Maul was completing his seventh major kill in as many local days when the freak storm blew in.
Dropping from the canopy of an ancient tree onto the biped’s humped back, he had plunged the enhanced vibroblade again and again between the armor plates that protected its long neck, until the creature had dropped on its side to the ground. By then most of the fight had gone out of the beast, and yet it had managed to snap its powerful jaws at Maul when he rolled clear. Springing forward, he delivered the killing stroke, and the plaintive cry that bellowed from the creature’s mouth had reverberated from the palisades and sent avians perched in the nearby trees scattering.
Distant cries from the beast’s cohorts had echoed the dying creature’s, and then lightning cracked open the sky and teeming rain and hail had burst forth. The fact that Maul’s week-long and mostly sleepless transit of the Gora was nearly finished made the storm feel even more personally punishing.
The Gora crater was the aftermath of a volcanic explosion that had tipped Orsis from its original axis and rendered the planet’s northern hemisphere habitable. An immense basin of dense forests and vast swamps—and even a low, central mountain that was the reemergent volcano itself—the Gora was home to countless species of animals that had found their way into it millennia earlier. The near vertical circumference and treacherous air currents had prevented all save the strongest avians from escaping. The remainder had been left to evolve in their own fashion in an environment that was less a landscape than an arena, a festering cauldron in which the struggle for survival never ceased.
Of Maul’s many kills there, only one had been for sustenance—the others had been for survival or sport. No matter what Trezza or Sidious said about the importance of being able to triumph in the profane world, the dark side couldn’t simply be dimmed down like some glow rod outfitted with a dampener. None of the creatures with whom Maul clashed had exercised restraint; they had attacked and defended themselves without reservation. They simply were their nature. Which made Maul wonder: Was he expected to rise above his nature? Was the exercise of restraint a way for him to better understand his true nature? Did the dark side only want beings who were capable of rising above themselves?
Such had been his inner tempest. Now he was in the middle of a genuine storm, and it was as if it had been engineered to pose one final challenge before he reached the rustic outpost from which he could call for an airspeeder evac. It wasn’t unusual for squalls to blow across the Gora, swelling the waterfalls, sluggish rivers, and bogs, but this one meant business. One moment the eastern sky had been clear; the next, it was a frenzy of ominous clouds. He thought about holing up, but the wind and relentless rain forced him to trudge on. Behind him, trees were toppling, and overhead, clouds of displaced insects swarmed.
Eventually the storm began to abate, dwindling to fat droplets of rain as he emerged soaked to the bone from a thorn forest onto an expansive savannah. The wind, too, died down, but in its place a sound of heavy footfalls filled the ozone-rich air. Llan beasts, Maul determined after a moment. Perhaps the very ones that had responded to the death call of his most recent kill. Yanking the vibroblade from the sheath strapped to his upper leg, he scanned the grasslands around him, searching for wood from which he might shape a lance. Finding nothing useful, he made a dash for the distant tree line. Perhaps catching the scent of him on the dying wind, the still unseen beasts changed direction with him, and their movements puzzled him, since most of the Gora’s largest creatures—even those that were semi-sentient—tended to be solitary rather than herd animals.
So it was remarkable when, halfway to the forest, a quartet of llans leaped into the clearing—two in front of him and one to either side. What was even more remarkable was the fact that each llan was being ridden! The riders were slim figures dressed in red hooded garments, and they were armed with energy bows and pikes. Were they what Kilindi had wanted to warn him about before he had set out on the solo? Maul doubted it. He could sense that the riders were not trainees from the academy, but far more dangerous beings.
The dark side began to well up inside him, feverish for expression. No matter all the blood he had spilled, the dark side’s lust for violence had yet to be sated. But at the edge of giving free rein to his powers, he held back. Rather than being part of the usual ordeal, the beast riders could have been sent by his Master to test his resolve.
Radiant quarrels flew at him from energized bows, though not aimed to strike so much as to move him toward a llan that had separated from the rest—a large spotted male whose spined tail was flicking back and forth in anticipation. If capture was once more the objective, then surely Sidious was behind it. Reversing his course, Maul was dodging arrows when he was abruptly knocked backward and completely off his feet. It was as if he had run straight into a wall; but instead of being thrown onto his back, he found himself suspended and immobilized a meter above the ground. His eyes provided him with an upside-down image of a tall figure, dismounting from the snuffling llan to approach him. A human female whose pale face was as blemished as his was marked by tattoos, and from whose thin neck dangled a trove of amulets and talismans.
“Don’t resist, Nightbrother Maul,” she intoned in deeply accented Basic. Her hands moved in a ritual way.
An agent of Sidious, he decided, for he could perceive the Force in her. In league with his Master, or perhaps an apprentice.
He tried to say as much, but then she touched him on the forehead and he was plunged into unconsciousness.
Orsis Orbital Station consisted of two oblong pods linked by several cylindrically shaped concourses. In the control tower of the pod dedicated to the arrival and departure of cargo vessels, the traffic controller swung to a group of beings gathered at the observation bay.
“The drop ship is returning. The blue tri-fin is just coming into view.”
Meltch glanced at the ship. “Direct it to cargo bay five, and send a message that all non-essential personnel should leave the area.” He waited for the controller to carry out the command, then turned to the warlord. “Your troops are in position?”
Osika Kirske’s huge head bobbed. A Vollick from remote Rattatak—where warfare was a way of life—Kirske commanded a vast army, but had come to Orsis with scarcely three score of Weequay and Siniteen mercenaries.
“You’re confident the legion is adequate?” Meltch asked.
“It is comprised of some of my finest warriors.”
“They had better be.”
Kirske’s enormous shoulders heaved in disregard. “How, Meltch, were you able to lure the Nightsisters off Dathomir? I was told that it is rare to find them even outside their native land. Hal’Sted was only able to take possession of infant Ventress because Talzin feared exposure.”
“Word has it that Ventress has turned into quite the warrior,” Meltch said, ignoring the question.
The sharp planes and angles of Kirske’s gray face contorted. “We’ll soon see how young Ventress fares against those of her own kind.”
Meltch thought about it. “Good luck breaking them. Now that I’ve met the Nightsisters, I plan on steering clear of Dathomir. But, then, you’re not paying me to advise you.”
Kirske grunted. “Advice from a Mandalorian is always welcome.”
Meltch took the compliment in stride.
“A few years of fighting in the Cauldron arena and the Nightsisters will be begging to serve in my army,” Kirske added. “But the question still stands: how did you entice them here?”
“They came to collect one of their own,” Meltch said at last.
Kirske’s oblique eyes widened as much as his bony brow permitted. “Trezza has been training a Nightsister?”
Meltch shook his head. “A Dathomiri Zabrak male from a clan of Nightbrothers. The women use the males for breeding and as soldiers.”
Kirske’s gaze shifted to the approaching ship. “What would you have us do with the Zabrak?”
“He’s yours. I’m throwing him in for free.”
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Kirske looked confused. “We can at least add something to what we’ve paid you.”
Meltch smirked. “That’s not necessary. You’ll be doing me a favor just by taking him off Orsis.”
Feeling as if he had been robbed of the Force—not unlike the way he occasionally felt during his training sessions with Sidious—Maul surfaced groggily from the trance the witch had engineered. Even before he opened his eyes, his senses told him that he was aboard a small ship. In fact, he was reclined in an accelerator chair. His vibroblade sheath was empty, but such was the witch’s belief in her female soldiers and in her own powers that Maul wasn’t cuffed or shackled.
“You are skilled, Maul,” she said when his yellow eyes focused on her, “but perhaps not as skilled as I was led to believe.”
Maul sneered. “That seems to be the common opinion lately.”
She appraised him. “Very revealing. A few moments ago I was thinking that I erred in coming so far and in risking so much to return you to your clan brothers. And yet I sense that you are strong in the Force.”
“I have no brothers,” Maul said, as if spitting the word.
“Ah, but you do. And once among them your life will be very different. On Dathomir you will be nurtured and trained as the Winged Goddess and the Fanged God meant you to be trained. When the time is right you will face the Nightbrothers’ equivalents of the Tests of Fury, Night, and Elevation. And should you pass those trials, you may be fortunate enough to be transformed into an extraordinary warrior. Your strength will be enhanced tenfold, and those puny horns that stipple your head presently will become long and lethal.”
Maul had stopped listening almost immediately. The Witch was playing her part in a plan Sidious had designed. He had said that beings would attempt to use and deceive him, and here the Witch was doing just that.
“I won’t be going to Dathomir.”
The witch cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve no interest in seeing your birth world or meeting the members of your Nightbrother clan?”
“Neither.”
She looked disappointed. “You are fated to serve us, Maul, one way or the other. It has always been thus.”
“I serve only one Master,” Maul said.
The Witch smiled without mirth. “The Falleen you answer to will have to find another.”
Maul thought he had provided the correct response, but clearly he hadn’t, or Talzin had completely missed the reference. He considered mentioning Sidious by name, but thought better of it.
One of the Witch’s confederates slipped into the cabin. “Mother Talzin, we are approaching the station.”
Talzin nodded and studied Maul. “Can I trust you to behave while we transfer to our vessel, or do you wish simply to awaken aboard it?”
Maul glanced at the young female’s short sword and energy bow. “For the moment, you have the upper hand. I won’t make trouble.”
“Of course you won’t.”
Maul was comforted to learn that the station was none other than Orsis Orbital. As a tractor beam was easing the drop ship into the cargo bay, he decided he would show his Master that, until Sidious said otherwise, Orsis would remain Maul’s home. But a sudden feeling of apprehension took precedence over his plan. Talzin must have sensed something as well, because she turned to look at him while he was accompanying her and the Nightsisters down the drop ship’s ramp, perhaps thinking he was the cause of her concern.
“Trouble,” Maul told her.
Without so much as a word from Talzin, the three Nightsisters drew their swords and enabled their energy bows. The dimly illuminated docking bay appeared to be deserted, but Maul could perceive the presence of armed beings lurking in the dark periphery. Regardless, Talzin continued to march into the open, as if without a care.
“Stay right where you are and lower your weapons,” a gruff voice barked in Basic over the cargo bay loudspeakers.
The beings Maul had sensed began to edge from the shadows, contingents of top-knotted Weequays and big-brained Siniteens armed with blaster rifles. At the center of the group stood a towering Vollick clad head to foot in garish battle armor.
“You won’t be returning to Dathomir, Mother Talzin,” the Vollick said. “The five of you are going to be my guests on Rattatak, where you will eventually become members of my elite army.” He drew an outsize blaster from its holster and triggered a shot toward the bay’s tall ceiling. “Our weapons are set on stun, but we’ll shoot to kill if you decide to refuse my invitation.”
Talzin didn’t bother to reply. With a motion of her hands, the docking bay was suddenly filled with dozens of Nightsister warriors, though sporting robes and weapons that struck Maul as of ancient design. He understood that he was being treated to a dazzling Force illusion, but the Vollick’s soldiers were fully taken in. Just as the warlord had warned, the selector switches of a dozen blasters went from stun to full on, and a harried storm of bolts began to crisscross the bay, putting everyone in jeopardy.
The real Nightsisters were as fast on the draw as their opponents, and managed to drop several soldiers with energy quarrels before Talzin’s conjured illusion of ancient warriors began to evaporate into the same recycled air out of which they had appeared. Emboldened then—and ignoring the Vollick’s commands for cease-fire—the Weequays and Siniteens charged, dropping one of the Nightsisters and wounding Talzin in the thigh.
Maul thought about racing back into the drop ship, but doubted that it had sufficient power to overcome the bay’s tractor beam array. Instead he made a mad run for the fallen Nightsister, leaping, whirling, and tumbling across the deck until his hands seized on her energy bow. Retreating to the ship, he took cover behind one of the landing struts and began to return fire.
If this was a test, he thought, it was for keeps.
Several meters away, Talzin was flat on the deck with the two remaining Nightsisters unleashing a dark-side barrage of arrows, many of which were finding their marks.
Maul scanned the cargo bay. Having passed through this station on several occasions—typically en route to extrasystem contests arranged by Trezza—he knew that its cargo and passenger hubs were linked at several points by airlock corridors. If he could make it to the passenger pod, he could commandeer a drop ship and be back on Orsis before anyone even discovered that he was missing. But it would be easier said than done if he had to continue playing by the rules his Master had laid out.
He was preparing to make a break for the nearest hatchway when Mother Talzin called to him.
“Don’t leave us, Maul!”
He turned to see that she was on her feet, supported by one of the Nightsisters while the other was covering them.
“Maul!” Talzin repeated.
Confliction paralyzed him. Would his Master expect him to show sympathy? Even if the test had gone awry, Talzin might still be one of Sidious’ agents, and thus deserving of his help. Did the dark side of the Force ever permit self-sacrifice?
Cursing through his gritted teeth, he put his right arm through the bow and hooked it over his shoulder, then ran through a hail of blaster bolts to reach Talzin. Heaving her over his shoulder, he raced for the safety of the adjacent bay, the two Nightsisters steps behind.
“She’s dead,” one of the leather-faced Weequays reported as Warlord Osika Kirske approached the fallen Nightsister.
The Vollick’s massive right boot caught the lean humanoid under the chin and lifted the Weequay a meter off the deck.
“There were too many of them,” another Weequay tried to explain, only to take a gauntleted fist straight to the face.
Kirske then turned to the few soldiers who remained standing. “The Witch achieved the impossible: she made bigger idiots of you than even I believed possible!” His eyes went to the hatch through which Talzin and the others had fled. “They’ll attempt to reach their ship. Intercept them! And try to leave me with at least one witch in working order. We’ll rendezvous in the passenger hub.”
Close by, Meltch watched Ki
rske’s mercs hurry off. “I tried to warn you,” he said. “Now you’ve got a fight on your hands.”
The Vollick made a guttural sound. “We Rattataki live to fight.”
Meltch nodded. “One final piece of advice, then: send for reinforcements.”
“You’re leaving?” Kirske said to the Mandalorian’s back.
“I’ve done my part, Warlord,” Meltch said over his shoulder. “This is your mess to clean up.”
The entrance to one of the station’s cylindrical connectors was scarcely 50 meters away, but Maul and the three Dathomiri were pinned down behind a cargo container by fire from the Vollick warlord’s reinforcements.
“Our magicks don’t work in this sterile place,” Talzin said with abhorrence. “That’s why I could not sustain the illusion.”
Blaster bolts were ricocheting from the container. The two Nightsisters were returning fire.
“The illusion that nearly got all of us killed,” Maul said.
Talzin took her hand from the deep black-edged groove in her outer thigh and winced. Maul regarded the wound in stony silence. Black against red, like the zigzag markings on his face and head.
“On Dathomir I would be able to heal myself.”
“No one asked you to come here,” he said, even though that might not have been the case.
“We came for your sake.”
That much was a lie and he said so.
Talzin’s silver eyes flared. “You fail to grasp that you belong to a great heritage, Maul. That you were spirited away from Dathomir doesn’t alter the fact that you are a Nightbrother, and that your fate is joined with ours.”
He snorted. “Everyone has a plan for me.”
She searched his fearsome face for clues to his meaning. “I don’t understand,” she said at last.
But Maul had fallen back into silence.
In the empty space between the cargo container and the soldiers, a dozen automated load lifter droids were hauling similar containers to various designated areas on the burnished deck, unfazed by the firefight taking place in their midst. The containers were drifting into the bay on powerful tractor beams from a cargo ship too large to be berthed inside the station. The entire process was under the guidance of a computer housed in the bay’s upper tier control room.
Star Wars: Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter Page 31
