Dynasty of Evil

by Drew Karpyshyn

  Over the years, however, Lucia had become more than just the princess’s protector: she was her confidante and friend. And when Gerran had proposed to Serra, she accepted his offer only on the condition that Lucia still be allowed to serve at her side.

  The king hadn’t liked it, but in the end he had relented and made Lucia an official member of the Doan Royal Guard. But though she had sworn an oath to protect and serve the king and all his family, her true loyalty would always be to Serra.

  That was why she was so nervous as they approached the throne room. Though she hadn’t admitted anything to the princess, she had a pretty good idea of why the king wanted to see them.

  When they reached the entrance Lucia was required to hand over her blaster; by custom only the king’s personal guard could possess weapons in his presence. Though she did so without comment or protest, she always felt uneasy when she didn’t have a weapon within easy reach.

  She had accompanied the princess to enough audiences with the king to become accustomed to the magnificent blue and gold decorations of the throne room. But it looked different this morning: larger and more imposing. The typical crowd of retainers, servants, dignitaries, and honored guests were nowhere to be found. Except for Serra’s father-in-law and four of his personal guards, the room was empty—what was said in this meeting was not meant to go beyond these walls.

  If the yawning chasm of the strangely empty throne room bothered Serra, she gave no outward sign as she approached the raised dais where the king was seated on his throne. Lucia followed a respectful three steps behind.

  Physically, the king resembled an older version of his dead son—tall and broad-shouldered, with strong features, golden shoulder-length hair, and a closely trimmed beard that was slightly darker in color. But while Lucia had come to know Gerran during his marriage to Serra, she knew little of his father’s personality. She saw him only from a distance at official functions, and in these settings he had always been formal and reserved.

  At the foot of the blue-carpeted stairs Serra stopped and dropped to one knee, bowing her head. Lucia remained standing at attention behind her.

  “You sent for me, Your Majesty?”

  “The terrorists who orchestrated the attack on my son’s airspeeder were killed last night.”

  “Are you certain?” she asked, looking up at the king seated in his throne above her.

  “A security patrol responding to an anonymous tip found their bodies this morning in an old cave they were using for their headquarters.”

  “This is glorious news,” Serra exclaimed, her face lighting up as she rose to her feet.

  She took a half step toward the throne, perhaps to embrace the king. But her father-in-law stayed in his seat, unmoving. Puzzled, Serra pulled back as his guards glared at her with suspicion.

  Seeing the king’s reaction toward the princess, Lucia felt her stomach twist into a knot. She hoped none of the others could sense her anxiety.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me, Sire?” the princess asked. “Is something wrong? Are they sure it was Gelba?”

  “They’ve positively identified her body. Two of her bodyguards and three of her top lieutenants were also killed … along with a Cerean named Medd Tandar.”

  “A Cerean?”

  “He was a Jedi.”

  Serra shook her head, unable to make sense of the information. “What was a Jedi doing on Doan?”

  “A member of the Council contacted me and asked that I allow one of their people to make contact with the rebels,” the king informed her. “I agreed to their request.”

  The princess blinked in surprise. Still standing rigidly at attention, Lucia gave no outward reaction, though she was just as stunned as her mistress.

  “We’ve always tried to keep the Jedi and the Senate out of our business on Doan,” Serra protested.

  “The politics of our world are under attack,” the king explained. “Support for the rebels is building within the galactic community. We need allies if we want to preserve the Doan way of life. Working with the Jedi will make them and the Senate less willing to take action against us.”

  “What did he come here for?” Serra demanded, her voice cold.

  The king scowled; Lucia realized he didn’t like being interrogated in his own throne room. But possibly out of respect for his lost son, he didn’t take the princess to task.

  “The Jedi had news that the rebels may have uncovered a cache of ancient talismans—objects imbued with the power of the dark side. The Cerean was sent to investigate these claims and, if true, bring the talismans back to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant where they could do no harm.”

  Lucia could see the logic behind the king’s decision to grant the Jedi leave for their mission on Doan. The last thing the nobility wanted was for their enemies to gain possession of potentially devastating weapons. If the reports were true, the best way to nullify the threat would be to have the Jedi deal with it. Unfortunately, the death of the Cerean was not part of the plan.

  “You think the Jedi will blame you for Medd’s death,” the princess noted, her sharp mind putting all the pieces together. “You knew he was making contact with the rebels; it will look like you hired the assassin to follow him to their hideout.”

  The king gave a solemn nod.

  “Gelba’s death has dealt a great blow to our enemy, but others will surely rise to take her place. Terrorists breed like insects, and our war with them is far from over.

  “So far the Senate has not interfered in our efforts to cleanse our world of these criminals. But if they believe I used the Jedi to further my personal desire for vengeance, they will not sit idly by.”

  The king rose from his throne, standing up to his full height. He towered over Serra where she stood on the steps below the dais.

  “But this assassin was not acting on my orders!” he pronounced in a voice that echoed off the throne room walls. “This was done without my knowledge or consent … a clear violation of Doan law that may cost us everything!”

  “Is that why you brought me here, Sire?” Serra asked, refusing to be cowed by his anger. “To accuse me of betraying you?”

  There was a long silence as they stared at each other before the king spoke again.

  “When my son first declared his intention to marry you, I opposed the union,” he replied. He was speaking casually now, almost as if they were chatting over a meal. But Lucia could see his eyes were fixed on the princess, studying her intently.

  “Yes, Sire,” Serra answered, giving away no hint of emotion. “He told me as much.”

  “You have secrets,” the king continued. “All my efforts to learn about your parents or your family turned up nothing. Your past is well hidden.”

  “My past is of no consequence, Sire. Your son accepted that.”

  “I have watched you these past three years,” the king admitted. “I could see that you loved my son. I could see you were devastated by his death.”

  Serra didn’t say anything, but Lucia could see moist tears beginning to form in her eyes as she thought back on memories of her husband.

  “Over the years I have come to appreciate those qualities my son saw in you. Your strength. Your intelligence. Your loyalty to our House.

  “But now my son is dead, and I cannot help but wonder where your true loyalties lie.”

  “I swore an oath to serve the Crown when I married Gerran,” Serra told him, her voice firm despite the tears in her eyes. “Even though he is gone, I would not dishonor his memory by abandoning my duties.”

  “I believe you,” the king said after several seconds, his voice suddenly weary. “Though this brings me no closer to finding out who was behind the attack.”

  Silently, Lucia let out the breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding.

  The king sat back down on his throne, his expression troubled by doubt and lingering grief over his son. Serra stepped forward and knelt by her father-in-law, close enough to put a comforting hand o
n his arm, ignoring his guards as they took a menacing step forward.

  “Your son was beloved by all the nobles of Doan,” she said. “And the rebels are universally despised. Anyone could have hired the assassin, with no knowledge whatsoever that the Jedi would be there. The Cerean’s death was an unfortunate accident, not some sinister plot.”

  “I fear the Jedi may not be so easily convinced,” the king replied.

  “Then let me speak to them,” Serra offered. “Send me to Coruscant. I will make them understand that you had no part in this.”

  “I have seen you in the halls these past months,” the king told her. “I know the pain you still carry over my son’s loss. I cannot ask you to do this while you are still mourning his death.”

  “That is why I must be the one to go,” Serra countered. “The Jedi will be more willing to show compassion to a grieving widow. Let me do this for you, Sire. It’s what Gerran would have wanted.”

  The king considered her offer briefly before nodding.

  Serra rose and took her leave with a bow. Lucia fell into step behind her as she left the throne room, only pausing at the doors long enough to collect her weapons.

  Only when they were back in the privacy of the princess’s chamber with the door closed carefully behind them did either of them dare to speak.

  “Take this somewhere and burn it,” Serra spat as she ripped the mourning veil from her head and cast it down to the floor. “I never want to see it again.”

  “I have something to confess,” Lucia said as she scooped the discarded garment up from the floor.

  Serra turned to look at her, but Lucia couldn’t read the expression on her face.

  “I’m the one who hired the assassin that killed Gelba,” she said, speaking quickly to get the words out.

  She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to explain that she had known nothing about the Jedi being on Doan. She needed Serra to understand that she had done it only for her sake.

  Lucia had always sensed a darkness in the healer, a shadow on her spirit. With Gerran’s death that shadow had grown. She had seen her friend slipping into bleak despair as the weeks turned to months, listlessly wandering the halls of the castle in her black mourning garb like some tormented ghost.

  All she wanted was to try to ease the princess’s suffering. She thought that maybe if those responsible for Gerran’s death were made to pay, Serra could find closure, could move on and come out from the shadow that had fallen over her.

  She wanted to say all this, but she couldn’t. She was just a soldier; she wasn’t any good with words.

  Serra stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her in a long, gentle hug.

  “When the king spoke of someone hiring an assassin to avenge Gerran’s death, I thought it might be you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  And Lucia knew she didn’t have to tell the princess all the things she wanted to say. Her friend already knew.

  “I think you should tell the king,” Lucia said when the princess finally broke off her embrace.

  “He’d have you arrested,” Serra said with a firm shake of her head. “Or at the very least dismissed from your post. I can’t have that. I need you at my side when I go to Coruscant.”

  “You still plan to speak with the Jedi?” she asked, mildly surprised. “What are you going to tell them?”

  “Medd’s death was an accident. The king was not involved. That is all they need to know.”

  Lucia had her doubts, but she knew the princess well enough to realize that arguing the point would be a waste of time. Serra had no intention of turning her in to either the king or the Jedi. But she couldn’t just let it go at that.

  “I never meant to cause any trouble for you. Or the king. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t ever apologize for this!” Serra shot back. “Gelba and her followers got exactly what they deserved. My only regret is that I wasn’t there to see it myself.”

  The venom in her words—the raw anger and hatred—caught Lucia off guard. Instinctively, she took a step back, recoiling from her friend. But then Serra smiled, and the awkward moment was gone.

  “We need to leave as soon as possible,” the princess noted. “It won’t do to keep the Council waiting.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements,” Lucia replied, though she knew it would be several days before their actual departure. As the princess, it wasn’t easy for Serra to simply leave Doan—there were diplomatic protocols and bureaucratic procedures that had to be followed.

  “This will all work out,” Serra reassured her, coming over to place a comforting hand on Lucia’s arm. “Gelba is dead. My husband is avenged. A quick meeting with one of the Jedi Masters and this whole incident will be behind us.”

  Lucia nodded, but she knew it wouldn’t be that simple. This wasn’t just going to go away. The death of the Jedi had set in motion a chain of events—one she feared might end very badly for both of them.

  3

  The cantina was almost empty at this time of day; the crowds wouldn’t start arriving until the late evening. Which was exactly why Darth Bane had arranged this meeting for early afternoon.

  His contact—a balding, slightly overweight man of about fifty named Argel Tenn—was already there, seated at a private booth in the back of the establishment. Nobody paid any special attention to the Dark Lord as he crossed the room; everyone here, including Argel, knew him only as Sepp Omek, one of the many wealthy merchants who lived on Ciutric.

  Bane sat down in the seat across the table from the other man and summoned a waitress with a discreet wave of his hand. She came over and took their order, then slipped away to leave them to their business. On Ciutric it was common for merchants to make deals in the backs of bars and clubs, and the serving staff knew how to respect the confidentiality of their customers.

  “How come we never meet at your estate?” Argel said by way of greeting. “I hear you have one of the best-stocked wine cellars on the planet.”

  “I’d rather not have my sister learn about our transactions,” Bane replied.

  Argel chuckled slightly. “I understand completely.”

  He stopped speaking while the waitress returned and set their drinks on the table, then continued in a quieter voice once she was gone.

  “Many of my clients are reluctant to let friends and family know of their interest in the dark side.”

  Dealing with Argel always left a sour taste in Bane’s mouth, but for this there was no one else he could turn to. The portly dealer was the sector’s leading procurer of banned Sith manuscripts; he had built a small fortune by discreetly seeking them out, purchasing them, and delivering them in person to his clients while keeping their names from ever being linked to the transaction.

  Of course most of his clients were nothing but collectors or Sith fetishists who simply longed to possess a work that had been officially banned by the Jedi Council. They had no real understanding of the dark side or its power. They bought and sold the manuscripts in blissful ignorance, unaware of what they were truly dealing with.

  This, more than anything, was what brought the bile to Bane’s throat each time he met with Argel. The man portrayed himself as an expert in the dark side. He bartered and traded the secrets of the ancient Sith like cheap rugs at an open-air bazaar. It galled Bane to think of what treasures had passed through his hands into the possession of those too weak and common to ever make use of them.

  He had occasionally fantasized about revealing his true identity to Argel, just to see his terrified reaction. Bane wanted to watch him grovel, begging for mercy at the feet of a real Sith. But petty revenge against an insignificant speck of a man was beneath him. Argel was useful, and so Bane would continue to play the part of a Sith-obsessed merchant.

  “I hope you were able to find what I was looking for,” he muttered. “The details you provided were rather vague.”

  “I promise you this, Sepp,” the other man replied with a cunning smile. “You will not be disappointed
.

  “But you have no idea how hard this was,” Argel added, throwing in an exaggerated sigh. “What you’re after is illegal. Banned by the Jedi Council.”

  “Everything you deal in is banned by the Jedi Council.”

  “This was different. I’d never even heard the name Darth Andeddu before. None of my suppliers had. I had to go outside the normal channels. But I came through, like I always do in the end.”

  Bane scowled. “I trust you were careful. I wouldn’t want word of this to make its way back to the Jedi.”

  Argel laughed. “What’s the matter, Sepp? Some of your business practices not quite on the up-and-up? Afraid the Council will come after you for cheating on your taxes?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Don’t worry, nobody will ever know you were involved. I only brought it up because I may have to renegotiate our original price.”

  “We had a deal.”

  “Now, now—you know my initial quote is only an estimate,” Argel reminded him. “I had to outlay triple my normal expenses to track this particular item down.

  “But I’m willing to give you a bargain and only charge you double my original offer.”

  Bane gritted his teeth, knowing his hopes of a quick end to their conversation would remain unfulfilled. He had the funds to simply pay, of course. But this would arouse suspicion. He had a role to play: that of a savvy merchant. If he didn’t negotiate down to the last credit, it would seem strange.

  “I’ll give you a ten percent bonus. Nothing more.”

  For the next twenty minutes they haggled back and forth, finally settling on 40 percent above the starting price.

  “A pleasure doing business with you, as always,” Argel said once payment was agreed upon.

  From inside his vest he produced a long, thin tube roughly thirty centimeters long. The tube was sealed at one end, and the other was capped with a tightly screwed-on lid.