Dark Disciple

by Christie Golden

  Count Dooku smiled, and held out Tholme’s lightsaber.

  For a long moment, Vos simply stared at the weapon. Then, uttering a wordless cry, he launched himself at Dooku. The count did not appear to have been expecting this, and Vos was able to wrap his hands around the other man’s neck and squeeze, using the Force to increase the pressure. But even so, he was much weaker than the count, and Dooku broke the chokehold and sent Force lightning throughout Vos’s body.

  While Vos writhed on the floor, Dooku got to his feet and ordered the droids, “Take him back to the cell. But do not restrain him. And,” he added, handing one of them Tholme’s weapon, “take this with you.”

  The droids each took one of Vos’s arms and hauled him up. Panting, Vos lifted his head.

  “You can make me touch it,” Vos gasped, “but you can’t force me to read it!”

  “I know,” Dooku said mildly. “But you will, Vos. Eventually, you will.”

  Ventress felt a mingled stab of worry and nostalgia as Slave I landed at Serenno’s spaceport. Her most recent visits to this world had been her two failed assassination attempts. Now she couldn’t care less about Dooku. Her hatred and burning desire for revenge was easily put aside for something so much more important. Funny how one’s priorities could shift so completely in the most unexpected of ways.

  Her boots clanked on the metal of the ramp as she, Latts, Bossk, Highsinger, and Boba descended. Embo disembarked from his own saucer-shaped Guillotine, but not alone; his anooba Marrok, trotting down the ramp from his own private entrance, fell into step with his master. Ventress had worked with all of them but Embo. He was a Kyuzo, swift and agile. He had one of the more interesting tools she’d run across—a hat that did triple duty as accessory, shield, and weapon. C-21 Highsinger, as far as she knew, was that rare thing—a unique droid.

  The spires of Dooku’s fortress towered, catching the morning sunlight. They were beautiful, elegant, and refined. The place looked both too lyrical to be a prison where unspeakable torment was performed, and too beautiful to be the home of such a wretched creature as Dooku.

  We’re coming, Vos.

  Ventress pointed at it, her body as calm and poised as her thoughts and emotions were roiling. “There’s the palace.”

  “And you’re certain this Count Dooku won’t be there?” Latts pressed.

  Ventress gave the younger woman a scornful glance. Lying smoothly, she replied, “He has an entire war to manage. He’s got greater things to worry about and better places to be.”

  Fett gnawed his lower lip, gazing at the spires. “I don’t like it. What did your friend do to get himself imprisoned by a man like Dooku, anyway?”

  She’d known the question would be asked and replied with the simple truth. “Honestly? He tried to kill him.”

  Latts whistled. The bounty hunters, all with raised eyebrows, looked at one another. Clearly they were kicking themselves for not asking this question sooner.

  “Un-believable,” said Fett. “So this is why you agreed to pay us in advance!”

  Ventress planted her hands on her hips. “Look. The plan is simple. You’re running a distraction. That’s it. I’ll do the hard part and break into the prison. Just hold the guards’ attention. Think you can manage that?”

  Boba bristled. “Easily,” Bossk said. “They’re most likely just droids.”

  “Dlaaa beerrkkkk,” protested Highsinger.

  Bossk ducked his scaly green head. “Sorry, pal, no offense.”

  “Hurrkkk!” Highsinger was obviously not entirely mollified.

  “Try to make it look like you’re stealing a starship,” Ventress said. “We don’t want to tip our hand that this is a rescue attempt.”

  Latts laughed. “Why stop at the ‘look like’ part? Let’s just steal the thing!”

  “Yep. Bonus!” Bossk agreed.

  At Ventress’s expression, Fett laughed out loud. “Don’t forget, you asked for our help.”

  “I’m having second thoughts,” she murmured as they set off for the palace.

  Ventress had lived here long enough to know how Dooku liked things to run. She remembered exactly where and at what time supplies were delivered to the palace. Tucked away out of sight behind the opulence of the palace’s imposing entrance was a delivery area where encroaching trees had been cleared away so that shuttles could land. It would be easy to ambush the droids tasked with off-loading the supplies; the trees not far from the landing area offered plenty of cover. It was so obvious that, for a brief moment, Ventress wondered why an attack such as the one they were planning had not been attempted before; then she realized that any sane person would balk at simply walking up to Dooku’s battle-droid-protected palace, rear entry though it might be.

  She checked her chrono. “Any minute now,” she told her companions.

  “How many shuttles will there be?” asked Latts.

  Ventress shrugged her thin shoulders. “It depends on the size of the delivery. There’s room for anywhere from one to five to land in this area.”

  “Great,” muttered Latts.

  “Quiet,” Fett said. They waited. Within five minutes, they could all hear the sound of approaching ships. Ventress listened closely—more than one, certainly. Perhaps three? Not as bad as it could be, but it would certainly present Fett’s team with a challenge.

  They waited for the signal from Boba. The young bounty hunter leaned against a tree trunk, his face hidden by his helmet. One of the shuttles settled down, followed by two others. Boba slowly raised his hand, and when the first shuttle extended a ramp and two battle droids trundled out carrying a large box between them, Boba gave the signal for his team to move forward.

  Carefully, quietly, they each took their position. Ventress had never felt more alive. Her body was calm, under her absolute control, and her focus was laser-sharp. The killing machine she could become when needed was fueled now by the heat of her anger toward Dooku—and another warm emotion she was too afraid to name.

  She would get Vos out. She refused to even consider any other outcome.

  A disk-shaped metal object came out of nowhere and clipped one of the battle droids in the head. It stumbled and fell, its head smashed beyond repair.

  “Hey!” its partner objected, turning to see who had thrown the projectile. The droid was cleanly decapitated by the disk as it circled back toward its owner, and its head toppled off its shoulders.

  Embo extended a hand and snatched his flat, broad-brimmed hat. “Nesta nesta balotelli,” he said smugly.

  Latts Razzi had positioned herself near the second ship. As the droids emerged, she cracked her grappling boa. In her expert hands, the boa coiled around a hapless, squeaking droid like the snake for which it was named. In a series of moves that looked more like a dance than a fight, Latts snared one, whipped it around her, and deposited it at the feet of Highsinger. The bounty hunter cheerfully crushed the enemy droid beneath his metal feet.

  The air was filled with multicolored bolts. Fett took out a pair of other droids while Bossk scrambled atop one of the shuttles. He fired a repeating blaster, laughing gleefully as he mowed down battle droids and finally targeted one of the shuttles. It exploded in a very satisfactory manner, leaping flames and oily tendrils of black smoke climbing into the air.

  Even the battle droids would notice that, Ventress thought, and sure enough, at least a dozen of them scurried out of the entrance to the palace’s lower levels.

  “It’s clear,” Ventress called to Fett. “I’m going in.”

  “We’ll hold the droids here,” Fett shouted back. “But you’ve only got fifteen minutes, understand?”

  “I’ll be quick,” Ventress said. She sprinted for the open doors.

  “Fifteen minutes!” Fett yelled after her.

  —

  Silently, swiftly, Ventress hastened through the dimly lit hallways. Here, deep inside the well-fortified heart of Dooku’s palace, was where the count kept his prisoners. She remembered precisely where the cells wer
e—and what went on inside them. There had been a time when she herself had participated in “interrogations” that were, in the end, merely an excuse to inflict pain. No one was ever released, whether or not they provided useful information. She could only hope that Vos was still alive.

  The sound of metallic feet marching reached her ears. Ventress leapt straight up. Using the shadows in the corners as cover, she found hand- and footholds, and waited. Six armed droids hurried through the corridor, doubtless alerted to the ruckus outside.

  Ventress dropped directly on top of one, ripped off its head, and flung it at one of its companions. Deftly she executed a handspring and came up kicking out with both feet, using the Force to empower the strike. The droids slammed into the walls and collapsed like puppets with their strings cut.

  Activating her lightsaber—no, Vos’s lightsaber—Ventress turned to the remaining three. One had recovered enough to fire at her, but she batted back the bolts as if she were swatting an annoying insect. In one smooth motion, she sprang, sliced, and three heads went rolling.

  Ventress dropped to a crouch, listened, and moved on.

  Turning left at the next corridor junction, she raced down the long hall. At the end was a huge metal door, flanked by controls. This was the entry to the cell area. Ventress paused for a heartbeat to steady herself, then pushed the button.

  The door slid open just as two droids turned the corner to enter the hallway.

  “Hey!” said one of them. “You’re not supposed—”

  Ventress nocked one arrow, let it fly, and loosed a second. The droids didn’t even have a chance to open fire.

  She pressed on. Two more droids approached, carrying battle staves. Ventress didn’t even slow her pace, running straight toward them as they charged at her, brandishing and whirling their staves. At the last moment she veered, ran up the wall, flipped in midair, and seized one of the staves. For a moment, Ventress balanced atop it with one hand, sizing up the droid’s positions. Then she dropped with precise control, flipping so she held the weapon in both hands.

  The droid that was still armed began to attack. With a single quick motion, Ventress sent its stave flying and slammed her own first into one droid, then the other. Pieces of them clanged to the ground. Ventress dropped the weapon and entered the cell section.

  The cells were all empty. Dooku must have finished with the prisoners she remembered and not replenished his stock. Except for Vos. She ran down the hallways, glancing left and right into each cell, rounding the corner—

  He knelt, his back to her. His back was bowed and his body shook, as if with sobs.

  “Vos!” Ventress cried brokenly, slamming the controls with her palm and deactivating the force field.

  He froze, but didn’t turn around. A lump rose in her throat. Slowly, Ventress stepped forward, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “It’s me, Vos. I came back for—”

  Still without turning, Vos lifted a hand and clenched his fist. Ventress shot into the air. Invisible fingers strangled her. Blood pounded in her ears as she clawed futilely at her throat, struggling to force words out.

  “Quinlan…no…”

  “You,” he said, “are a liar…and a murderer.”

  Ventress had feared for his life, but now a fresh terror surged through her. Vos knew the truth—Dooku had revealed it to him. She had vowed to tell him herself, when this was all over, but for Vos to have heard it from Dooku—

  “Quinlan,” Ventress rasped. Her vision was starting to go dark around the edges. “Listen…to me…”

  “Shut. Up.” Now Vos rose, his back still toward her. Every line of his body was taut with tension. “I am done with listening to your lies!”

  “I warned…about this!” A moment longer, and she would black out. If he didn’t crush her windpipe first. Ventress struggled to get the words out while she still could. “You need to…tap into the darkness but not…let it consume you!”

  “Like you let it consume you when you killed my Master?”

  Vos flung her away from him, hard. She slammed into the stone floor and slid, coughing and gasping for breath. As quickly as she could, Ventress got to her feet—and her heart shattered inside her chest.

  Vos’s eyes were no longer a warm, rich brown. They were a blood-rimmed shade of yellow.

  “I trusted you.” His voice shook as he raged. “I believed you. And everything you said—everything you promised me, everything I thought I meant to you and believed we could have together—it was all a lie!”

  “No!” The word was almost a sob. “I—”

  Vos extended a hand. Across his palm lay a lightsaber hilt.

  Ventress recognized it. Despair and horror filled her as she realized what it meant, both for herself, and for him. Vos now knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Ventress had coldly executed his Master. But Dooku hadn’t told him. The count, in the depths of his cruelty, had made Vos find it out for himself.

  Vos had told her how his psychometry affected him. He received input from sight, sound—and emotions. The Order did not approve of Jedi using such a skill to handle weapons of violence, as the wielder’s feelings could be sensed—and those emotions could lay a Jedi bare to the power of the dark side.

  “Oh, Quinlan,” she said, brokenly, aching with compassion.

  “Don’t you dare lie to me now, Asajj Ventress,” Vos snarled. She looked up at his Sith-yellow eyes again, and this time she saw tears on his cheek. Impulsively, she reached out to him, stepping forward.

  With a snap-hiss, Tholme’s lightsaber sprang to life, and Vos charged.

  Ventress was barely able to activate her own lightsaber and bring it up in time to prevent him from slicing her head off. Faster than she had ever seen him move before, even when she had pressed him on Dathomir, Vos twisted, and her blade slid off his. He rained blow after blow, his teeth bared in a snarl, forcing Ventress back down the corridor.

  Vos had been a Jedi Master, and while she had defeated such before, the battle was never easily won. Now those skills were augmented by a dark side that had greedily feasted on his pain and rage. It seemed to her that his blows were effortless, and he did not tire.

  Ventress had to reach him, somehow. Vos was drunk with this new power, unfettered, as she was, by the thought of striking a lethal blow. While she was only attempting to either knock him out or seize his lightsaber, he wanted her dead.

  “You used me!” he shrieked. Left, right, left he struck, and she parried, feeling the jarring up her arm. Their blades sizzled, the two green blades striking sparks off each other.

  “You came to me!” Ventress reminded him. “You asked for my help! The Council—”

  Vos bellowed, springing back and shoving hard with his left hand. Ventress was hurled backward, slamming into the unforgiving stone wall.

  “They all warned me you were out for yourself. And you were. You didn’t care about me at all!”

  Her head was ringing, but Ventress got to her feet. She leapt toward Vos, landing behind him and kicking at the back of his knee. He hadn’t been expecting it and stumbled. She seized the arm that held the lightsaber and yanked it back, trying to force him to drop it.

  “If that were true,” Ventress said, pleading, “if I didn’t care, then why am I here? Why did I risk my life to come back for you?”

  For a moment a faint shadow of doubt flickered across his features, and he ceased struggling. Then his face grew hard. “Because you needed me. You hated Dooku, and when I came along, you took advantage of it. You couldn’t do it alone, but with me, you might have managed to kill your hated Master. I was never anything to you but a means to an end.”

  The bitterness in his voice stabbed like a dagger. Her own eyes stung with tears. And in that moment, Ventress hated the dark side for what it—and Dooku’s torture—had done to this man.

  “Vos, you were everything! This is the pain and the dark side speaking! This isn’t who you are!”

  With a roar, Vos lunged forward, hurling Ventress over
his head. He wrenched his arm free and whipped his lightsaber around. The tip grazed Ventress’s midsection as she tried to roll away, and she cried out in pain.

  “It is who I am! It’s who I want to be! You gave me this cup, Ventress. You made me drink from it.”

  It was the truth. She had pushed him, in the caverns. She had forced him to kill the Sleeper in cold blood. And it seemed he had learned that lesson all too well.

  “But you can control it! You’re strong, Vos, stronger than it is! Don’t let it win. Let’s leave everything—Dooku, the Jedi, everything. We can go away together, just like we planned. Just you and me!”

  “Run away with someone who lied to me?” The words were harsh, but Vos wasn’t fighting, wasn’t charging her. Even so, he held his lightsaber ready as he asked, “Why did you do it?”

  Hope, nearly burned to ashes, surged within her at the anguish in his tone. For this moment, there was more pain than rage in him. And the pain might just listen to her.

  Slowly, Ventress lowered her weapon. She was ready to defend herself, but Vos didn’t move to attack. She licked her lips, took a deep breath, and spoke.

  “I did lie to you. And I lied to you because I was afraid.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’ve never been afraid of anything, Asajj Ventress.”

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong. I was terrified.”

  “Of what?” Vos scoffed.

  “Of losing you.” She let the words hang there for a moment, and when Vos still appeared to be listening, she continued. “I’ve been lying for so long. It’s second nature to me. We learned to trust each other, but what I felt…I was so scared. I was afraid to tell you about Tholme because I thought you’d hate me. I’d only just learned how to trust and care about someone again, and I…I couldn’t bear the thought that if you really knew me, knew what I had done, you’d despise me.”

  Her voice broke. Vos’s body posture eased. His eyes were glued to her face. “You should have trusted me,” he said softly.

  Ventress nodded. “You’re right. I should have. And even if you had left me, I’d have done the right thing. But I was too afraid. I was wrong. I am so very, very sorry.”