The Blademaster ignited the lightsaber: its single blade burned a dark red. “This was the weapon of my Master,” he told Bane. “As a young child I would watch for hours as my Master performed his drills. My earliest memories are of dancing ruby lights moving through the sequences of battle.”
“You don’t remember your parents?” Bane asked, surprised.
Kas’im shook his head. “My parents were sold in the slave markets of Nal Hutta. That’s where Master Na’daz found me. He noticed my family on the auction blocks; perhaps he was drawn to them because we were Twi’leks like himself. Even though I was barely old enough to stand, Master Na’daz could sense the Force in me. He purchased me and took me back to Ryloth, to raise me as his apprentice among our own people.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“I don’t know,” Kas’im replied with an indifferent shrug. “They had no special connection to the Force, so my Master saw no reason to purchase them. They were weak, and so they were left behind.”
He spoke casually, as if the knowledge that his parents had lived and probably died as slaves in the service of the Hutts had no effect on him whatsoever. In a way his apathy was understandable. He’d never known his parents, so he had no emotional ties to them, good or bad. Bane briefly wondered how his own life might have been different if he had been raised by someone else. If Hurst had been killed in the cortosis mines when he was just an infant, would he still have ended up here at the Academy on Korriban?
“My Master was a great Sith Lord,” Kas’im continued. “He was particularly adept in the arts of lightsaber combat—a skill he passed on to me. He taught me how to use the double-bladed lightsaber, though as you can see he preferred a more traditional design for himself. Except for the handle, of course.”
The blade flickered out of existence as he shut off the weapon and tossed it to Bane, who caught it easily, wrapping his hand around the hooked handle.
“It feels strange,” he muttered.
“It requires a minor variation in your grip,” Kas’im explained. “Hold it more in the palm, farther away from the fingertips.”
Bane did as instructed, letting his body grow accustomed to the odd heft and balance. Already his mind was beginning to run through the implications of the new grip. It would give the wielder more power on his overhand strikes, and it would change the angle of the attacks by the merest fraction of a degree. Just enough to confuse and disorient an unsuspecting opponent.
“Some moves are more difficult with this particular weapon,” Kas’im warned. “But many others are far more effective. In the end I think you’ll find this lightsaber will suit your personal style quite well.”
“You’re giving this to me?” Bane asked incredulously.
“Today you proved you were worthy of it.” There was just a hint of pride in the Blademaster’s voice.
Bane ignited it, listening to the sweet hum of the power pack and the crackling hiss of the energy blade. He performed a few simple flourishes, then abruptly shut it off.
“Does Qordis approve?”
“The decision is mine, not his,” Kas’im stated. He almost sounded offended. “I haven’t held on to this blade for ten years just so Qordis can decide whom I give it to.”
Bane answered with a respectful bow, fully aware of the great honor that Kas’im had just bestowed upon him. To fill the uncomfortable silence that followed he asked, “Your Master gave you this when he died?”
“I took it when I killed him.”
Bane was so stunned that he couldn’t cover his reaction. The Blademaster saw it and smiled slightly.
“I had learned everything I could from Master Na’daz. As strong as he was in the dark side, I was stronger. As skilled as he was with the lightsaber, I became better.”
“But why kill him?” Bane asked.
“A test. To see if I was as strong as I believed. This was before Lord Kaan rose to power; we were still trapped in the old ways. Sith versus Sith, Master versus apprentice. Foolishly pitting ourselves against one another to prove our dominance. Fortunately, the Brotherhood of Darkness put an end to all that.”
“Not completely,” Bane muttered, thinking of Fohargh and Sirak. “The weak still fall to the strong. It is inevitable.”
Kas’im tilted his head to the side, trying to gauge the meaning behind his words. “Don’t allow yourself to be blinded by this honor,” he warned. “You are not ready to challenge me, young apprentice. I have taught you everything you know, but I haven’t taught you everything I know.”
Bane couldn’t help but smile. The notion of facing Kas’im in a real fight was preposterous. He knew he was no match for the Blademaster. Not yet. “I will keep that in mind, Master.”
Satisfied, Kas’im turned to go. Just before Bane closed the door behind him he added, “Lord Qordis wants to see you first thing in the morning. Go to his chambers before the morning drills.”
Even the sobering prospect of meeting with the Academy’s grim overseer couldn’t dampen Bane’s elated spirit. As soon as he was alone in his room he reignited the lightsaber and began practicing his sequences. It was many hours before he finally put the weapon away and crawled wearily into bed, all thoughts of Githany long banished from his mind.
The morning’s first light found Bane at the door leading into the private quarters of Lord Qordis. It had been many months since he had last been here. At that time he had been chastised for killing Fohargh. This time he had severely injured one of the top students of the Academy—one of Qordis’s personal favorites. He wondered what was in store for him.
Summoning his courage, he knocked once.
“Enter,” came the voice from within.
Trying to ignore a feeling of trepidation, Bane did as he was told. Lord Qordis was in the center of the room kneeling on his meditation mat. It was almost as if he hadn’t moved: his position was exactly the same as it had been at their last meeting.
“Master,” Bane said, making a low bow.
Qordis didn’t bother to rise. “I see you have a lightsaber on your belt.”
“Lord Kas’im gave it to me. He felt I earned it with my latest victory in the ring.” Bane suddenly felt very defensive, as if he was under attack.
“I have no wish to contradict the Blademaster,” Qordis replied, though his tone suggested the opposite. “However, though you now carry a lightsaber, do not forget that you are still an apprentice. You still owe your obedience and allegiance to the Masters here at the Academy.”
“Of course, Lord Qordis.”
“The way in which you defeated Sirak has left quite an impression on the other students,” Qordis continued. “They will look to emulate you now. You must set an example for them.”
“I will do my best, Master.”
“That means your private sessions with Githany must end.”
A chill washed over Bane. “You knew?”
“I am a Sith Lord, and Master of this Academy. I am not a fool, and I am not blind to what is happening within the walls of the temple. I tolerated such behavior when you were an outcast because it did no harm to the other apprentices. Now, however, many of the students will be watching you closely. I do not want them following your path and trying to train one another in a misguided attempt to duplicate your success.”
“What will happen to Githany? Will she be punished?”
“I will speak with her just as I am speaking with you. It must be clear to the rest of the apprentices that the two of you are not training together in private. That means you cannot see her anymore. You must avoid all contact except in the group lessons. If you both obey me in this, there will be no further consequences.”
Bane understood Lord Qordis’s concerns, but he felt the solution went too far. There was no need to cut him off from Githany so completely. He wondered if the Masters knew of his attraction to her. Did they fear she would be a distraction?
No, he realized, that wasn’t it. This was simply about control. Bane had defied
Lord Qordis; he had succeeded despite being shunned by the rest of the Academy. Now Qordis wanted to claim ownership of Bane’s accomplishments.
“That is not all,” Qordis continued, interrupting Bane’s thoughts. “You must also put an end to your study of the archives.”
“Why?” Bane burst out, surprised and angry. “The manuscripts contain the wisdom of the ancient Sith. I have learned much about the ways of the dark side from them.”
“The archives are relics of the past,” Qordis countered sharply. “They are from a time that has long since vanished. The order has changed. We have evolved beyond what you learned in those musty scrolls and tomes. You would understand this if you had been studying with the Masters instead of rushing off on your own path.”
You’re the one who forced me down that path, Bane thought. “The Sith may have changed, but we can still build on the knowledge of those who came before us. Surely you understand that, Master. Why else would you have rebuilt the Academy on Korriban?”
There was a flash of anger in the Dark Lord’s eyes. He obviously didn’t like being challenged by one of his students. When he spoke, his voice was cold and menacing. “The dark side is strong on this world. That is the only reason we chose to come here.”
Bane knew he should let the matter drop, but he wasn’t ready to back down. This was too important. “But what about the Valley of the Dark Lords? What about the tombs of all the dark Masters buried on Korriban, and the secrets hidden inside them?”
“Is that what you seek?” Qordis sneered. “The secrets of the dead? The Jedi pillaged the tombs when Korriban fell to them three thousand years ago. Nothing of value remains.”
“The Jedi are servants of the light,” Bane protested. “The dark side has secrets they will never understand. There may be something they missed.”
Qordis laughed, a harsh and scornful bark. “Are you really so naïve?”
“The spirits of powerful Sith Masters are said to linger in their tombs,” Bane insisted, stubbornly refusing to be cowed. “They appear only to those who are worthy. They would not have revealed themselves to the Jedi.”
“Do you really believe ghosts and spirits still linger in their graves, waiting to pass on the great mysteries of the dark side to those who seek them out?”
Bane’s thoughts turned back to his studies. There were too many such accounts documented in the archives to be mere legend. There had to be some truth to it.
“Yes,” he answered, though he knew it would infuriate Qordis even more. “I believe I can learn more from the ghosts in the Valley of the Dark Lords than the living Masters here at the Academy.”
Qordis leapt to his feet and slapped Bane hard across the face, his talon-like fingernails drawing blood. Bane held his ground; he didn’t even flinch.
“You are an impudent fool!” his Master shouted. “You worship those who are dead and gone. You think they hold some great power, but they are nothing but dust and bone!”
“You’re wrong,” Bane said. He could feel the blood welling up in the scratches on his face, but he didn’t reach up to wipe it away. He simply stood still as stone in front of his seething Master.
Even though Bane didn’t move, Qordis took half a step back. When he spoke, his voice was more composed, though it still dripped with anger. “Get out,” he said, extending a long, bony finger toward the door. “If you value the wisdom of the dead so much, then go. Leave the temple. Go to the Valley of the Dark Lords. Find your answers in their tombs.”
Bane hesitated. He knew this was a test. If he apologized now—if he groveled and begged the forgiveness of his Master—Qordis would probably let him stay. But he knew Qordis was wrong. The ancient Sith were dead, but their legacy remained. This was his chance to claim it as his own.
He turned his back on Lord Qordis and marched from the room without a word. There was no point in continuing the argument. The only way he could win was by finding proof. And he wasn’t going to find it standing here.
18
Bane had missed the morning practice session. It wasn’t hard for Kas’im to figure out who was responsible for his absence.
He didn’t bother to knock on Lord Qordis’s door; he simply used the Force to burst apart the lock, then kicked it open. Unfortunately, the element of surprise he’d been hoping for had been lost.
Qordis had his back to the door, examining one of the magnificent tapestries that hung beside his oversized bed. He didn’t turn when the Blademaster burst in; he didn’t react at all. Which meant he’d been expecting the intrusion.
Kas’im gestured violently with his hand, and the door slammed shut. What he was about to say wasn’t for the ears of the students. “What in blazes did you do, Qordis?”
“I assume you are referring to apprentice Bane” came the too-casual reply.
“Of course I kriffing mean Bane! No more games, Qordis. What did you do to him?”
“To him? Nothing. Not in the way you’re thinking. I merely tried to reason with him. Tried to make him understand the necessity of working within the structure of this institution.”
“You manipulated him,” Kas’im said with a sigh of resignation. He knew Qordis had no fondness for Bane. Not with Lord Kopecz—his longtime rival—being the one who’d brought him here. The Blademaster realized he should have warned the young apprentice to be on his guard.
“You twisted his mind somehow,” he continued, trying to draw out a reaction. “You forced him down a path you wanted him to take. A path of ruin.”
There was no immediate reply. Tired of staring at Qordis’s back, he stepped forward and reached up to grab the taller man by the shoulder, whirling him around to face him. “Why, Qordis?”
In the first brief second that the overseer of the Academy was spun around, Kas’im caught a glimpse of uncertainty and confusion in the gaunt, drawn features. Then those features twisted into a mask of rage, dark eyes burning in sunken sockets. Qordis slapped Kas’im’s hand away.
“Bane brought this on himself! He was willful! Obsessed with the past! He is of no use to us until he accepts the teachings of this Academy!”
Kas’im was taken aback: not by the sudden outburst, but by the unexpected glimpse of uncertainty that had preceded it. Suddenly he wondered if maybe the meeting hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Perhaps Qordis had tried to manipulate Bane and failed. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d underestimated their unusual apprentice.
Now Kas’im felt more curious than angry. “Tell me what happened, Qordis. Where is Bane now?”
Qordis sighed, almost regretful. “He’s gone into the wastelands. He’s heading for the Valley of the Dark Lords.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“I told you: he’s obsessed with the past. He believes there are secrets out there that will be revealed to him. Secrets of the dark side.”
“Did you warn him of the dangers? The pelko swarms? The tuk’ata?”
“He never gave me a chance. He wouldn’t have listened anyway.”
That much, at least, Kas’im believed. Yet he wasn’t sure if he trusted the rest of Qordis’s story. The Master of the Academy was subtle, crafty. It would be just like him to trick someone into venturing through the deadly Valley of the Dark Lords. If he wanted to eliminate Bane without being held accountable, this would be one of the ways to do it—except for one small thing.
“He’s going to survive,” Kas’im stated. “He’s stronger than you know.”
“If he survives,” Qordis replied, turning back to the tapestry, “he will learn the truth. There are no secrets in the valley. Not anymore. Everything of value has been taken: stripped away first by Sith seeking to preserve our order, and later by Jedi seeking to wipe it out. There is nothing left in the tombs but hollow chambers and mounds of dust. Once he sees this for himself, he will give up his foolish idealization of the ancient Sith. Only then will he be ready to join the Brotherhood of Darkness.”
The conversation was over; that much was cle
ar. Qordis’s words made sense, if this was all part of a larger lesson to make Bane finally abandon the old ways and accept the new Sith order and Kaan’s Brotherhood.
Yet as he turned and left the room, Kas’im couldn’t shake the feeling that Qordis was rationalizing events after the fact. Qordis wanted others to believe he had been in control the whole time, but the haunted look the Blademaster had glimpsed gave evidence to the real truth: Qordis had been scared by something Bane had done or said.
That thought brought a smile to the Twi’lek’s lips. He had every confidence Bane would survive his journey into the Valley of the Dark Lords. And he was very interested to see what would happen when the young man returned.
Sirak was moving gingerly. He’d spent the past thirty-six hours in a bacta tank, and though his injuries were completely healed, his body still instinctively reacted to the memories of the wounds inflicted by Bane’s saber. Slowly, he gathered up his personal effects, anxious to return to the familiar surroundings of his own room and leave the solitude of the medcenter behind.
One of the med droids floated in, bringing him a pair of pants, a shirt, and a dark apprentice’s robe. The clothes smelled of disinfectant; it was common practice to sterilize everything before bringing it into the medcenter. The garments fit, but he knew as soon as he put them on that they had never been worn before.
He hadn’t seen a single being other than the med droids since being carried unconscious from the dueling ring. Nobody had come to check up on him while he’d floated in the healing fluid: not Qordis, not Kas’im, not even Llokay or Yevra. He didn’t blame them.
The Sith despised weakness and failure. Whenever apprentices lost in the dueling ring, they were left alone with the shame of their defeat until strong enough to resume their studies. It happened to everyone sooner or later … except it had never before happened to Sirak.
He had been invincible, untouchable—the top apprentice in every discipline. He’d heard the rumors and the whispers. They called him the Sith’ari, the perfect being. Only they wouldn’t be calling him the Sith’ari now. Not after what Bane had done to him.