Rule of Two

by Drew Karpyshyn

  “Take a closer look at who I am sending down,” Farfalla instructed. “These are brave volunteers, valuable allies in our battle against the Sith. But none of them is attuned to the Force.”

  Surprised, Johun took a second look at the shore party as they made their final preparations. The woman had dark skin and short black hair, and the Jedi realized he had met her once before. She was a Republic soldier named Irtanna, and she had joined their cause a little over a standard year earlier. It took him a moment longer to place the others, until he noticed the resemblance between the bearded man and the two teenagers. They were natives of Ruusan. The man was a farmer named Bordon who had fled before the advancing armies of Lord Kaan during the latest Sith offensive. The two boys were his sons, though Johun couldn’t recall their names.

  “We do not know the full extent of the thought bomb’s effects,” Farfalla continued. “There may be aftershocks that could harm or even kill a Jedi or Padawan. That is why you cannot go.”

  Johun nodded. It made sense; Valenthyne was just being cautious. But sometimes it was possible to be too cautious. “There are other risks on the surface,” he noted. “We don’t know that all the Sith are dead. Some of them may have survived.”

  Farfalla shook his head. “Kaan had some spell, some power, over his followers. They were enthralled to his will. When he led them down into the cave, they all followed him willingly. He had them convinced they could survive the thought bomb if they united their power … but he was wrong.”

  “What about the Sith minions?” Johun pressed, unwilling to let the matter drop. Like the Jedi, the Sith had their share of followers who were not attuned to the Force: soldiers and mercenaries who had allied themselves with the Brotherhood of Darkness. “We didn’t capture them all,” the young Padawan pointed out. “Some of them fled the battle. They’ll still be down there.”

  “That’s what this is for,” the woman soldier assured him, patting the blaster on her hip. She gave a fierce smile, her gleaming white teeth contrasting sharply with her dark complexion.

  “Irtanna knows how to take care of herself,” Farfalla agreed. “She’s seen more combat than you and me put together.”

  “Please, Lord Valenthyne,” Johun begged, dropping to one knee. A vain and foolish gesture, but he was desperate. He knew Farfalla was right, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about logic or reason or even the dangers of the thought bomb. He just couldn’t sit by doing nothing! “Please! He was my Master.”

  Farfalla reached out with his hand and placed it tenderly on Johun’s forehead. “Hoth warned me that his decision to send you away would not rest easily on your shoulders,” he said softly. “But your Master was a wise man. He knew what was best for you, as do I. You must trust my judgment in this, even if you do not fully understand it.”

  Removing his hand from the young man’s brow, the new leader of the Army of Light took Johun by the arm and helped him to his feet.

  “Your Master made a great sacrifice to save us all,” he said. “If we give in to our emotions now, if we allow ourselves to come to needless harm, then we dishonor what he has done. Do you understand?”

  Johun nodded, a Padawan acquiescing to the greater wisdom of a Jedi Master.

  “Good,” Farfalla said, turning away to focus his attention on one of the other rescue teams. “If you want to help, give Irtanna a hand loading up their supplies.”

  Johun nodded again, though Farfalla didn’t notice. He was already gone, whisked away by the responsibilities of his position.

  Working in silence, Johun helped load the last few supplies into the shuttle: field kits filled with rations and water capsules; medpacs in case they came across any wounded; electrobinoculars and a sensor pack for scouting and recon; glow rods for when night fell. And, of course, spare power packs for the blasters Irtanna and the others carried in case they encountered any surviving minions from Kaan’s army.

  “Thank you,” Irtanna said once they were done.

  Trying to appear casual, Johun took a quick look around. Farfalla was nowhere to be seen.

  “Did you want to fly us down, or should I?” he asked her. The words were easy, but as he said them he reached out with the Force to touch her mind. He did it gently, being careful not to cause her any harm as he planted the seed of a suggestion.

  Her eyes glazed over momentarily and a look of blank confusion crossed her face. “Uh … I’ll fly us down, I guess. You can take the copilot’s chair.”

  “You’re coming with us?” Bordon, the middle-aged father, asked. From his tone, it was obvious he had doubts.

  “Of course,” Johun replied amicably. “You all heard him say I should help you load up the supplies, right? Why else would he say that if I wasn’t going with you?”

  As he had done with Irtanna, he gave another slight push, adding the mind-altering power of the Force to the half-truth. Normally he would have abhorred the idea of manipulating friends or allies in this fashion, but in this case he knew the ragtag rescue team would fare better if he accompanied them.

  “Yeah. Right,” Bordon agreed after a moment. “Good to have you along.”

  “Makes sense to have a Jedi with us,” Irtanna added. “Just in case.”

  Persuading someone through the Force was always easier when it was something they wanted to be convinced of, Johun noted. Still, he felt a slight twinge of guilt as he climbed into the small ship-to-surface shuttle.

  That’s only because you’re disobeying Farfalla, he reassured himself. You’re doing the right thing.

  “Everyone strap in,” Irtanna ordered, speaking over the pressurized hiss as the air locks sealed.

  The shuttle’s engines flared to life, lifting them off the docking platform.

  “Back home to Ruusan. Or at least what’s left of it,” Bordon muttered glumly as they drifted through the cargo hold doors and out into the upper reaches of the planet’s atmosphere.

  3

  Darth Bane felt them long before he saw them.

  Those ignorant in the ways of the Force saw it as only a weapon or tool: It could strike out against a foe in battle; it could levitate nearby objects and draw them into a waiting palm or fling them across a room. But these were mere wizard’s tricks to one who understood its true power and potential.

  The Force was a part of all living things, and all living things were a part of the Force. It flowed through every being, every animal and creature, every tree and plant. The fundamental energies of life and death coursed through it, causing ripples in the very fabric of existence.

  Even distracted by the agonizing flashes of the blades slicing apart the inside of his skull, Bane was sensitive to these ripples. They gave him an awareness that transcended space and even time, granting him brief glimpses into the always shifting possibilities of the future. That was how, still two kilometers and several minutes away from where Kaan and his army had made their camp, he knew others were already there.

  There were eight in total, all human—six men and two women. Mercenaries who had signed on with the Brotherhood for credits and a chance to strike at the hated Republic, they had survived the final battle with Hoth’s troops. They had most likely fled the confrontation the instant Kaan had descended into the bowels of the planet’s surface to lay his trap for the Jedi, displaying the loyalty of all followers bought and paid for. And now, like blood beetles picking the rotting meat off a bantha’s corpse, they had come to scavenge whatever remnants of value they could find from the deserted Sith camp.

  “There’s someone up ahead,” Zannah whispered a minute later. Less attuned to the subtle nuances of the Force than her Master, it had taken her longer to sense the danger. But given her lack of training, the fact that she had noticed anything at all was testament to her abilities.

  “Wait here,” Bane ordered, holding out a hand to freeze Zannah in her place. Wisely, she obeyed.

  He didn’t look back as he broke into a full run. The ground rushed by beneath his feet, a blur of motion as
he called on the Force to drive him forward. The pain in his head vanished, swept away by the anticipation of battle and the physical exhilaration of his charge.

  Within sixty seconds the Sith camp came into view, the outlines of the doomed mercenaries clearly visible as they argued over which objects were worthy of plunder. Six of the looters were gathered in the small clearing at the center of the camp, dividing up the spoils. The other two were on point: sentries stationed near the outskirts of the tents to watch for signs of trouble. Their posts were mere formality, however. The sentries should have been stationed on opposite sides of the camp to guard against assault from either direction. Instead the two men were standing less than twenty meters apart, more interested in having someone to pass the time with than in securing the perimeter.

  Bane surveyed the scene with contempt as he bore down on them, the Force allowing him to take in every detail in one quick glance. The men on point were oblivious to his approach, their attention drawn by the angry shouts of disagreement coming from the other six bickering over their ill-gotten gains.

  Altering his course slightly so his arrival would be hidden by a large supply tent until the last possible instant, Bane gave a final burst of acceleration and descended upon the camp in a storm of ruin. He drew and ignited his lightsaber in one smooth motion. The keening hum of the crimson blade preceded him, betraying his position a few precious seconds before his arrival. The advance warning gave just enough time for the nearest sentry to draw his blaster, but not nearly enough time to save him from the coming slaughter.

  Bane materialized from behind the supply tent and fell on his first victim like a dark wind, slicing him diagonally from shoulder to hip. The man wore battle armor made up of composite plates stitched together on an interwoven padded underlay to allow for flexibility. The vest covering his chest was capable of absorbing several high-powered blaster shots from inside thirty meters, but Bane’s blade sliced through the protective layers and carved a fatal five-centimeter gash through the flesh and bone beneath.

  As the first victim toppled over, Bane leapt high in the air toward his next foe, instantly closing the ten meters between them and simultaneously evading the hastily fired shot from the second sentry’s blaster pistol. As he came down virtually on top of his enemy, he delivered an overhead, two-handed descending chop—a classic move from Djem So, the fifth and most powerfully aggressive form of lightsaber combat. The heavy strike perfectly bisected the unfortunate man’s helmet and drove deep into the skull beneath.

  The gruesome ends of the first two mercenaries gave the others time to recognize what was happening. They drew their weapons and fired a full volley of blaster bolts at Bane as he turned to face them from across the camp. Smoothly transitioning from the attacking style of Form V to the more defensive style of Form III, Bane deflected the incoming bolts with two-handed parries of his lightsaber, flicking them aside with almost casual disdain.

  Twirling his weapon in his right hand, Bane paused to relish the hopelessness and terror emanating from the half a dozen surviving mercenaries as they recognized the inevitable fact of their own deaths. Clustered together in the clearing between the tents, they did the only thing that gave any of them a chance of survival—they broke and ran.

  They scattered in all directions: one of the women ran off to the left, two men ran off to the right; the other three turned and fled in a direct line away from the deadly interloper. Still twirling his lightsaber, Bane thrust his empty hand out before him, palm extended as he unleashed the Force in a wave of concussive power at the woman fleeing to his left. The wave cut a swath of devastation through the camp. Tents were uprooted from the ground, their material torn and shredded. Wooden supply crates exploded into kindling, the shattered contents spraying out in a shower of splintered shrapnel.

  The Force wave slammed into the woman’s back, pulverizing her spine and snapping her neck as it drove her facedown into the dirt and pinned her against the ground. Her corpse twitched once, then went forever still.

  Clenching the fingers of his left hand tight against his open palm, Bane wheeled toward the two men on his right and thrust his fist up into the air. A dozen forks of blue lightning arced out from above his head to envelop the screaming soldiers, cooking them alive. Shrieking in agony, they danced and twitched like marionettes on electric strings for several seconds before their smoking husks collapsed on the ground.

  In the few seconds it had taken to dispatch the others, the surviving three mercenaries had reached the far side of the Sith camp. A few meters beyond the edge of the tents a line of trees marked the start of the thick Ruusan forests. The concealing branches taunted them with offers of safety, giving even greater haste to their terror-filled flight. Bane watched them retreat with idle disinterest, savoring their fear.

  A handful of steps from freedom, one of the men made the fatal mistake of glancing back over his shoulder to see whether their adversary was following. On a whim, Bane sent his lightsaber hurtling toward him with a casual toss. The spinning blade sliced through the air in a tight loop, crossing the expanse of the camp in a fraction of a second before swooping back to be caught in the waiting hand of its Master.

  Two of the mercenaries vanished into the forest, crashing through the underbrush. The third—the one who had paused to look back—stood still as stone. A second later his head toppled forward from his shoulders to bounce and roll across the ground, severed from the cauterized stump of his neck by the crimson blade of Bane’s thrown lightsaber. As if the fallen head were a signal, the rigid limbs of the decapitated corpse went suddenly limp, and it fell over sideways.

  Bane extinguished his lightsaber, the blade vanishing with a sharp hiss. For a brief instant he reveled in his victory, drinking in the last lingering remnants of his victims’ emotions, drawing power from their fear and suffering. And then the moment was gone, fleeing like those who had escaped his wrath. He could have pursued them, but as much as he yearned to taste their panic, he understood the purpose of letting them live.

  “You let them get away.”

  He spun around in surprise to see Zannah standing just inside the perimeter of the camp. Engrossed in the slaughter, he hadn’t sensed her approach. Either that, or his young apprentice had taken pains to shield her presence from him.

  Don’t underestimate her, Bane reminded himself. She has the power to one day surpass you.

  “You let them get away,” Zannah repeated. She didn’t sound angry, or disappointed, or even pleased. She just seemed puzzled.

  “I told you to wait for me,” Bane admonished her. “Why did you disobey?”

  She didn’t answer right away, weighing her words carefully until she could find an answer that would appease her Master. “I wanted to see the true power of the dark side,” she admitted finally. “Can you teach me to …?” She trailed off, unable to find the words to describe what she had just witnessed. Instead she simply waved her hand, indicating the totality of the carnage he had unleashed.

  “You will learn,” Bane assured her, attaching the hooked handle of his lightsaber back onto his belt.

  She didn’t smile, but there was an eager expression in her gaze, a hunger her Master knew well. He’d seen the same raw ambition in the eyes of Githany, his former lover and one of Kaan’s doomed followers. He knew that if Zannah did not learn to temper and control her ambition, it would lead her down a path of destruction, just as it had with Githany.

  “Prowess in combat is the simplest display of the dark side’s power,” her Master cautioned her. “Brutal and quick, it serves a purpose. Yet it is often less effective than subtlety and cunning. Ultimately letting those mercenaries live may prove more useful than killing them.”

  “But they were weak,” his apprentice protested, throwing his own teachings back at him. “They deserved to die!”

  “Few beings in the galaxy ever get what they truly deserve,” he noted, choosing his words with care. The dark side was not easily understood; even he was still le
arning to work his way through its complexities and contradictions. He had to be careful not to overwhelm his young apprentice, yet it was important that she grasp the essence of what he had done here. “Our mission is not to bring death to all those unfit to live. We answer to a greater calling. All I have done on Ruusan, and all that we will do from this day forward, must serve our true purpose: the preservation of our Order and the survival of the Sith.”

  After a moment’s consideration, Zannah shook her head. “I’m sorry, Master,” she admitted, “I still don’t get why you didn’t just kill them.”

  “As servants of the dark side we revel in the vanquishing of our enemies. We draw power from their suffering, but we must balance this against greater gains. We must recognize that killing for sadistic pleasure—killing without reason, need, or purpose—is the act of a fool.”

  A frown of confusion crossed the young girl’s face. “What purpose is there in letting scum like that live?”

  “The Jedi believe the Order of the Sith died here on Ruusan,” he explained patiently. “There are followers of the dark side on many other worlds: the Marauders of Honoghr and Gamorr, the Shadow Assassins of Ryloth and Umbara. But those with the greatest power—all those individuals with the potential to become true Sith Masters—had gathered together in Kaan’s Brotherhood. As one they followed him into this war, and as one they followed him into death.

  “But there will be those who doubt the totality of the Sith extinction. There will always be whispers that the Sith survive, hints and rumors that somewhere in the galaxy a Dark Lord lives. And if the Jedi ever find proof of our existence, they will be relentless in hunting us down.”

  He paused to let the implications of his last statement sink in before continuing. “We cannot live in isolation, cut off from the rest of the galaxy while cowering in fear. We must work to grow our power; we will need to interact with individuals of many species across many worlds. It is inevitable that some among them will recognize us for what we are, no matter our disguise. Eventually word of our existence will reach the ears of the Jedi.”