Dynasty of Evil

by Drew Karpyshyn

  “There should be hidden landing ports for the prison about halfway up the column,” Set assured her. “They’ll probably look like small caves. Easy to miss.”

  The Victory was less than a hundred meters from the pillar when Zannah angled its nose sharply upward. The ship reacted instantly, arching into a steep ascent, the g-forces pinning the two passengers back in their seats. The shuttle steadied in a perfectly vertical climb less than ten meters from the rock wall, running parallel to its contours as Zannah looked for a place to land.

  It was too dark for a visual, but the ship’s sensors provided her with a digital topography of the pillar’s surface racing beneath the hull. What from a distance had looked smooth and sheer was, in fact, rough and irregular. Wind and erosion had sculpted grooves and channels in the rock, and the face was pockmarked with thousands of small, irregularly shaped openings. Most were nooks or fissures that went less than ten meters deep. Others were actual tunnels that extended deeper into the rock. Only a handful were large enough to accommodate a shuttle, however.

  “Hold on,” Zannah warned an instant before pulling hard back on the stick.

  The Victory peeled away from the column into a backward loop. At the same time Zannah sent them into a half-barrel roll so that they finished right-side up, with the nose of the vessel pointed toward the opening she’d chosen. The landing thrusters fired at full force as the shuttle’s momentum sent them rocketing into the mouth of the cavern, braking hard before settling into a perfect three-point landing.

  Set didn’t say anything, but Zannah saw him raise a brow in appreciation. She could have chosen a less dramatic maneuver to reach her destination, but she knew her would-be apprentice preferred doing things with a certain stylistic flair. Impressing him with her piloting skills was just one more small way to secure his respect and loyalty.

  Through the cockpit window Zannah could see only darkness. She flicked on the Victory’s external lights, illuminating the cavern. The rock walls surrounding them were sharp and jagged, but the floor was smooth and even. A single passage led off to one side, the tunnel too perfectly straight to have been shaped by nature.

  “There are probably about a dozen other landing bays like this one,” Set informed her as they exited the shuttle. “Each one with a passage leading into the lower levels of the complex.”

  “It’s too bad you weren’t able to find any holomaps of the layout,” she commented, not wanting him to get too cocky.

  “Maybe we should split up,” Set suggested. “With two of us searching we’ll have a better chance of finding him.”

  “I’m going in alone,” Zannah informed him. “You’re going to stay here and guard the ship.”

  “Guard the ship? From whom?”

  “Whoever took Bane might have someone patrolling the entrances. If they find our ship undefended they can disable it, cutting off our only method of escape.”

  “Fine,” Set replied curtly after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll sit here and watch the shuttle like your personal Cyborrean battle dog.”

  “I assume you’ll be able to handle anyone who stumbles across this landing bay without too much trouble.”

  “Everyone except your Master,” he assured her.

  Even I’m not sure I can handle him.

  Satisfied with Set’s answer, Zannah cracked a glow stick. Guided by its pale illumination, she made her way down the tunnel and into the Stone Prison.

  Set watched his new Master’s back, following her progress until she turned around a corner and disappeared, leaving him alone in the small landing bay.

  He leaned casually against the Victory’s hull, thinking back on their arrival. He considered himself a pretty good pilot, but he would never have attempted a move like the backward barrel roll Zannah had used to bring them in to land. He knew she was just showing off for his benefit. Still, it had been impressive.

  After a few minutes he began to pace restlessly back and forth, kicking at small stones in the dirt. Set didn’t like taking orders, and he didn’t like sitting around doing nothing.

  Don’t do anything stupid now. She was talking earlier about how important patience is. This is probably another test.

  Obba, his Master before he had left the Jedi, had often encouraged his students to meditate when they had no other tasks or duties. He claimed it centered the mind and spirit. But Set had never been a fan of meditation. He preferred to be doing something—anything—to sitting around in a trance lost inside his own thoughts.

  He squatted down and rummaged around on the ground until he had collected five fist-sized stones. He brushed the dust off as best he could, inspecting them for sharp edges that might cut his palms or fingers. Then, satisfied with his finds, he began to juggle, hoping it would help pass the time.

  He started with simple tosses, getting a feel for the weight and balance of each stone. Then he shifted into a cascade, the rocks dancing in a circular, looping pattern as they leapt from hand to hand. Next he added in catches behind his back, alternating every other toss front-to-back without ever breaking his rhythm.

  Peering around the cavern, he spotted another suitably sized rock on the floor a few meters away. Still juggling, he moved toward it with shuffling steps until he was close enough to slip the toe of his boot under the stone’s edge. A quick flick of the foot sent it high into the air, where it joined the others in his pattern.

  He repeated this trick several more times, moving around the cavern in search of more rocks, adding both numbers and complexity to the trick until, upon reaching ten objects being juggled simultaneously, he let them all drop to the ground in disgust.

  You didn’t come here to play games.

  Zannah had been gone less than ten minutes, and already he was unbearably bored.

  She could be gone for hours. You’re not going to make it.

  Closing his eyes to help him focus, Set reached out with the Force, probing the area around him. At first he didn’t feel anything; Zannah had disappeared deep into the complex.

  Concentrating intently, he pushed his awareness out even farther. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow, but after nearly a minute he began to detect faint signs of life. All living beings were attuned to the Force on some level, and the Jedi had trained him to sense their presence through it. Ordinary people were barely noticeable, as easy to miss as a dim light on a sunny afternoon. Those with power—men and women like Zannah or other Jedi—burned with a much greater intensity.

  To his surprise, Set felt several strong, distinct flares as he extended his awareness out. He had expected to sense Zannah and her Master, but they were not alone. It was difficult to say exactly how many others there were, or their precise location; sensing others through the Force was a rather inexact science. But they were definitely there.

  And they’re not Jedi.

  Those who served the light side had a certain unmistakable aura about them … as did those who called upon the dark side.

  Maybe Bane’s already found himself another apprentice. Zannah could be in for a little surprise.

  In normal circumstances Zannah would have certainly felt the other presences just as he had, but Set knew she was focused on one thing—finding Bane. With her mind concentrating so intently on pinpointing the exact location of her Master, it was possible she might not notice anyone else. Not until she was virtually right on top of them.

  Set hesitated, uncertain what he should do. Did Zannah need his help? If she did, would he bother?

  If you want to bail, this is your best chance. Just jump into that shuttle and fly on out of here.

  If he left and Zannah died, it was unlikely anyone else would ever know he had been here. He wouldn’t have to worry about her Master coming after him; he could pretend none of this had ever happened. If Zannah survived, however, he had no doubt that she’d come looking for revenge. And since he wouldn’t be around to see the final outcome of her confrontation with Bane, he’d have to spend the rest of his days looking ove
r his shoulder just in case.

  Not much different from what you do now. You’ve managed to stay one step ahead of the Jedi all these years; how much harder can it be to stay one step ahead of the Sith at the same time?

  But there were other considerations. If he left, he was throwing away the chance to learn from Zannah. She was stronger than he was, much stronger. She could teach him things he’d never learn from anyone else. It wasn’t easy to turn his back on that kind of power.

  Torn between the two options, Set tried to extend his awareness out even farther in the hope of learning more. He was already approaching the limits of his abilities, but he knew this was the most important decision of his life. He couldn’t afford to get it wrong.

  A sharp pain was building in his forehead; it felt like someone was sticking a long needle into his skull right between his eyes. He wasn’t used to this kind of prolonged effort; when he called on the Force it was for quick bursts of action. But he ignored the pain, gritted his teeth, and made one final push.

  And then he felt it. Living creatures were not the only things with an affinity for the Force. Most of Set’s adult life had been spent seeking out objects imbued with its power: initially on behalf of the Council of First Knowledge, then later on his own. He had become highly adept at recognizing the unique energy signatures projected by the talismans of the dark side; they called out to him more strongly than they did to most others.

  That was why, despite the fact it was on the very fringes of his awareness, he was able to sense it. It was like nothing he had ever felt before; something so strong and powerful it caused him to gasp with yearning.

  Andeddu’s Holocron. It has to be.

  Zannah had said her Master had gone to Prakith to find it. Whoever had captured Bane must have taken the Holocron for themselves.

  Set opened his eyes and shook his head, collapsing his awareness back to his immediate surroundings. His looming headache was gone, replaced by an aching desire to claim the Holocron for himself.

  He had only a vague idea of where to find it. Once he was inside the Stone Prison, though, he was confident he’d be able to zero in on it quickly. For him, tracking a Holocron was much easier than locating a person.

  Zannah had commanded him to guard the ship, but he wasn’t worried about anyone accidentally discovering it. He hadn’t sensed anyone even remotely close to the landing bay.

  The question is, can you get the Holocron and get back here before Zannah finishes with Bane?

  It was risky. If she returned to discover he was gone, she might decide to end his apprenticeship … and his life. Even if she didn’t, she might just take the Holocron for herself, and Set knew he wouldn’t be strong enough to stop her.

  But if you find the Holocron, who says you have to bring it back here?

  Whoever had brought Bane to the Stone Prison had to be using one of the other landing bays for their own vessels. How hard could it be to steal one of those instead?

  The secret of eternal life versus the undying hatred of a Sith Lord. Is it worth it?

  That was one question Set had no trouble answering. Taking a glow lamp, he entered the Stone Prison through the same passage Zannah had gone down less than fifteen minutes earlier.

  19

  Bane could feel the hard iron of his shackles cutting into his wrists, and a grim smile played across his lips. The pain indicated that the sedative was wearing off. The dull gray fog that had clouded his thoughts was clearing, leaving his mind sharp and focused.

  Once again he could feel the power of the dark side. It was strong in this place; the misery and suffering of centuries hung in the air here. Bane could almost hear the screams of all the countless victims still echoing off the walls.

  The memories of the last hour were hazy and confused, but he knew enough. His capture had been orchestrated by Caleb’s daughter and the mysterious Iktotchi who had stood at her side during the interrogation. And he owed his release to their other companion.

  He didn’t know why the dark-skinned woman had injected him after the others had left. Despite his drugged state at the time, he was certain it wasn’t an accident or mistake. She had known what she was doing. Who she was and why she had done it, however, were beyond him.

  Not that her identity or her reasons mattered in the immediate future. She had given Bane all the help he needed, and soon he would be ready to make his move.

  The pain had spread beyond his wrists. His shoulders felt like they were being ripped from his sockets from bearing the brunt of his weight. The deep gashes on his cheek burned, and he could feel the small rivulets of blood creeping along his face and down along the line of his jaw before dripping to the floor.

  It’s time.

  He lifted his head to make sure the door to his cell was still closed; he wanted to catch his captors by surprise. Then he began to gather the power of the Force. An instant later the cuffs on his wrists and ankles shattered, exploding into a million pieces at a mere thought from Bane.

  He fell to the floor, his weary muscles unprepared to support his weight. It took him a moment to gather himself, and then a rush of adrenaline surged through his body and he was back on his feet.

  Bane felt naked without his lightsaber, but he wasn’t exactly helpless without it. There were plenty of other ways to dispatch his enemies.

  Three quick strides brought him to the durasteel door of his cell. He reached out and placed his left palm flat against the surface, then used the Force to blow it outward. It flew across the room, striking and killing one of the guards sitting at a table playing cards.

  The remaining five guards scrambled to their feet, grabbing for their weapons. Bane lashed out with the Force. The fury of his attack was muted by the last lingering effects of the drugs in his system, but it was still strong enough to knock them all to the floor and send the table flying into the wall, where it cracked in half.

  Bane fell on the guards like an enraged animal, moving so quickly he was nothing but a blur. He brought his boot down on the throat of his nearest opponent, crushing his windpipe. He wrapped his muscular forearm around the next man’s neck from behind in a choke hold, braced his other palm against his chin, and wrenched his head to the side, breaking his neck.

  The last three opponents were back on their feet, blasters drawn. Bane yanked a short vibroblade from the belt of the man with the broken neck and plunged it into the belly of a woman before she could bring her pistol to bear. She doubled over from the fatal blow, releasing her grip on her weapon.

  Bane dropped to the floor and caught it before it hit the ground, ducking under the bolts fired from the remaining two enemies as he rolled onto his back and fired a pair of perfectly placed shots. The guards both toppled over backward, their faces erased by the impact of a blaster bolt at point-blank range.

  Another locked durasteel door blocked the only exit. Bane tossed the blaster aside and tore the door off its hinges. Up above, someone triggered the alarm, and a deafening klaxon began to blare.

  Beyond the door was a narrow staircase, similarly barricaded at the top. The Dark Lord charged up the steps and threw himself shoulder-first into the door at the top. It burst open from the impact, sending him tumbling into the room beyond.

  The four guards up here had been alerted by the blaster shots being fired down below; unlike the first wave they weren’t caught off guard by his violent entrance. Weapons already drawn, they opened fire.

  But Bane’s visceral, primal assault on the squad in the room below had fueled the cycle of rising emotion and mounting dark side power. He met their assault with an explosion of crackling energy that rippled out in a violet wave from his body at the center.

  The incoming bolts were absorbed harmlessly into the ionic storm, the blasters themselves melted in the hands of their owners. The stench of burned flesh mingled with their screams of agony and the relentless, hammering song of the alarms, further feeding Bane’s power.

  Crouched on one knee, he clenched both fists
then threw his arms out to either side, fingers splayed wide. The resulting Force wave pummeled the guards, sending them hurtling backward so they bounced off the walls hard enough to leave cracks in the stone.

  Bane rose to his feet in the center of the carnage. Half a dozen bodies lay strewn about him, bones shattered, internal organs crushed into pulp. One choked out a pink, frothing spray with his final breath; all the others were still.

  To his dismay, he saw neither Caleb’s daughter nor the Iktotchi among the dead. He had sensed a few guards fleeing the room as he had charged up the staircase, but he hadn’t felt either of those two women among them. He also didn’t recognize any of the corpses as the dark-skinned woman who had saved him, though he was—for the moment—less interested in her.

  He had found Serra once before. During his first meeting with Caleb, the healer had tried to trick him with a simple illusion to hide his daughter. But Bane had sensed the little girl cowering behind the façade; he had tasted her fear. Yet it was more than that. Like her father, the girl had power that could be sensed through the Force.

  You can’t hide from me. I will find you.

  Calling up the long-buried memory, he reached out with his mind, concentrating on picking out her unmistakable presence.

  She’s here. Still in the facility. But she’s not alone.

  His awareness had spread through the halls of the dungeon, whispering over the minds of all who walked the halls. He had sensed Serra, along with several other powerful individuals. Yet there was one in particular that had drawn his attention.

  Zannah. What is she doing here?

  Was his apprentice somehow involved in his capture? Had she come here to rescue him? Or maybe to stop him from escaping?

  Whatever the explanation, Bane knew one thing for certain: He didn’t want to face Zannah right now. Not while he was still recovering from the toxins Serra had used to render him helpless, and certainly not without his lightsaber.