A burst of loathing swelled in her chest as she made an indirect path toward the count. It was all she could do not to whip out her lightsaber and attack, then and there. But he had trained her, and her past defeats had proved that she alone could not bring him down. She thought of Karis and Naa’leth, and their first attempt to slay Dooku. Mother Talzin had assured Ventress that the two women were the finest warriors of the Nightsisters, and they had proven excellent. But even numbering three, and even with dark magicks that obscured them to Dooku’s vision, they had failed. A second time, Ventress, with Mother Talzin’s aid, had tried to kill the count. This time Ventress took the Nightbrother Zabrak named Savage Opress and trained him in a brutal manner, forcing the dark side upon him with Mother Talzin’s rituals and torturing him when he disappointed her in training. He was her thing, her creation, but when the time had come, Opress had turned against both Ventress and Dooku.
With Vos, it was different. He was with her willingly, as Karis and Naa’leth had been, and like Opress he had tasted the dark side and trained for the task. But he was his own man. He had been strong enough to pass all the tests she had given him. With that training—and with her lie about who had really killed Master Tholme fueling his hatred—together they were strong enough to defeat Count Dooku.
His words just now had saddened her, and of course he had not understood why. Indeed, he had never let her down. She had let him down with her lies. But once this was finally over with…
She drew closer. Dooku’s back was to her, and he was chatting away, his smooth voice hateful to her ears. Suddenly he stiffened. He looked about the room in a seemingly casual manner, but Ventress knew him, knew every one of his movements, and she realized he’d sensed her.
Good.
She took the final step and whispered in his ear, “Hello…Master.”
The count was silent for a moment. Ventress found herself utterly calm as they faced each other, looking to all the various dignitaries and power players as if nothing in the universe were amiss.
Dooku sighed. “It was an unfortunate decision to return, my dear. I will make sure to tie off this loose end this time.”
The same words she had said to Vos, or close enough; Ventress wondered if she had picked up the phrase from her old teacher. She made a tsk-tsk sound.
“My, my, that’s not very humanitarian of you, is it? Besides, you won’t kill me here, not so publicly.” She knew she was right, and that the words would only irritate him further.
His mellifluous voice was sharp as he snapped, “What is it that you want?”
“I’m done chasing you. I want a fair fight, nothing more. Tonight, meet me on the overlook. Let’s end it, one way or another.”
“End it I most certainly—ah, Governor, thank you for attending.”
“It is such an honor!” enthused the Aqualish, shaking Dooku’s hand vigorously. He was dressed in a crisp uniform weighed down by medals and epaulets, and his arachnidlike tusks were white and polished.
“The honor is all mine,” Dooku replied politely, then turned to greet the governor’s wife. Overcome with shyness, she ducked her bald head and averted her enormous black eyes. Ventress took the opportunity to melt back into the crowd. A conveniently large Falleen, who reminded Ventress strongly of the guards she’d fought at the Black Sun fortress, proved a good shield from Dooku’s sight. She watched her former Master closely as he finally extricated himself from his admirers long enough to remove a comlink and speak into it.
Ventress didn’t bother to hide her smile of victory as she glided out of the room.
—
“General?”
The voice belonged to Count Dooku. From his perch on an overhang, Vos muttered a triumphant, “Yes!”
Grievous’s unique, raspy voice replied, “Yes, my lord?” It hadn’t been difficult for Vos to determine where the center security hub was, and it had been even easier for him to eliminate the droid guards at either end of the hall.
“The betrayer Ventress is here. Meet me on the overlook.”
“Yes, Master!” Grievous replied instantly and, a second later, “Let’s move!”
The clones sometimes called enemy droids “clankers,” and Vos thought it a particularly apt term as Grievous and three battle droids clanked out of the security room.
Vos somersaulted down, drawing his lightsaber as he landed on his feet. He slashed at the door controls, sending sparks flying as he sealed the door shut. A blaster bolt whizzed past him; he sensed it coming and dodged, whirling to parry the next round of fire. He let the momentum carry him forward, slicing off the head of a battle droid. It issued a squeaking cry of surprise, firing harmlessly upward, then toppled to the floor.
Vos maneuvered so that Grievous was between him and the remaining two droids, who looked at each other, trying to decide if they could get off a clear shot without harming their commander. While they hesitated, Vos shot out his hand, fingers splayed hard. Even as Grievous reached for the two lightsabers at his waist, they flew into Vos’s grip.
“You won’t be needing these,” Vos said pleasantly.
Grievous, who had a deplorable lack of a sense of humor, bellowed and charged, as Vos had anticipated. Almost leisurely, Vos stepped to the side and sliced upward with his lightsaber, severing the general’s left hand at the wrist. The mechanical limb dropped to the floor, comlink still clutched in its metal fingers.
“Sorry,” Vos said, picking up the comlink and waggling it at the infuriated Grievous. “Need this, too. Can’t have you contacting the count, now, can we?”
Like an insect rearing up, Grievous spread all four arms wide, then charged. Vos met him halfway. The two clashed in midair. Grievous was the heavier, and his momentum carried them back toward the wall. Laughing sadistically, Grievous closed both right hands around Vos’s throat. He threw Vos hard, intending to slam him down into the unyielding stone of the walkway. Grievous’s mistake was in letting Vos out of his grasp, and Vos landed in an easy crouch.
Springing up, he turned. “I’d stay and kill you,” he told the cyborg, “but I’m short on time today.”
Realizing they had a clear shot, the battle droids opened fire with renewed enthusiasm. Vos batted away the screaming red bolts, giving Grievous a cheery wave as he slammed his hand into the controls of the last door. He slipped through just as it closed, and then ensured it would remain so by frying the controls on the opposite side.
He paused to enjoy the pleasant sound of Grievous bellowing and banging on the walls, and lingered long enough to hear one of the battle droids, obviously trying to open the door, say, “Uh-oh…”
The entire fight had lasted less than sixty seconds.
Mission one accomplished. Now…for Dooku.
—
Ventress leaned on the overlook’s stone railing, where earlier Dooku had given his effusively hypocritical acceptance speech. Night had fallen, but the sky was far from dark. Lavish fireworks cast illuminations of every hue imaginable, their booms echoing.
As the count had sensed her earlier, so Ventress sensed him now as he approached: a cold darkness, not inviting as the night was, but sinister and ugly. Not for the first time, Ventress wondered how it was that she had all but worshiped this man.
She continued to stare upward at the bursting fireworks, the night air stirring the long skirt of her dress and her pale, short hair.
“Care for a drink?” Surprised, she turned and saw that Dooku held two glasses. He extended one to her. “Alderaanian wine. An excellent vintage—and rather hard to come by these days.”
Ventress didn’t even dignify the offer with a response. Rare vintage or not, the sleemo had probably poisoned it, and even if he hadn’t, she would die before sharing a drink with him. She turned away again and he shrugged, sipping from the glass he had offered her and placing the second one on the railing.
“Such a pity, you and I,” he mused, looking up at the fireworks as he swirled the wine absently in one hand. “We had the enti
re galaxy before us. But it was just not meant to be, my failed apprentice.”
Ventress was done with condescending banter. She was more than ready to fight with her lightsaber, not her sharp tongue. “You destroyed my life,” she snarled. “My people!”
A little half smile parted his beard. “Even now, you display why you failed time and again. It was foolish for you to have come alone. I would never have made such a grave error.”
He clicked his comlink, smirking as he said, “General.”
Silence.
Yes. The readiness was tightly wound within Ventress, about to burst free into the most fiercely joyous fight of her life.
“General?” A worried note had crept into Dooku’s voice. Ventress smiled slowly, savoring it. Behind them came the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber humming to life.
Dooku whirled. Turning toward him, Ventress saw with a satisfaction as deep as space that the color had drained from his face.
“Looks like I learned something after all,” she drawled.
“A Jedi?”
Oh, this moment was truly to be relished. Ventress didn’t think she’d ever seen Dooku so nonplussed. Then, even more incredulously: “Vos?”
Vos gave a laconic shrug. “I’m a little surprised about it myself, Count.”
Dooku looked from him to Ventress and then, strangely it seemed to her, affected a look of utter unconcern. “You will never take me alive.” And then he actually sipped his wine.
Vos was still smiling. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, but Ventress’s heart soared to see it. She took a step away from the railing and brushed back her skirt with one hand, reaching for her lightsaber while Dooku’s attention was on her partner.
“We aren’t planning to,” Vos said, and he charged.
Dooku, still trying to comprehend the situation, was taken aback, but only for an instant. He found time to carefully set down his glass of Alderaanian wine while drawing his lightsaber. Ventress swung, but the count ducked.
He leapt between the two of them, kicking out at Vos while blocking Ventress’s strike with his crimson lightsaber, almost dancing between his two enemies so that they had to guard against injuring each other as they sought to slay him. Ventress cursed under her breath, executing a backflip while kicking off the ridiculous high heels. With the connection they had forged, Vos immediately picked up on her tactic, moving for a better position from which to press the attack.
As he did so, Dooku struck him. It was only a glancing blow across Vos’s left side, but he jerked, and in the blue light of the exploding fireworks Ventress saw his face contort first with pain, then harden into hatred.
Pain, she mused, makes us strong. And she knew much of pain.
Snarling, Ventress charged at Dooku, reveling in the strength of her muscles as she dealt strike after strike. Her old Master parried expertly, but she forced him back. He dodged to one side. Just as Ventress realized she had overextended, Dooku’s left hand clamped down on her right wrist and he brought up his own lightsaber. It was Ventress’s turn to seize his arm and hold the scarlet blade at bay. For an instant, the two, their faces only centimeters apart, stared into each other’s eyes in a mockery of lovers. Then Dooku heaved her up and sent her sprawling. Unable to catch herself in time, Ventress landed heavily with a grunt.
Enraged, Vos charged Dooku from behind. The Sith Lord whirled, catching Vos’s strike with his own weapon and twisting his wrist to parry. Vos countered with a feint that caused Dooku’s chest to be unguarded, and dived for the kill. Dooku twisted out of the lightsaber’s path, but for the first time since the fight began, Ventress saw awkwardness.
“You fight well for a Jedi, Vos,” Dooku said.
“I had a good teacher,” Vos retorted. He jerked his chin in Ventress’s direction as she got to her feet and began to circle Dooku. Even as he spoke the words, Ventress realized what a mistake it was.
“Ventress?” Dooku’s brows rose as he eyed her. “I…see.”
She adjusted her grip on her lightsaber. “Vos,” she warned, shouting over the explosions in the sky. “Focus! Remember what I told you!”
Ventress didn’t dare be more specific. The less Dooku knew, the better. Vos’s brown eyes narrowed, and with an incoherent cry, he charged. But the dynamic had shifted; Ventress could feel it. Dooku no longer appeared the least bit unsettled. He looked like a man who had drawn a winning card in a sabacc game. Ventress felt a chill that had nothing to do with the crisp night air or the light gown she wore.
He stood tall, imposing, and as Vos raced toward him, Dooku didn’t flinch. He lowered his sword and extended his hand. Vos rose in the air and then Dooku shoved, sending the Jedi slamming into one of the pillars. The count turned, almost nonchalantly performing the same maneuver with Ventress. The wind was knocked out of her and she couldn’t breathe. Stubbornly, using her hate the way she had told Vos to do, she summoned energy to push herself up to a kneeling position, still clutching her lightsaber.
Dooku’s lip curled in a manner that might have been a smile or a snarl. Abruptly Ventress found herself dangling in the air as he whirled her around behind him and then threw her down like a spoiled child discarding a disliked toy.
The pain was excruciating, but Ventress remained conscious long enough to see that Dooku wasn’t yet done. She could only watch helplessly as she slid, headfirst, into the unyielding stone of a meticulously carved bench. The world went white, and she knew nothing more.
Asajj!
Grief and fear flooded Vos. He wanted to rush to her, help her, but that would do nothing other than give Dooku a chance to kill him. In the space of half a heartbeat Vos recalled Ventress’s lesson with the Sleeper. It had been crushing his ribs, and primal fear had surged through him. He’d used that fear then—turned it to hatred, and slain the Sleeper with it. Now Vos again harnessed and directed his own terror at the thought of Ventress’s possible death.
His mind cleared, to be filled with one cold purpose: Kill Dooku.
Dooku smiled, as if pleased. “So,” he mused. “She has given you a taste of the dark side…and perhaps other things as well, I gather. Tell me Vos, how many Jedi vows have you broken to destroy me?”
Vos twitched as if stung. In Ventress’s company, it had been easy to think about what he had gained, not what he had given up—and would give up forever, if he were to remain with her.
For a heartbeat he stood frozen. Then, with a roar, he attacked. Never had his blows been as strong as now, when he was fueled with white-hot fury. His lightsaber was a blur as he struck. Dooku retreated under the assault, but to Vos it seemed as though the count didn’t have much trouble parrying the blows.
“He’s…manipulating you” came Ventress’s voice, weak but determined. “Don’t listen to him!”
She was alive! With renewed will, he struck again, but his green blade was caught by Dooku’s red one as Dooku countered and leaned in. Colors from the glowing lightsabers and the fireworks reaching a crescendo in the air above cast dancing, eerie light on the count’s face. They were so close that Vos could smell the floral scent of wine on Dooku’s breath.
“I can sense the dark side is already strong in you,” Dooku said. “Stronger than it ever was in Ventress!”
Vos, surprised, cast a quick glance at Ventress. She was on her feet now. Her short, fair hair was matted with blood, but she held her lightsaber firmly.
The count was lying, and Vos would have none of it. “You can’t deceive me, Sith!” He leapt over Dooku, landing on his feet behind this man, who was the only thing that stood between him and his future with Ventress. He lashed out with a blow that should have removed Dooku’s head, but the count dodged the lightsaber easily.
“Oh, no, Master Vos. I am not deceiving you. But Ventress is!”
Vos shook his head wildly, but the faintest tendril of doubt had already crept in. She had insisted he not progress further—why? Why wouldn’t she want to use every tool they had at their disposal to bring down Count Dooku?
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“She’s using you,” Dooku stated. He struck again, and Vos was forced to back up against the wall, parrying desperately. “She has not taught you your true potential. Not as I can!”
“Quinlan!”
The usage of his first name jolted Vos. Ventress rarely used it, nor did he often call her Asajj. He whirled away just in time to see her charging—
Grievous! How had the general—
Vos planted his boot in Dooku’s stomach, taking the count by surprise, then shifted his weight and kicked Grievous with his other leg. The cyborg tumbled, bellowing, over the railing. Too late, Vos realized that Grievous had a firm grip on Ventress’s arm. He watched, horrified, as the two fell together.
“Asajj!” he cried. Instinctively he moved toward the railing. At the same moment, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dooku bringing his lightsaber down.
If he’s killed her…
Vos reached for the final layer of darkness that had slumbered inside him until this moment. Ventress had warned against using it, but why? He needed it!
Fresh strength surged through Vos, an inferno of shadows fueled by the poison of his raw, unchecked emotions. He released it all. For a second, Dooku looked alarmed at the renewed attack. Vos dived and leapt, darted and struck—
—like a snake—
—leaping onto the railings and kicking Dooku square in the face with his boot. The count’s head snapped backward, and for one wild, glorious instant Vos thought had broken Dooku’s neck. But then Dooku rallied and pressed the attack. He was smiling broadly, his eyes gleaming with approval.
“Yes, use your anger! Surely Ventress told you that it is the only way you can defeat me!”
Ventress. A burst of fear filled Vos’s chest. He grabbed it and bent it to his will. His throat was raw from primal cries as he went after Dooku with everything he had.
And this time, Dooku went down.
He scuttled backward, still parrying blows from the ground, but the sight gladdened Vos’s heart. All he needed to do now was to get past the old man’s blade.
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