But suddenly he had only those two to deal with as Xedrix backed away. He seemed to be more obsessed with preserving his own life than killing his enemy—a weakness that left him content to let his two underlings face this unknown foe while he stayed at a safe distance.
The two apprentices launched themselves at Scourge, unleashing their rage as they drew on the power of the dark side, unaware that their anger was feeding their opponent, as well.
The female came in high, her lightsaber slashing at Scourge’s head. At the same time the human male came in low, looking to chop at his enemy’s legs.
Scourge ducked under the woman’s blows, spinning to the side as he parried the lightsaber at his knees. The pair came at him again, once more coordinating their attacks, this time trying to flank him on either side. Scourge lunged forward, splitting the attack by diving into a forward roll that took him between his two opponents.
For an instant he was vulnerable; one quick cut from either foe could have ended his life. But they were inexperienced, and they hadn’t expected him to move toward them. By the time the woman reacted with a backhand swipe of her weapon, the moment had been lost. The lightsaber hummed by his cheek as he tumbled between them, but he emerged unscathed.
The man was slower to react. By the time Scourge was back on his feet, the acolyte was only just starting to turn around. The Sith Lord delivered a quick kick to the back of the man’s knee; the man pin-wheeled his arms as he fought to regain his balance.
Scourge saw the opening and delivered what would have been a lethal blow had the woman not thrown herself between them and parried the blow. Her move was reckless and foolhardy, but Scourge hadn’t been expecting it, and her impulsive reaction saved her companion. It also exposed her weakness.
The female was the more dangerous opponent, but she obviously cared for her partner. She was willing to put herself in harm’s way to defend him—a flaw Scourge could easily exploit.
He abruptly changed tactics, shifting from the conventional defensive positions of the Soresu form to the acrobatic attack sequences of Ataru. Taking two quick steps to gain speed, Scourge leapt at the nearby cavern wall, planted both feet on its vertical surface, then pushed off hard to launch himself in a spinning flip over the man’s head.
His opponent tried to turn and pivot to keep Scourge in front of him, but the furious burst of action was too fast for his lightsaber to track. He was late bringing his blade up to protect his head, once again exposing himself to a lethal strike.
This time when the woman moved in to protect her partner, Scourge was ready. He had purposefully directed his leap so that he came in at a sharper angle than necessary, leaving barely enough room for the female to come between him and his supposed target. When Scourge suddenly redirected his blade mid-leap to strike at her instead, she instinctively stepped back to absorb the impact with her own weapon. But with her partner crowded directly behind her, there was no room. Their bodies collided and their feet tangled together, sending both of them crashing awkwardly to the ground.
Scourge landed beside their prone forms. He brought his heavy boot crashing down on his fallen foe’s face, relishing the wet crunch of cartilage and bone beneath his heel. Her body spasmed, the muscles locked in the seizures of her death throes.
The man had scrambled to his feet, but instead of throwing himself at Scourge, he only stared at the woman’s twitching corpse. Scourge could taste his horror and fear; they gave him a fresh burst of energy. He lashed out with the Force, striking the man in the chest hard enough to send him stumbling back several steps into the cavern wall.
The man struck the rough-hewn rock hard enough to knock the lightsaber from his hand, leaving him unarmed. With a casual flick of his wrist, Scourge sent his own lightsaber spiraling toward his defenseless foe. At the last second, the man threw up his hands in a vain effort to protect himself, but the glowing blade easily sliced through his palms and throat before ricocheting back to Scourge’s waiting grasp.
As the human’s corpse crumpled to the ground, Scourge was already turning to face his last remaining foe. Darth Xedrix was standing motionless in the center of the cavern, watching the action with a cool, detached reserve. His lightsaber was still drawn, but he held it casually at his side, the blade pointed toward the floor.
“I know you,” he said, his voice echoing off the chamber’s stone walls. “Nyriss’s new pet. Lord Scourge.” He wrinkled his features in distaste. “Why do you purebloods always choose such ludicrous names for yourselves? Do you think it’s intimidating?”
Scourge didn’t reply. Instead he raised his blade and began a slow, cautious advance.
Xedrix laughed. “Are you really that stupid, Scourge? Has Nyriss actually convinced you that you have the strength to stand against a member of the Dark Council? Has she promised you riches and power if you defeat me?”
“She didn’t need to promise me anything,” Scourge answered. “You are a traitor to the Empire. It is my honor and duty to kill you.”
“Ah, now I understand,” Xedrix said with a smile, twirling his lightsaber at his side. “She played on your loyalty to our glorious Emperor. How quaint.”
Scourge stopped, suddenly aware that he didn’t feel any fear emanating from his foe. There was no anger, either. He didn’t get any sense of emotion coming from Darth Xedrix at all, and he realized the old man was consciously shielding himself from Scourge’s awareness.
Scourge concentrated his focus, reaching out with the Force to pierce the veil Xedrix had wrapped around himself, only to find nothing but a swirling maelstrom of dark side energy.
Scourge broke into a run, charging at his enemy the instant he understood the nature of the trap. Xedrix had kept him talking while he gathered his power for a single, lethal attack.
Xedrix raised his left hand and unleashed his power in a storm of purple lightning. Scourge instinctively used the Force to throw up an invisible barrier to shield himself. The bolts arced through the air, ripping through the shield to engulf Scourge in electric agony.
He screamed, his voice rising above the hiss and crackle of the fiery energy coursing through his veins. Every nerve in his body exploded in excruciating pain as the lightning seared his flesh, cooking him in his own armor. He fell to the floor, curled into himself, his skin blistered and burned. The whole thing had taken only a few seconds.
“You didn’t realize Nyriss sent you here to die, did you?” Xedrix mocked. “She never expected you to kill me. You were nothing but a message, a warning.”
Ignoring the terrible pain, Scourge somehow forced himself to his feet. Xedrix raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.
“Is that what you call the attempts on her life?” Scourge gasped. “A warning?”
Xedrix laughed again. “You think I’m the one who hired those inept assassins? Nyriss has you twisted in knots. She’s using you for a game far beyond anything you can imagine.”
Scourge shook his head, trying as much to shake off the residual effects of the lightning as to deny Xedrix’s words.
“You feel your strength returning, do you?” Xedrix observed. “Think carefully before you challenge me again. I might not let you live next time.”
“Why did you let me live?” Scourge wanted to know.
“You have potential,” Xedrix said. “And thanks to you, I have need of some new apprentices. I could find a use for someone with your talents.”
“You want me to betray Nyriss?”
“What do you owe her?” Xedrix demanded. “She used you. She sent you here to die just to make a point.”
Scourge didn’t answer. Instead, he was thinking back on everything that had happened since he’d first entered Nyriss’s service. Nyriss had admitted to hiring the mercenaries to test him, but even after that, he’d still suspected Sechel of plotting to kill him. Had the conniving adviser merely been following Nyriss’s orders all along?
“Nyriss betrayed you. Swear loyalty to me and I promise you the chance for revenge.”
Everything Xedrix said made perfect sense, but on some deep, primal level Scourge felt he was being twisted and manipulated. The old human’s words seemed to slither into the cracks and crevices of Scourge’s mind, burrowing into his thoughts.
No! his mind screamed in silent protest. It’s a trick!
But was it? Nyriss had convinced him he could kill Darth Xedrix, but a single burst of dark side lightning had nearly killed him instead. The only reason he was still alive was because Darth Xedrix was toying with him.
What if he’s not toying with me? Scourge suddenly wondered. What if he tried to kill me but failed?
Nyriss had said that Xedrix was old and frail. She’d claimed the Force had ravaged his body; she’d said he only held on to his power through reputation and cunning. What if he was relying on those same tools right now?
Scourge reached out with the Force again, trying once more to catch a glimpse beneath Xedrix’s veil. To his surprise he sensed something this time. Fear. Desperation. And almost no trace of the dark side burning inside his enemy.
All the pieces clicked into place. Nyriss was right: Xedrix was a shell of what he had once been. The entire time Scourge had been battling the two apprentices, Xedrix had been gathering his strength for a single surprise attack. When his apprentices fell, he’d stalled for even more time by taunting Scourge. And he still hadn’t been able to gather enough power to kill his enemy.
The blast of lightning had taken everything the old man had in reserve. In Xedrix the flame of the dark side had become the faintest flicker. When he saw that Scourge had survived, he’d realized his only chance of survival was to trick him into switching sides. He’d tried to use the faint echo of the Force to dominate Scourge’s mind, augmenting it with persuasive words in a form of temporary hypnosis. But he lacked the strength even for that desperate gambit.
The brilliant bluff had almost worked.
“Your words are hollow, Xedrix. Just like your power.”
Scourge marched forward with grim determination. Xedrix brought his lightsaber up, but Scourge used his own blade to slap it aside with ease. The strength of the blow sent the weapon tumbling from the old man’s frail grasp, the blade extinguishing as the hilt clattered onto the stone at their feet.
Xedrix staggered backward. He no longer pretended power: he looked desperate and afraid. “Please, Lord Scourge, I’ll give you anything you want. Slaves. Wealth. Power.”
“Power?” Scourge snorted in contempt. “You can’t give what isn’t yours.”
He slashed his blade diagonally across Xedrix’s chest, slicing him from shoulder to hip.
The old man gasped once before falling over backward, his eyes frozen wide in horror, seeming to stare up at the stalactites growing from the cavern ceiling.
Knowing that Nyriss would want proof of his death, Scourge reached down and grasped a fistful of the old man’s hair with his free hand. Then he slowly drew his lightsaber across the Dark Councilor’s throat, the glowing blade cauterizing the wound as he neatly severed the head.
He left the rest of the body—along with the corpses of the two apprentices—in the cave as he trudged back up the passage leading to the surface. As he walked, he couldn’t help dwelling on Xedrix’s warnings about Nyriss.
Much of what the old man had said to him had been lies, but the best lies were always built on layers of truth. It was entirely possible that she was using him. At the very least, he could assume she was keeping secrets from him.
Confronting her directly would be a waste of time. Fortunately, there were other ways to get information.
Despite the possible consequences, Scourge decided it was finally time for his private talk with Sechel.
CHAPTER 11
REVAN SHIVERED IN THE COLD. Beside him, Malak said something, but the fierce wind whipping across the plateau devoured his words.
“What?” Revan shouted.
“Are you sure it’s here?” Malak called back.
“It’s here,” Revan said with a nod. “I can feel it.”
“Maybe it’s on the other side.”
Revan glanced over at the other peak rising up beside them, barely visible through the swirling snow. It was nearly identical to the one they were on—a tall, narrow column of wind-carved ice and snow rising up several kilometers from Rekkiad’s surface, its peak worn to a smooth, flat plain of ice.
“It’s this one,” Revan answered confidently. “The entrance is around here somewhere.”
The two figures moved slowly back and forth across the exposed plateau, searching with the Force as much as with their eyes.
“Here!” Malak shouted. “I found it!”
Revan woke from the dream with a start, his mind groggy as he tried to get his bearings.
It was cool in the thermal tent he and Canderous shared. The insulated lining kept out the worst of the weather, but the nighttime temperatures were still low enough that Revan felt a chill through two layers of clothes and his sleeping bag.
As his eyes adjusted to the soft glow of the small heater in the center of the tent, he was able to make out more details of his surroundings. Canderous was still asleep beside him, wrapped tightly in his sleeping bag and snoring loudly.
Revan’s mind began to reassemble the bits and pieces from the previous night.
He’d hoped Canderous would offer more details about his marriage to Veela after she’d stormed out of the supply shack, but he’d stayed silent on the subject. Despite his curiosity, Revan hadn’t pressed him.
Instead they’d spent the rest of the night celebrating the big man’s return to his people. Edric and the others offered up countless tales of Canderous’s youth. His many battles and victories against overwhelming odds were the stuff of legend among Clan Ordo.
They’d also offered up plenty of kri’gee, a bitter Mandalorian ale. Not wanting to be resented as an outsider, Revan had matched the other revelers drink for drink. The vile beverage packed plenty of kick; he hadn’t had a hangover this bad since his wedding night. His head was spinning, his eyes were blurred, and his mouth tasted like he’d been chewing on bantha fur. He’d still be sleeping it off if not for the dream.
No, not a dream. Another memory bubbling to the surface.
He and Malak had been searching for something here on Rekkiad. Something that was somehow connected to Mandalore’s Mask. He didn’t know what it was, but with a little help he might be able to use the details of his dream to figure out where they had been looking.
He peeled back the sleeping bag and immediately felt goose bumps prickling up on the flesh beneath his long-sleeved shirt. Ignoring the cold, he picked his way through the semi-darkness until he found his personal holocomm lying under a pile of clothes in one corner of the tent.
Scooting back into the warmth of his sleeping bag, Revan activated the device. “Tee-Three, can you read me?”
A tiny holographic image of the droid materialized in front of him, beeping with concern.
“Everything’s fine,” Revan reassured in a whisper. “Just try to keep it down. Canderous is still asleep.”
The astromech’s response was an excited whistle, though the volume was slightly lower than before.
“See? I knew you’d be able to put the Hawk back together without my help.”
T3 beeped indignantly.
“Yeah, that snow gets everywhere. But it’ll melt. Besides, you can worry about that later. I need you to do something for me. Start scanning the topography maps for two massive columns of ice standing close together. Two or three kilometers high, at least. When you find them, send me the coordinates.”
There were roughly thirty seconds of silence on the other end before T3 chirped a reply.
“Great work, Tee-Three. Remember, keep an eye on the ship. I’ll call you if we need anything else.”
Revan turned off the holocomm, knowing the easy part was over. T3 might have been slightly annoyed with him, but dealing with the droid was going to be a whole lot easier th
an getting the snoring giant beside him up and moving.
“Wake up,” he said, reaching across the heater to shake Canderous out of his slumber. “We need to talk.”
Canderous grumbled something profane in Mando’a at him and rolled over onto his other side.
“It’s important,” Revan said, shaking him even harder. “You have to get Veela to move the camp.”
“Huh? What? What about Veela?” Canderous mumbled, opening one eye.
“You have to get her to move the camp.”
The eye closed again. “That’s her call, not mine. She’s the clan chief.”
“I think they’re looking for Mandalore’s Mask in the wrong place.”
Both eyes snapped open, and Canderous levered himself up to a sitting position. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”
——
“EVERYBODY’S HERE,” Veela declared. “Say what you have to say.”
Revan’s head was still pounding from the kri’gee, and in the close quarters of the supply shed her voice was loud enough to make him wince.
Including Canderous and Revan, a total of eight had gathered for the impromptu council. Veela had called them together at Canderous’s insistence—three men and two women. Edric was there, and Revan recognized most of the others from the night before, though he couldn’t recall their names.
“We have to move the camp,” Canderous told them.
As when they first arrived, Revan and Canderous had decided to let Canderous do most of the talking. It would be easier to convince the Mandalorians if they heard the idea from one of their own—provided Veela was willing to listen to anything her husband had to say.
“Move the camp?” she asked incredulously. “You think it’s so easy to just pick up and go?”
“It took our scouts weeks to find this location,” one of the other women chimed in.
“This is a good spot,” Edric agreed. “We’re sheltered from the worst of the wind and snow. The mountain protects us from getting flanked, and the only way in is right past our sentries.”
“Give me one good reason we should move,” Veela demanded.
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