Ranlaw felt a bright spark of violence leap up in his chest. Whatever purpose the Jedi girl had for spying on them, he’d drag her to the Masters himself, and they could beat it out of her.
The rest of the group was listening to Master Traan, no one noticing that Ranlaw had been looking the other way. That was fine with Ranlaw, who fully intended to get all the glory of this discovery. In a single leap he sprang up over the fallen statue, tackling the girl and throwing her to the ground, pinning her by her wrists. She was easy prey—almost too easy.
“What’s your business here, Jedi?”
She glared up at him, breathless and furious. “Let me go.”
“Right.” Taking one hand off her wrist, he grabbed her hair and jerked her upright. “Let’s see what the Masters have to say about you.” Ranlaw rose to his feet, dragging her with him, and took in a breath to call down to the others.
He was still in the process of inhaling when a clawed hand clamped down over his lips, silencing him. Ranlaw tried to squirm free, and the back of a wooden spear slammed across the top of his skull with a sharp crack, dropping him sideways.
Zo saw the Sith student tumble forward, his grip falling slack, releasing her hair as he fell. In the place where he’d been hunched over, she saw a great three-fingered hand gripping her shoulder and forcing her back down out of sight, and she realized that she was looking at Tulkh. His shoulders were arched enough that she could see the quiver of arrows strapped to his back.
Spinning the spear easily around, the Whiphid raised the business end again, swung it around, and thrust its point directly in Zo’s face, close enough that she could feel it pressing against her cheek. All of this was accomplished in absolute silence.
“What are you doing?”
Tulkh didn’t budge. His expression was stone. “There’s something I need to show you.”
“I don’t—”
“Move.”
17/Neti
T HE LIBRARY WAS SILENT .
To her knowledge, Kindra was the only student in the academy who came here on any kind of a regular basis. Without exception, it was the largest and oldest structure on Odacer-Faustin, predating the tower itself, which also meant that it was in the worst condition. Centuries of hostile weather and shifting planetary tectonics had savaged its stacks, closing off entire chambers, stairways, and corridors under tons of snow and ice. From within, it resembled nothing so much as a grand monument that had suffered a head-on collision with something even bigger than itself, crumpling it badly at both ends and the middle.
She sat in the southwest wing, at one of the long stone tables under the cracked cathedral ceiling, staring at the most recent sections of Sith scrolls that she’d uncovered. The inscriptions were archaic, and she’d been working most of the afternoon on translating them. The process was slow but gratifying—yielding ancient secrets that she knew would only help her advance faster through the ranks of her fellow students.There were rumors that Darth Scabrous himself had come here, that he had found something, a relic of almost immeasurable power, hidden in one of the secluded rooms. Whether that was true—an object like a Sith Holocron wasn’t outside the realm of possibility—Kindra had already found enough to make her research here worthwhile.
She paused, her index finger marking a spot halfway through a long intaglio of etchings, and cocked her head slightly.
Something was wrong.
It wasn’t as obvious as a noise or even a vibration; more like an intuitive sensation of disquiet that settled into her stomach and emanated out through her chest, as if millions of tiny cilia had extended from within her, shivering with unease.
She stood up, the scrolls forgotten.
“Who’s there?”
Her voice rang out in the emptiness, hollow and fading into silence. There was no reply, and a moment later she realized that she hadn’t truly expected one. It wasn’t that kind of
The rest of the group was listening to Master Traan, no one noticing that Ranlaw had been looking the other way. That was fine with Ranlaw, who fully intended to get all the glory of this discovery. In a single leap he sprang up over the fallen statue, tackling the girl and throwing her to the ground, pinning her by her wrists. She was easy prey—almost too easy.
“What’s your business here, Jedi?”
She glared up at him, breathless and furious. “Let me go.”
“Right.” Taking one hand off her wrist, he grabbed her hair and jerked her upright. “Let’s see what the Masters have to say about you.” Ranlaw rose to his feet, dragging her with him, and took in a breath to call down to the others.
He was still in the process of inhaling when a clawed hand clamped down over his lips, silencing him. Ranlaw tried to squirm free, and the back of a wooden spear slammed across the top of his skull with a sharp crack, dropping him sideways.
Zo saw the Sith student tumble forward, his grip falling slack, releasing her hair as he fell. In the place where he’d been hunched over, she saw a great three-fingered hand gripping her shoulder and forcing her back down out of sight, and she realized that she was looking at Tulkh. His shoulders were arched enough that she could see the quiver of arrows strapped to his back.
Spinning the spear easily around, the Whiphid raised the business end again, swung it around, and thrust its point directly in Zo’s face, close enough that she could feel it pressing against her cheek. All of this was accomplished in absolute silence.
“What are you doing?”
Tulkh didn’t budge. His expression was stone. “There’s something I need to show you.”
“I don’t—”
“Move.”
17/Neti
T HE LIBRARY WAS SILENT .
To her knowledge, Kindra was the only student in the academy who came here on any kind of a regular basis. Without exception, it was the largest and oldest structure on Odacer-Faustin, predating the tower itself, which also meant that it was in the worst condition. Centuries of hostile weather and shifting planetary tectonics had savaged its stacks, closing off entire chambers, stairways, and corridors under tons of snow and ice. From within, it resembled nothing so much as a grand monument that had suffered a head-on collision with something even bigger than itself, crumpling it badly at both ends and the middle.
She sat in the southwest wing, at one of the long stone tables under the cracked cathedral ceiling, staring at the most recent sections of Sith scrolls that she’d uncovered. The inscriptions were archaic, and she’d been working most of the afternoon on translating them. The process was slow but gratifying—yielding ancient secrets that she knew would only help her advance faster through the ranks of her fellow students.There were rumors that Darth Scabrous himself had come here, that he had found something, a relic of almost immeasurable power, hidden in one of the secluded rooms. Whether that was true—an object like a Sith Holocron wasn’t outside the realm of possibility—Kindra had already found enough to make her research here worthwhile.
She paused, her index finger marking a spot halfway through a long intaglio of etchings, and cocked her head slightly.
Something was wrong.
It wasn’t as obvious as a noise or even a vibration; more like an intuitive sensation of disquiet that settled into her stomach and emanated out through her chest, as if millions of tiny cilia had extended from within her, shivering with unease.
She stood up, the scrolls forgotten.
“Who’s there?”
Her voice rang out in the emptiness, hollow and fading into silence. There was no reply, and a moment later she realized that she hadn’t truly expected one. It wasn’t that kind of
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