Path of Destruction

by Drew Karpyshyn

  He needed to find Caleb. If he could reach the healer, there was still hope. But the man’s dwelling was still many kilometers away.

  It was only a matter of time until his body succumbed to the paralysis and his mind was swallowed by the fevered madness brought on by the toxin. For now, though, his anger allowed him to keep his thoughts clear.

  He wasn’t angry at Githany. She had only acted as a servant of the dark side should. His rage was directed inward—toward his own weakness and misplaced arrogance. He should have anticipated the true depth of her cunning.

  Instead he had let her poison him. And if he died now, his great revelation—the Rule of Two, the salvation of the Sith—would end with him.

  Caleb felt the land crawler’s approach long before he saw or heard it. It was like a storm on the wind, a black sky rushing in to cover the sun. When the vehicle rolled to a stop before his hut he was already sitting outside waiting for it.

  The man who climbed out was large and muscular, a sharp contrast with Caleb’s own thin and wiry frame. He wore dark clothing, and a hook-handled lightsaber dangled from his belt. His skin was gray as ash, and his features were twisted into an expression of cruelty and contempt. Even were he not sensitive to the ways of the Force, it wouldn’t have been hard for Caleb to recognize him as a servant of the dark side. What he might not have sensed was how powerful this grim visitor truly was.

  But Caleb had dealt with powerful men and women before. Jedi and Sith alike had come to him in the past, and he had turned them all away. He was a servant of the common people, those who could not help themselves. He wanted no part of the war between light and darkness.

  The man began walking toward him, moving stiffly. The foul stench of poison wafted out from the dying Sith’s pores, smothering the scent of the boiling soup hanging over Caleb’s fire. Jabbing a stick into the coals to stir up more heat, Caleb now understood his visitor’s unnatural complexion. The effects of synox were unmistakable. He figured the doomed man had at most a day before he died.

  He didn’t speak until the man stood directly above him, looming like the specter of death itself.

  “There is venom in your body,” Caleb said placidly. “You have come for the cure,” he continued. “I will not give it to you.”

  The man didn’t speak. Not surprising, given his state. The poison would have left his tongue cracked and swollen, his mouth parched and blistered. But he didn’t need words to convey his message as his hand dropped to the hilt of his lightsaber.

  “I am not afraid to die,” Caleb said, with no change in his voice. “You may torture me if you want,” he added. “Pain means nothing to me.”

  To prove his point, he plunged his hand into the bubbling cauldron. The scent of seared flesh mingled with the smells of soup and poison. His expression never changed, even as he withdrew his hand and held it up to show the scalded flesh.

  He saw doubt and confusion in the newcomer’s eyes, a look he had witnessed many times before. In the past his stoicism had served him well, usually thwarting the plans of those Sith or Jedi who had sought him out for one reason or another. They couldn’t understand him, and that was how he wanted it.

  He cared nothing for their war or what either side valued. In fact, there was only one thing he cared about in all the galaxy. And this performance was his only hope of protecting it from the monster standing above him.

  The implacable man before him puzzled Bane. His only hope for survival had just been denied him, and he wasn’t sure what he could do about it. He could sense the power in this man, but it wasn’t the power of either the dark side or the light. It wasn’t even the power of the Force in any normal sense of the word. He drew his strength from ground and stone; mountain and forest; the land and the sky. Despite this difference, Bane could sense that the man’s power was formidable in its own way. Bane found its strangeness disturbing, unsettling. Was it possible he was actually going to lose this battle of wills? Was it possible this simple man—a man with only the faintest flicker of the Force inside him—was actually able to defy a Dark Lord of the Sith?

  Had the healer’s mind been weak Bane could have simply compelled him to do his bidding, but his will was as unyielding as the black iron of the pot he had plunged his hand into. He had demonstrated that pain and threat of death would be ineffective tools in convincing him to change his mind, as well. Even now Bane could sense his mind building up walls to block out the pain; burying it so deep it almost seemed to disappear. And there was something else he was burying as well. Something he was desperately trying to keep Bane from uncovering.

  Bane’s eyes narrowed as he recognized what it was. He was trying to hide the presence of another, shielding whoever it was from the Dark Lord’s hazy, fevered perceptions. He turned his attention to the healer’s small, ramshackle hut. The man made no move to stop him. In fact, he had no reaction at all.

  The door was blocked by nothing but a long curtain that flowed gently in the breeze. Bane stepped forward and flipped it aside to reveal a small, ramshackle room. A young girl, her eyes wide with terror, huddled silently against the far wall.

  A grim smile of relief touched the corners of Bane’s lips as he realized the truth. Caleb had a weakness after all; he cared about something. All his strength of will was useless because of this one failing. And Bane was not above exploiting it to get what he needed.

  With a single mental command he swept the terrified girl up into the air, carrying her out to suspend her upside down above the healer’s boiling pot.

  Caleb leapt to his feet, showing real emotion for the first time. He reached out to her, then pulled his hand back, his eyes flicking between his daughter and the man who literally held her life in his grasp.

  “Daddy,” she whimpered, “help me.”

  The man’s head dropped in defeat. “All right,” he said. “You win. You will have your cure.”

  The healing ritual lasted all through the night and into the next day. Caleb drew on all manner of herbs and roots: some cooked in the boiling waters of his pot; others ground up into paste; still others placed directly on Bane’s swollen tongue. Throughout the entire process Bane was wary, ready to unleash his vengeance against the healer’s child should the man try to betray him.

  But as the hours went by he slowly felt the synox leaching from his body, drawn out by the medicines. By evening of the next day all traces of the poison were gone.

  Bane returned to his camp and packed up. A few hours later he was ready to lift off and leave Ambria behind.

  After the completion of the healing ritual he had briefly considered slaying both father and daughter for the crime of seeing him in his moment of weakness. But those were the thoughts of a man blinded by his own arrogance. His recent encounter with Githany had shown him the dangers of that path.

  Neither Caleb nor his daughter presented any threat to him or his goals. And Caleb had a skill he might one day need again. For all its power, the dark side was weak in the healing arts.

  So he had let them live. There was no purpose or advantage in their deaths. Killing without reason or gain was a petty pleasure of sadistic fools.

  And Bane was determined—as he punched the coordinates for Ruusan into the nav computer—to cleanse the dark side of fools.

  27

  When the Valcyn arrived at Ruusan, Bane was surprised to find both Sith and Jedi fleets in the system. The Sith had formed a blockade around the planet, obviously trying to prevent the Jedi from bringing reinforcements to their fellows on the surface.

  Yet to Bane’s eye it appeared that the Jedi were making no effort to run the blockade. Their ships seemed content to wait, lurking just beyond the range of enemy fire. And the Sith couldn’t attack without breaking formation and exposing their lines. The result was a tense stalemate, with neither side willing to make the first move.

  Despite the blockade, Bane was able to land his ship on Ruusan without drawing the attention of either fleet. The Jedi weren’t concerned with shi
ps going to the planet, and the Sith were patrolling in patterns designed to guard against large-scale incursions. The blockade was meant to stop troop transports, supply ships, and their escorts; it was all but useless against a single scout vessel or fighter.

  His sensors picked up the Sith encampment soon after he breached the atmosphere, and he brought the Valcyn in on the far side of the world. The blockade patrols hadn’t spotted him, and he’d disabled the ship’s beacon before leaving Lehon. Nobody knew he was here. He planned to keep it that way for a while longer.

  He set the ship down in the cover of a small range of foothills several kilometers from the encampment. He would draw less attention approaching on foot, and he wanted to keep the Valcyn’s location secret in case he needed it to make a quick escape. He disembarked and began the long hike to meet up with Kaan and his fellow Sith.

  The feel of this planet was far different from any of the others he had been on. This was a tired world, weary and spent with the endless wars being waged across its surface. There was a malaise in the air, like some infectious disease of mind and spirit. The Force was strong on Ruusan—inevitable given the vast numbers of Sith and Jedi there. Yet he sensed it was in turmoil, a maelstrom of confusion and conflict. Neither the dark nor light held sway. Instead they collided and fused, becoming an obscene, indecisive gray.

  Far to the east he could see the edges of Ruusan’s great forests. He could sense the Jedi hiding deep within them, though they used the light side to mask their exact location. The Sith encampment was to the west, several kilometers away from the forest’s borders. Between them stretched a vast panorama of gently rolling hills and plains: the site of all the major battles that had been fought on Ruusan so far. The constant fighting had been punctuated by six full-scale engagements, battles where each side had brought its full strength to bear in an effort to wipe out the enemy—or at least drive them from the world. Three times Hoth and the Army of Light had seized the upper hand; the other three had gone to Kaan and his Brotherhood. Yet none of the victories had been decisive enough to bring an end to the war.

  From the pungent smell of death Bane suspected some smaller confrontation had been recently fought over this territory, as well. His suspicions were confirmed when he crested a rise and came across a scene of slaughter. It was hard to tell who had won: bodies clad in the garb of each side were everywhere, intermingled as if the combatants had remained locked together in hatred long after they had all been slain. Most of the dead were likely to be followers of the Jedi or minions of the Sith, rather than actual Jedi Knights or members of the Brotherhood, though he noticed dark Sith robes on a handful of the bodies.

  Hovering above the killing field were the bouncers, a unique species native to Ruusan. There were at least half a dozen, spherical in shape and of various sizes, with most being between one and two meters across. Their round bodies were covered with thick green fur, as were the finlike appendages protruding from their sides and the long ribbonlike tails that streamed out behind them. They had no visible facial features other than dark, lidless eyes.

  Reports indicated they were sentient, yet to Bane they looked like animals scavenging the remains of the battle. As he approached he realized they were communicating, though they possessed no mouths. Somehow they were projecting mental images of succor and comfort, as if they sought to heal the wounds of the scarred land beneath them.

  They scattered at Bane’s approach, whisking themselves away like a bizarre school of fish capable of swimming through the skies. As he drew nearer, he realized they had been congregating over one of the fallen. The human man was not quite dead, though the gaping wound in his gut gave stark evidence that he wouldn’t live to see the night.

  He wore the robes of the Sith, and the shattered remains of a lightsaber’s hilt lay near his outstretched hand. Bane recognized him as one of the lesser students from the Academy on Korriban: so weak in the dark side, it wasn’t even worth the bother of learning his name. Yet he knew Bane.

  With a groan the man rolled onto his back and hauled himself up to a sitting position, leaning his head and shoulders against a nearby stone. His eyes—glazed and dilated—cleared momentarily and came into focus. “Lord Bane …,” he gasped. “Kaan told us … you were dead.”

  There was no point in replying, so Bane said nothing.

  “You missed the fight …,” the man mumbled, the words hard to hear through the choking bubbles of blood welling up in his throat. A coughing fit cut off what he was going to say next. He was too weak to even bring up his hand to cover his mouth as he spewed red spots over Bane’s dark boots.

  “The battle was glorious,” he finally croaked out. “It’s an honor to … fall in such a splendid battle.”

  Bane laughed loudly, the only appropriate response to such ridiculous stupidity. “Glory means nothing for the dead,” he said, though it wasn’t clear if the man could even hear him in his fevered state.

  He turned to go, then paused when he felt a feeble tug on his heel. “Help me, Lord Bane.”

  Lifting his boot free of the clutching hand, Bane answered, “My name is Darth Bane.” There was a sickening crunch as his boot slammed down, grinding the man’s skull into the rocks propping him up. His body convulsed once then lay still.

  The purging of the Sith had begun.

  Lord Kaan lay on his back on the small cot in his tent, eyes closed, gently massaging his temples. The strain of keeping his followers united in a common cause was taking a heavy toll, and his head constantly pulsed with a dull and relentless ache.

  Despite their success in recent battles with the Jedi on Ruusan, the mood in the Sith camp was tense. They had been on Ruusan too long—far too long—and reports kept filtering in of Republic victories in distant systems. Even with his ability to manipulate and influence the minds of the other Dark Lords, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep the Brotherhood focused on their battle against the Army of Light.

  He knew there was one sure way to end the war, and end it quickly. The thought bomb. He had spent many nights wondering if he dared to use it. If they lured the Jedi in and unleashed the thought bomb, its blast would completely obliterate their enemies. But would the combined will of the Brotherhood be strong enough to survive such power? Or would they get swept up in the backlash of the explosion?

  Time and again he had dismissed it as too dangerous, a weapon so terrible that even he—a Dark Lord of the Sith—was afraid to use it. Yet each time he considered it for a few moments longer before backing away from the abyss.

  A sound outside the tent caused him to open his eyes and sit up sharply. A second later Githany, now seen by many as his right hand, poked her head in. “They’re ready for you, Lord Kaan.”

  He nodded and rose to his feet, taking a second to calm and compose himself. If he showed any weakness, the others might turn against him. He couldn’t let that happen. Not now, when they were so close to ultimate victory. That was why he had summoned the other Dark Lords: one final gathering to strengthen their resolve and assure their continued loyalty.

  Githany led the way through the camp, and he followed her to the large tent where the other Sith Lords were waiting for him. He entered with conviction and purpose, projecting an aura of confidence and authority.

  As was customary whenever he entered a room, those in the assemblage rose to their feet as a sign of respect. There was one, however, who remained seated, arms folded across his thick chest.

  “Are you too heavy to rise, Lord Kopecz?” Githany asked pointedly.

  “I thought we were all equals in the Brotherhood,” the Twi’lek snarled back, speaking more to Kaan than to her.

  Kaan knew he had to tread carefully. This was not the first time Kopecz had been the voice of dissent, and many of the others took their cues from him. Unfortunately, he was also one of the most difficult to influence and control.

  “Equals. Quite right, Lord Kopecz,” he said with a weary smile. “Remain seated. All of you. We have no nee
d of these pointless formalities.”

  The rest of the group did as he bade and found their seats once more, though it was clear everyone still felt the tension between the two of them. He let a wave of soothing reassurance ripple out across the room as he crossed over to the strategy table.

  “The war against the Jedi is almost won,” he declared. “They are on the verge of collapse. They have retreated into the forests, but they are running out of places to hide.”

  Kopecz snorted derisively. “We’ve heard that refrain one too many times.”

  It took tremendous effort to maintain his composure, but somehow Lord Kaan managed to reply in a calm, even voice. “Anyone who has doubts about our strategy here on Ruusan is free to speak,” he offered. “As has already been pointed out in this meeting, we are all equals in the Brotherhood of Darkness.”

  “It’s not just Ruusan I’m worried about,” Kopecz replied, accepting the bait and rising to his feet. “We’ve lost ground everywhere else in the galaxy. We had the Republic reeling. But instead of finishing them off, we let them regroup!”

  “Most of our early victories came before the Jedi joined their cause,” Kaan reminded him. “The point of attacking the Republic in the first place was to draw the Jedi out. We wanted to force them into a battle of our choosing: this battle, here on Ruusan.

  “Now we are on the verge of wiping them out. And with the Jedi gone, we can easily reclaim the worlds that have slipped back under the Republic’s control—and many more besides.”

  Though Kopecz was silent, there were murmurs of agreement from the other Sith Lords. Kaan pressed his point even farther.

  “Once we wipe out the enemy here on Ruusan our armies will sweep across the galaxy virtually unopposed. Conquering territory in every sector, we will encircle Coruscant and the other Core Worlds like a noose, drawing ever tighter until we choke the very life out of the Republic!”