datacards, and in the center of the room was a computer workstation where a figure Scourge could only assume to be Darth Nyriss sat hunched, staring at the display monitor. The hood of her loose-fitting cowl—red, accented with purple and black—was pulled up over her head, and the long, loose sleeves even covered her hands and fingers as she worked at the terminal.

  Neither Murtog nor Sechel made any sound to announce their presence, so Scourge took his cue from them and stood silently while Nyriss focused intently on the computer’s display. Her cloaked form blocked any view of the screen, so it was impossible for him to see what she was studying. However, he thought he could hazard a guess: Darth Nyriss was well known for her proficiency in the ancient arts of Sith sorcery.

  During his time at the Academy, Scourge had discovered that there were many ways to draw upon the power of the Force. His natural talents had led him down the path of the warrior: learning to channel his emotions into strength and raw outbursts of lethal energy. But other students had trained with the Inquisitors, studying a very different curriculum.

  Millennia earlier, those who followed the dark side had learned to harness and shape the Force through complex rituals that could control the mind of an enemy and sometimes even warp reality itself. Much of this arcane knowledge had been lost, but those who managed to unlock even a few of the secrets of the past were often rewarded with a more subtle—though just as potent—form of power.

  It was rumored that the perpetual storms of Dromund Kaas were the result of the Emperor performing one of these rituals. Scourge didn’t know if that was true, but he knew that Nyriss had gained her place in the Dark Council through her knowledge and understanding of things he could never hope to fully grasp.

  After several minutes Nyriss pushed herself away from the desk, rose from her chair, and turned to face them, pulling back the hood of her cloak as she did so.

  Scourge was taken aback by her appearance, though he did his best to hide his reaction. Like him, she was a pure-blooded Sith. But her face was creased with deep wrinkles, and the tendrils dangling from her cheeks and chin were withered. Her skin was pale, more pink than red, and mottled with dark brown age spots.

  He didn’t know how old Darth Nyriss was, though he knew she had served on the Dark Council for nearly two decades; only two other members had longer tenures. Despite this, he had been expecting someone more akin to the fiercely beautiful woman depicted in the statues of the courtyard. Instead, he was confronted with a shriveled hag.

  Unbidden, the words of one of the instructors at the Academy leapt to the forefront of his mind: The Force can be bent to your will, but often there is a cost. The most powerful rituals of the dark side exact a toll few are willing to pay.

  Perhaps Nyriss was not really as old as she appeared. A lifetime spent delving into the ancient secrets of Sith sorcery had given her one of the highest positions in the Empire. Maybe it had also drained her of her youth and vitality.

  “Not what you expected?” Nyriss said as if reading his mind, a sly smile on her cracked and flaking lips.

  In contrast with her decrepit features, her voice was strong and vibrant, and she stood tall and straight. A sharp gleam in her eye further belied her venerability, leading Scourge to surmise that her appearance was intentional.

  There were a number of ways to stay young and beautiful; Nyriss could easily have afforded them had she wished to. Instead, she had chosen to let herself age prematurely. Either she didn’t care about the superficiality of physical attractiveness, or she chose to flaunt the ravishing effects of the dark side as a symbol of all she had learned and accomplished.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” he said with a slight bow, employing the gender-neutral honorific used to address Sith Lords of either sex. “There was an incident on my arrival that has left me a little off-balance.”

  “I’m well aware of what transpired in the courtyard,” Nyriss said, tilting her wizened head in the direction of the monitor. A still image of Scourge in the first few seconds after the battle was frozen on the screen, captured by one of the stronghold’s security cams. “You dealt with the assassins quite efficiently.”

  Scourge hesitated a split second before replying. He wanted to speak with Nyriss about his suspicions, but both Murtog and Sechel were in the room. Even if they hadn’t been, it was dangerous to throw out unfounded accusations implicating two of her highest-ranking followers without proof; they wouldn’t have been in their current positions if she didn’t have some level of trust in them.

  “I expect this will not be the last such incident,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

  “It appears you are wounded,” Nyriss remarked, noticing the scorch marks on the shoulder plating of his armor. “Do you need medical attention?”

  “It can wait. The injury is not serious, and the pain is irrelevant. I would rather
finish our business here.”

  Nyriss nodded in approval. “I would like to hear your analysis of the attack,” she continued. “Perhaps we can learn something of who was behind it.”

  “That would have been easier if Murtog’s troops had not killed the second assassin just as she was about to surrender,” he replied.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Murtog bristle, but the security chief remained silent.

  “You think Murtog made a mistake?” Nyriss pressed.

  “He was somewhat overzealous in his efforts to eliminate an immediate threat,” Scourge answered diplomatically.

  Sechel stifled a high-pitched giggle, and Nyriss shot him a stern glare.

  “Let’s continue this conversation in private,” she said, dismissing Murtog and Sechel with a wave of her hand.

  The two quickly bowed and turned to the door, which had already been opened by the Twi’lek slave, who closed the door behind them before retreating to her corner.

  “You have something you wish to tell me,” Nyriss said once they were gone. “Discretion and subtlety have their place, but now when you speak to me I expect total candor.”

  Scourge nodded.

  “Let me guess,” she continued. “You suspect my own people are behind these recent attempts on my life.”

  “No one is above suspicion,” Scourge admitted. “But I assume you have very thoroughly investigated everyone on your staff. If they were guilty, you probably would have discovered something by now.”

  “I’m glad to see you understand I am not completely incompetent.”

  “I do not believe the attack in the courtyard was another attempt on your life,” Scourge said. “I think the mercenaries were hired to eliminate me.”

  “And since Murtog sees you as a rival and potential threat, you naturally suspect he was behind it.”

  “Possibly. Or it may have been Sechel. Or both working in concert.”