Damask and the other Muuns should have been the targets, but instead of moving toward the fort, the intruder was actually moving away from it.
He spent another long moment listening; then, like a wraith, he dashed down three flights of stone steps and out through the old gate into the waking forest, parting his cloak as he ran, his left hand on the hilt of the lightsaber. Lifting off in great numbers from their evening roosts and screeching in displeasure, the morning’s earliest risers warned the rest that a hunter was on the loose. Of the most dangerous sort, Damask might have added: a hunter of sentients. In moments he was deep in a stand of old-growth greel trees well outside the security perimeter, when he sensed something that stopped him in mid-stride. Motionless, he drew inward in an effort to verify what he’d felt.
A Force-user!
A Jedi spy? he wondered.
They had tried repeatedly to penetrate Sojourn’s defenses during previous Gatherings. But unless one had arrived in a ship designed and built by Darth Tenebrous, there would have been no way to reach the surface undetected. And yet someone had obviously succeeded in making it downside. Lifting his hand from the hilt of the lightsaber, Damask minimized his presence in the Force, surrendering his eminence and disappearing into the material world. Then he began to move deeper into the forest, winding his way through the trees, allowing the Jedi to stalk him even as he berated himself for having acted rashly. If it came to ambush, he would not be able to fight back and risk exposing himself as a Sith. He should have allowed the Sun Guards to deal with the intruder.
But why would a Jedi bother to trip the perimeter sensors only to retreat beyond their reach? They didn’t make mistakes of that sort. And surely whoever was out there wouldn’t have expected a Muun to respond, if for no other reason than Muuns didn’t make mistakes of that sort. So what was this one after?
Ahead Damask heard the characteristic hiss and hum of a lightsaber, and saw the weapon’s blade glowing in the mist. Emerging from behind a thick-boled tree, the wielder had the lightsaber in his right hand, angled toward the spongy ground.
A crimson blade in a crimson wood.
Instantly he called his own lightsaber to his left hand, igniting the blade as the figure in the mist revealed itself fully: a tall, thin, pink-skinned craniopod with large lidless eyes—
A Bith!
Tenebrous ?
He faltered momentarily. No, that wasn’t possible. But who, then? Tenebrous’s offspring, perhaps—some spawn grown from his genetic material in a laboratory, since the species reproduced only in accordance with the dictates of a computer mating service. Was that why Tenebrous had declined to discuss midi-chlorians or ways of extending life? Because he had already found a way to create a Force-sensitive successor?
“I knew I could draw you out, Darth Plagueis,” the Bith said.
Plagueis dropped all pretence and faced him squarely. “You’re well trained. I sensed the Force in you, but not the dark side.”
“I’ve Darth Tenebrous to thank for it.”
“He made you in his image. You’re a product of Bith science.”
The Bith laughed harshly. “You’re an old fool. He found and trained me.”
Plagueis recalled the warning Tenebrous had nearly given voice to before he died. “He took you as an apprentice?”
“I am Darth Venamis.”
“Darth?” Plagueis said with disgust. “We’ll see about that.”
“Your death will legitimize the title, Plagueis.”
Plagueis cocked his head to the side. “Your Master left orders for you to kill me?”
The Bith nodded. “Even now he awaits my return.”
“Awaits …,” Plagueis said. As astonishing as it was to learn that Tenebrous had trained a second apprentice, he had a surprise in store for Venamis. Inhaling, he said, “Tenebrous is dead.”
Confusion showed in Venamis’s eyes. “You wish it were so.”
Plagueis held his lightsaber off to
He spent another long moment listening; then, like a wraith, he dashed down three flights of stone steps and out through the old gate into the waking forest, parting his cloak as he ran, his left hand on the hilt of the lightsaber. Lifting off in great numbers from their evening roosts and screeching in displeasure, the morning’s earliest risers warned the rest that a hunter was on the loose. Of the most dangerous sort, Damask might have added: a hunter of sentients. In moments he was deep in a stand of old-growth greel trees well outside the security perimeter, when he sensed something that stopped him in mid-stride. Motionless, he drew inward in an effort to verify what he’d felt.
A Force-user!
A Jedi spy? he wondered.
They had tried repeatedly to penetrate Sojourn’s defenses during previous Gatherings. But unless one had arrived in a ship designed and built by Darth Tenebrous, there would have been no way to reach the surface undetected. And yet someone had obviously succeeded in making it downside. Lifting his hand from the hilt of the lightsaber, Damask minimized his presence in the Force, surrendering his eminence and disappearing into the material world. Then he began to move deeper into the forest, winding his way through the trees, allowing the Jedi to stalk him even as he berated himself for having acted rashly. If it came to ambush, he would not be able to fight back and risk exposing himself as a Sith. He should have allowed the Sun Guards to deal with the intruder.
But why would a Jedi bother to trip the perimeter sensors only to retreat beyond their reach? They didn’t make mistakes of that sort. And surely whoever was out there wouldn’t have expected a Muun to respond, if for no other reason than Muuns didn’t make mistakes of that sort. So what was this one after?
Ahead Damask heard the characteristic hiss and hum of a lightsaber, and saw the weapon’s blade glowing in the mist. Emerging from behind a thick-boled tree, the wielder had the lightsaber in his right hand, angled toward the spongy ground.
A crimson blade in a crimson wood.
Instantly he called his own lightsaber to his left hand, igniting the blade as the figure in the mist revealed itself fully: a tall, thin, pink-skinned craniopod with large lidless eyes—
A Bith!
Tenebrous ?
He faltered momentarily. No, that wasn’t possible. But who, then? Tenebrous’s offspring, perhaps—some spawn grown from his genetic material in a laboratory, since the species reproduced only in accordance with the dictates of a computer mating service. Was that why Tenebrous had declined to discuss midi-chlorians or ways of extending life? Because he had already found a way to create a Force-sensitive successor?
“I knew I could draw you out, Darth Plagueis,” the Bith said.
Plagueis dropped all pretence and faced him squarely. “You’re well trained. I sensed the Force in you, but not the dark side.”
“I’ve Darth Tenebrous to thank for it.”
“He made you in his image. You’re a product of Bith science.”
The Bith laughed harshly. “You’re an old fool. He found and trained me.”
Plagueis recalled the warning Tenebrous had nearly given voice to before he died. “He took you as an apprentice?”
“I am Darth Venamis.”
“Darth?” Plagueis said with disgust. “We’ll see about that.”
“Your death will legitimize the title, Plagueis.”
Plagueis cocked his head to the side. “Your Master left orders for you to kill me?”
The Bith nodded. “Even now he awaits my return.”
“Awaits …,” Plagueis said. As astonishing as it was to learn that Tenebrous had trained a second apprentice, he had a surprise in store for Venamis. Inhaling, he said, “Tenebrous is dead.”
Confusion showed in Venamis’s eyes. “You wish it were so.”
Plagueis held his lightsaber off to
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